The Cubs had already been losing for over a hundred years before I showed up in Chicago. The logical part of me knows that their World Series winning moment on November 2, 2016, would have happened regardless of if I was standing, covered in rain, sweat, and tears, under the smoggy Illinois sky, bathed in the neon red light of the iconic Wrigley Field Sign. But there’s another part of me that wonders if it might not have.
To be a fan of baseball’s losingest team means that you’ll entertain that kind of suspicion.
Maybe without the police officer who told us not to judge him as tears streamed down his wrinkled face, without the daredevil on top of the telephone pole, without the bartender wearing his lucky jersey, without the grandfather in his faded blue cap glued to the TV at home, and without me, the baseball-naïve Chicago newcomer, none of this would have happened. Maybe we all played the tiniest part. Maybe we didn’t ride the bandwagon — we pulled it.
(Upwrite Mag is one of my all time favorite online magazines, and it’s been SUCH a joy to work with them and such an honor to be published… can I just do this for the rest of my life?)