Chalk
Lost in the sauce of our correctly defeating the whole of baseball on November 02, 2016 was the fact that we were really good in 2015 & 2017, too. Went to the NLCS and everything. But we knew what we had, and so we kept trying.
In 2017, I pitched in for a chance at postseason tickets and got two for game 5 of the NLCS in the bleachers. I took my pal Amy who, pregnant at the time, wanted to expose her unborn son to postseason baseball, which is very reasonable.
We were destroyed. Look at it. Stare at the body and witness. 9-1 by the fourth, a real season-ender, the whole stadium’s energy shifting by the time everyone was done with their first hot dog. One of the nice things about being a Cubs fan is you’ve experienced so much loss that you come to appreciate good baseball no matter whom it’s coming from. Clayton Kershaw, retiring this year, certainly bound for the hall of fame, shut us down in a way that was so shocking it became impressive. By the sixth I looked at Amy and asked “do you just wanna get up and walk around?” And she looked me in the eye, blinked twice, and said sure.
I have made many good decisions at baseball games, and this ranks in the pantheon. The whole stadium, acutely cognizant of what was happening, decided to go full gratitude practice, talking to one another about how great a season we had, how lovely it was that we had come so far, and how amazing it was that we all lived to see the Cubs win the world series in our lifetimes. I hadn’t hugged that many strangers since my grandfather’s funeral. We were all there, watching our team get obliterated on a freakishly warm fall evening, and we couldn’t be happier.
I always stay until the final out, but we didn’t want to watch the other guys celebrate, so we left at the end of the 8th and walked out to find dozens of people covering the outfield walls on Waveland & Sheffield with chalk, writing their names, saying go Cubs, thanking the team. More strangers hugging everywhere. A stepladder materialized out of nowhere to help people get to the upper reaches of the brick walls. I took a few photos, heard the game-ending cheer, got on my bike, and went home. I watched my team’s season end in ignominy and it was one of the best nights of my life.
That was the last night that I saw postseason baseball at Wrigley Field. Much has happened since, both to the Cubs and to me. Of all of the people who played for the Cubs in 2017, only one remains, and he didn’t win it all with us in 2016. And while we were good enough to make it to October this year, nobody is operating under the illusion that the Cubs will go deep. We fully expect to be destroyed by the Brewers next week. This is fine. We just want some memories. That’s enough for now.
We have no certainty for the future. Our star player becomes a free agent in a month; he just came off an injury. The rest of the team is young, or old, and never so good that we might do anything. Ownership will not spend. But we have this moment, another nice day, a slim shot but a very real one.
I have a ticket for Tuesday. I hope someone brings chalk.