I used to be a much bigger fan of baseball than I am now. There was a point where I could tell you almost every team's starting roster and where I watched almost literally every Cubs game.

I affectionately refer to this time in my life as "2003".

It was a perfect storm: I had the summer off between college and finding a big boy job, the Cubs were playing great, anchored by "the next Tom Seaver" and this other guy who once threw 20 strikeouts in a game as well as an up and comer with a short fuse named Zambrano. Throw in Sammy Sosa rounding out his 'beloved' years, Corey Patterson showing flashes of brilliance and an overestimated skipper coming off a world series appearance and we were set up for something special in October. Then, I actually moved to Chicago right before that something-special was to happen. I spent the first few weeks of October planted in Wrigleyville or watching games with my dad and Mike with the TV on mute and Ron & Pat on the radio.

Most of you know the rest of the story. After "the inning" imploded, all of Wrigley Field went silent and we collectively lost our will to will the team to a victory. We ended that series in a game seven that we lost before the first pitch. Everyone I was with (meaning hundreds of people) could barely get excited when someone would get a hit. We were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. And drop it did.

The next day, Chicago's demeanor went from jolly and a little bit insane to clinically depressed. It was awful. No one knew how to process it, so we all kept our heads down and tried not to think about it.

Fast forward to October 2007, when we had a team that looked pretty good on paper and we all talked ourselves into a run, even though I don't think anyone really expected them to make it out of the NLCS. Indeed, they were swept in the first round. I decided that I was done devoting too much time to baseball.

This summer, I took a new job and decided to fully devote myself to experiencing Chicago in the summer. This meant fewer Sunday afternoons on the couch watching the Cubs. We had tickets to the final home game, the day after they clinched, and I remember feeling a little disconnected from the team I just a year before was fully devoted to. So I spent the last week of the season watching games and cramming as much Cubs-love in as I could. Then...

Then we won playoff tickets. Seriously. Free of charge, box seats. I selfishley prayed we'd win them and we did. It was a little humbling (perhaps I should've spent that time praying for world peace, but here we are). This kicked me into another gear. I spent time daydreaming about sitting in Wrigley Field in October. Wrigley Field, where the "real fans" were priced out years ago. Wrigley Field, where 1908 happened and where 2003 happened. Wrigley Field, my mecca for so many years, but the mecca that was unattainable in October.

I recalled 1989 and 1998, Rick Sutcliffe, Greg Maddux, Ryne Sandberg, Mark Grace, Andre Dawson, random copies of Vineline strewn about my room, Topps Jerome Walton rookie cards, Cubs Conventions, Shawn Dunston, standing behind Don Zimmer on a televised interview, the autographed 1984 ball that my papa gave me that I swore was real, going to games with mom, dad and Steve, Harry Caray, Steve Stone & the Ron & Pat show. I remembered documentaries about 1908 and Ron Santo, Ernie Banks & Billy Williams. I painted pictures in my mind of my parent's back porch, decorated in Die Hard Cubs Fan paraphernalia, and watching games on my papa's knee in his wheelchair.

And I was back. I've watched enough and read enough this year to know that this was a team capable of doing something special in October. All year Chicago's (ill-advised) mantra was "It's Gonna Happen" and we clinched the division the earliest we had since 1932. On the 100-year anniversary of our last World Series, we're coming fully prepared.

Our lineup is formidable. We have perhaps the deepest bench in all of baseball. Our bullpen is capable of holding on to close games, and our starting pitching rotation is, when healthy, amongst the best in all of baseball. There are X factors to be sure (two of them being the afformentioned short fuse and 20k pitchers), but nothing to get too worked up about.

And so Cubtoberfest began.

But by the grand slam in the fifth inning, something tragic happened. The team didn't quit. The fans did. Wrigley Field was quiet, only getting excited for the biggest of moments. Did everyone collectively come to their senses and remember that history was not on our side? They gave away home field advantage. Collectively decided not to will their Cubbies to a rally. It was heartbreaking. And so we slumped our way to a game one loss. And the city was no longer abuzz.

What happened to "It's Gonna Happen"? Did everyone assume we were sweeping our way to the World Series? Does no one remember Sox-Yankees 2004?

Tonight my wife and I get to sit next to Soriano and Manny Ramirez. We get to be part of the crowd and I'm determined to will my Cubs to a victory. The worst thing we can do is repeat game 7 of 2003. We can't quit. I've talked myself into winning in five games (not sure we can take two in L.A.) and the Wrigley Field faithful are going to have to bring their 'A' game if it comes back here for a game 5. But first, tonight, we have a calling. We must play our role in the dream. We must not be quiet. The lineup tonight has Zambrano pitching, Soriano, Fukudome, Lee, Ramirez, Soto, Theriot, DeRosa, Edmonds/Reed and us.

The fans.

Let's give them back home field advantage.

photo - Bugsy

Labels: chicago, Other