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My dad took me to my first game at Wrigley Field in the summer of 1964. I was seven. I remember three things: the ivy on the outfield walls, the big green scoreboard where a man inside hung the numbers up by hand, and Ernie Banks, who looked happier to be playing baseball than anybody I had ever seen. The Cubs lost. I didn't care. I was hooked for life, and my dad knew it, and I think he felt a little bit bad about it.
I'm 42 now, a plumber in Joliet, Illinois, with a wife, a fifteen-year-old son and a truck with a radio that's been tuned to WGN since the day I bought it. I've been under a lot of kitchen sinks listening to a lot of ninth innings. This page is everything I've learned in thirty-six years about how to love a team that hasn't won a World Series since 1908. It's not a complaint. Nobody made me do this. It's the best deal I ever made.
BENNY'S SCOREBOARD
hand-turned, like the real one |
| SEASONS WATCHED | 36 |
| TRIPS TO THE POSTSEASON | 3 |
| POSTSEASON SERIES WON | 0 |
| YEARS SINCE LAST PENNANT | 54 |
| YEARS SINCE LAST WORLD SERIES TITLE | 91 |
| TIMES I SAID "THIS IS THE YEAR" | 36 |
| HOPE REMAINING | ALL |
THE LINEUP: The Five Stages · Rules for Surviving · The Heartbreak Timeline · For Harry · About 1999 · Your Predictions for 2000
THE FIVE STAGES OF A CUBS SEASON
1. APRIL: HOPE. It's thirty-eight degrees with the wind coming in off the lake and you're sitting in the bleachers in your winter coat, and you have never been happier. The new guys look good. The old guys look healthy. Everybody's 0 and 0. You call your brother and say it. You say "This is the year." He says it back.
2. MAY: BELIEF. They've won a few. Maybe more than a few. You start reading the standings in the paper before you read the box score. You catch yourself looking at the calendar for October. Do not look at the calendar for October.
3. JUNE: THE SWOON. Something happens. Nobody knows what. A pitcher's elbow, a bad road trip, a week where the other team keeps hitting the ball exactly where we aren't. You lose eight out of ten. You tell yourself it's a long season. It is a long season. That's the problem.
4. JULY: DENIAL. You do the math. If they win 20 of the next 25, and the teams in front of them all lose, and... You do the math again. You find a way. There is always a way, if you do the math wrong enough.
5. SEPTEMBER: NEXT YEAR. The kids are back in school, the ivy's starting to turn red, and the games don't count for anything except pride and the chance to see the call-ups. This is my favorite month, honestly. No pressure. Just baseball in the afternoon, and a whole winter to say the two most hopeful words a Cubs fan knows: next year.
BENNY'S RULES FOR SURVIVING
- Never buy playoff tickets in June. I mean it. I've seen men do it. I've seen what it does to them.
- Don't do the math in July. See Stage 4.
- Always stay for the seventh-inning stretch. You stand up and you sing, no matter what the score is. That's not for the team. That's for you.
- Sit in the bleachers at least once a year. Bring sunscreen. Bring a jacket. In April, bring both.
- Keep a radio with you. I've got one in the truck, one in the garage and a little transistor in my toolbox. More than one homeowner in Will County has come into the kitchen and found me flat on my back under the sink yelling at a relief pitcher.
- Never leave before the last out. My dad taught me that in 1964. I've only regretted it about four hundred times, and the times it paid off, I'll remember forever.
- Don't blame one guy. Not ever. It's never one guy. It's a hundred and sixty-two games.
- Don't talk about the goat. I'm not superstitious. I just don't talk about the goat.
- Be nice to Cardinals fans. They're good people and they know their baseball. You don't have to like it. You just have to be nice.
- Remember where you are. Even when they lose, you're sitting in the prettiest ballpark in America on a summer afternoon with a hot dog. There are worse ways to lose.
THE HEARTBREAK TIMELINE
I've kept this to things I know for sure. A Cubs fan can't afford to get his history wrong. It's all we've got.
| 1908 |
The Cubs beat the Detroit Tigers to win the World Series, their second title in a row after 1907. Nobody alive at the time knew they'd want to remember it so carefully. That's the last one. My grandfather was a baby. |
| 1945 |
The last pennant. The Cubs made it back to the World Series, against Detroit again, and lost in seven games. This is also the Series where a tavern owner showed up with a goat and the goat didn't get in. See Rule 8. |
| 1969 |
I was twelve. Ernie, Santo, Billy Williams, Fergie Jenkins. We were in first place most of the summer and I thought it was the best summer of my life, and it was, right up until September, when the Mets caught us and passed us and went on to win the whole thing. A black cat walked right past our on-deck circle at Shea Stadium that September. I'm not superstitious. My dad still talks about the cat. |
| 1984 |
Connie and I had just gotten married. Ryne Sandberg was the MVP, Rick Sutcliffe won the Cy Young, and we won the division. We won the first two playoff games against San Diego at Wrigley, and the playoffs were best of five, so we needed one more. One. Then we went to San Diego and lost three straight. In the last game a ground ball went through our first baseman's legs. I've never blamed him. See Rule 7. I took the next day off work anyway. |
| 1989 |
The Boys of Zimmer won the division, and nobody saw it coming, which is the best way. Then we met the Giants in the playoffs and Will Clark had the series of his life, and they beat us four games to one. Corey was five. He cried. I told him next year. He believed me. He was five. |
| 1998 |
What a year. Sammy hit 66 home runs and won the MVP. Kerry Wood struck out 20 Astros in one game in May, as a rookie. We finished tied with the Giants for the wild card and beat them in a one-game playoff at Wrigley to get in. Then Atlanta swept us in three. I don't care. That summer was worth it, every inning. Sammy running out to right field and the whole bleachers standing up for him, every single day. I'd take that summer over a lot of championships. |
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FOR HARRY
Harry Caray called Cubs games on WGN from 1982 through 1997, and he died in February of 1998, right before what turned out to be the best season in years. He'd have loved 1998. He'd have loved Sammy.
For sixteen years Harry leaned out of the booth in the seventh inning and led the whole ballpark in "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," and he was nobody's idea of a professional singer, and that was exactly why it worked. It made everybody feel like they could sing too. My dad and I listened to him on a thousand afternoons, me under somebody's sink and Dad in his lawn chair in the garage. Now they have a different guest lead the stretch every game. Some of them are good. None of them are Harry.
Thanks, Harry. You made losing sound like a party.
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ABOUT 1999
I'll be honest with you. This one followed the Five Stages better than any season I can remember. Kerry Wood hurt his elbow in spring training and had surgery, so we didn't see him at all this year. But in spite of that we got off to a good start, and in early June we were over .500 and right in the race, and I said it. I said "This is the year." Connie heard me.
Then June. Then July. Then August. It was a long slide, and I won't go through it game by game, because I was there for most of it and I don't need to again. Sammy hit home runs all summer like it was still 1998, and that was the best part, by a mile. As I write this at the end of September, we're in last place in the division.
And you know what? The leaves are turning, Corey's playing JV football, and there's a whole winter coming to think about pitching. That's Stage 5. That's my favorite.
Next year.
Read (and send in) your predictions for 2000!
Fans in the stands since Opening Day 1998:
   
Write to Benny: [email protected]
(If it's a plumbing question, I'll answer that too.)
Last updated Friday, September 24, 1999
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