The late, great Steve Goodman of “Go, Cubs, Go” fame wrote another classic song about the Chicago Cubs called “A Dying Cubs Fan’s Last Request” (song | full lyrics). Amid a song full of delicious references to baseball and the Cubs alike, Steve describes a darkly hilarious funeral and farewell for the quintessential Cub fan, complete with bullpen pitchers as pall-bearers for the coffin’s procession around the diamond and umpires to call him out at each base. The chorus of the song delivers a forlorn and catchy query from a classic hopeless fan:
Do they still play the blues in Chicago
When baseball season rolls around?
When the snow melts away,
Do the Cubbies still play
In that ivy-colored burial ground?
When I was a boy, they were my pride and joy,
But now they only bring fatigue
To the home of the brave, the land of the free,
And the doormat of the National League.
The song excellently captures the simultaneous disappointment and joy of being a Cub fan. Steve rattles off a litany of calamities that on the one hand call to mind the frustrations and hair-pulling-out madness of Cubs lore, yet in their infamy, also comprise an oddly romanticized history. The “Lovable Losers” somehow sustained a passionate fan base despite serial failures, and as fans, we perpetuated a downright strange love affair with our history and reality.1
The identity of a Cubs fan was so often epitomized in the moniker of “Wait ‘Til Next Year,” or as I liked to say during our most recent rebuild, “Wait ‘Til Year After Next Year.” The ideal was that hope springs eternal, and each February in Arizona for Spring Training brought a new combination of players and coaches who could tackle the legacy with a 0-0 start and every chance to break the cycle.
I firmly believe that there is something fundamentally spiritual about being a Cubs fan. Eddie Vedder spins quite the yarn in “Someday We’ll Go All the Way” (song | full lyrics). He says “he’s seen other teams / and it’s never the same” and describes being a Cubs fan, going to a game, and being at Wrigley Field as “a spiritual feeling if I ever knew.” The tradition, the ritual, the emotional investment, the communal participation, the colors and uniforms - it all carries that liturgical grain of salt that invites the spirit into something otherwise largely superficial.
The First Letter of Peter advises, “Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence” (1 Peter 3:15-16). Growing up a Cubs fan helped teach me hope - and not just hope for a particular outcome, but hope that is loyalty, that is fidelity, that is commitment; hope that is not conditional upon achieving something by an ultimatum. It was about banding together with friends and family, with players and team, with neighbors and city. Cubs fandom involved hope that loved the journey even without an ETA on reaching a desired destination because we were all in this goofy ride together.
So, what the H do we do now that we’ve won?!
Hope hasn’t been lost; it’s been fulfilled. What a blessing to embrace! Nothing we can ever describe or experience can approximate the beatific vision of eternal union with God. So we look to spirituality in our earthly life as a way to glimpse and experience the amazing joy that is possible through God. In basic terms, our theological virtues point our hearts toward faith, hope, and love, of which the greatest, ultimate virtue is love. So in this minuscule microcosm of a baseball team, we as fans have found this bit of our faith realized and this portion of our hope fulfilled - all that remains is baseball fan love.
So I think the what now is to practice that love well.
We should continue rooting for the Cubs together with great joy. This isn’t a time to be rude or brutish or self-serving. Gloating and lording one’s accomplishments over others can be edifying but does nothing truly positive.2 Joy is about making space for and embracing that deep-seated goodness in your heart that is not fleeting in the same way as momentary pleasures. That lasting positivity is more a fundamental condition of good than an ephemeral emotion; this joy is what must be shared, over and above any boasting or bragging.3
We should retain charity and sympathy. We need look no further than the opposite dugout of Game 7 to see a team, a city, and a fan base that knows similar pain so well. We must remember what it feels like to have faith that remains strong yet unfulfilled and hope that has not yet been fully realized. On the whole, I was delighted by the charity of many of my White Sox fan friends, who buried the hatchet a bit to delight in the success of the Cubs, and especially in the joy of Cubs fans.4 I obviously would love the Cubs to win it all every year, but I also appreciate the joy of another fan base - like the 2005 White Sox - as they ride the wave of their own championship run.
Finally, we should focus on community. The joy of a common experience full of such euphoria and deep-seated feasting and celebration has been an amazing way to unite people. I’ve never seen so many hats and shirts all throughout my day as people wear their Cubs fandom and loyalty on their sleeve with great pride.5 I had a neat moment in the Austin airport over Thanksgiving break, when, while chowing down on airport BBQ lunch, a San Francisco Giants fan - a fan of a team we beat en route to the title - congratulated me (as I wore my championship hat) on our win and gushed about how much fun it was to watch the team and the city.
As we try to sustain our joy, our charity, and our community, I think a key consideration is retaining our positive energies. When it comes to sports - and even more broadly to life - I strongly dislike moments when people are simply against things. For example, I remember watching a Notre Dame football game with friends. As Notre Dame took a commanding lead in the second half, many turned their attention to a second TV, upon which USC - a big rival - was getting beat; rather than celebrate Notre Dame’s success, many of my friends became preoccupied with relishing USC’s struggles. Most of the time, I think our energies and focus are better spent in support and advocacy of people and things. Except in cases of very particular, narrow evils - and even then, really only for specific, limited moments - I think we are better off spiritually and socially being for positive concepts rather than fixating in opposition.
I think as Cub fans, our challenge now is to charitably sustain our joy in community, a striking challenge to be sure. And as new injuries, cold streaks, or other issues arise, resilience will be needed. Ideally, we can remember our fulfilled faith and realized hope in the 2016 Champs, and move forward with this sustained joy. Go, Cubs, go!
The identity of a Cubs fan was so often epitomized in the moniker of “Wait ‘Til Next Year,” or as I liked to say during our most recent rebuild, “Wait ‘Til Year After Next Year.” The ideal was that hope springs eternal, and each February in Arizona for Spring Training brought a new combination of players and coaches who could tackle the legacy with a 0-0 start and every chance to break the cycle.
I firmly believe that there is something fundamentally spiritual about being a Cubs fan. Eddie Vedder spins quite the yarn in “Someday We’ll Go All the Way” (song | full lyrics). He says “he’s seen other teams / and it’s never the same” and describes being a Cubs fan, going to a game, and being at Wrigley Field as “a spiritual feeling if I ever knew.” The tradition, the ritual, the emotional investment, the communal participation, the colors and uniforms - it all carries that liturgical grain of salt that invites the spirit into something otherwise largely superficial.
The First Letter of Peter advises, “Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence” (1 Peter 3:15-16). Growing up a Cubs fan helped teach me hope - and not just hope for a particular outcome, but hope that is loyalty, that is fidelity, that is commitment; hope that is not conditional upon achieving something by an ultimatum. It was about banding together with friends and family, with players and team, with neighbors and city. Cubs fandom involved hope that loved the journey even without an ETA on reaching a desired destination because we were all in this goofy ride together.
So, what the H do we do now that we’ve won?!
 |
| Celebration in the immediate aftermath of sweet victory. |
Hope hasn’t been lost; it’s been fulfilled. What a blessing to embrace! Nothing we can ever describe or experience can approximate the beatific vision of eternal union with God. So we look to spirituality in our earthly life as a way to glimpse and experience the amazing joy that is possible through God. In basic terms, our theological virtues point our hearts toward faith, hope, and love, of which the greatest, ultimate virtue is love. So in this minuscule microcosm of a baseball team, we as fans have found this bit of our faith realized and this portion of our hope fulfilled - all that remains is baseball fan love.
So I think the what now is to practice that love well.
We should continue rooting for the Cubs together with great joy. This isn’t a time to be rude or brutish or self-serving. Gloating and lording one’s accomplishments over others can be edifying but does nothing truly positive.2 Joy is about making space for and embracing that deep-seated goodness in your heart that is not fleeting in the same way as momentary pleasures. That lasting positivity is more a fundamental condition of good than an ephemeral emotion; this joy is what must be shared, over and above any boasting or bragging.3
We should retain charity and sympathy. We need look no further than the opposite dugout of Game 7 to see a team, a city, and a fan base that knows similar pain so well. We must remember what it feels like to have faith that remains strong yet unfulfilled and hope that has not yet been fully realized. On the whole, I was delighted by the charity of many of my White Sox fan friends, who buried the hatchet a bit to delight in the success of the Cubs, and especially in the joy of Cubs fans.4 I obviously would love the Cubs to win it all every year, but I also appreciate the joy of another fan base - like the 2005 White Sox - as they ride the wave of their own championship run.
 |
| The sight of that marquee never gets old. |
Finally, we should focus on community. The joy of a common experience full of such euphoria and deep-seated feasting and celebration has been an amazing way to unite people. I’ve never seen so many hats and shirts all throughout my day as people wear their Cubs fandom and loyalty on their sleeve with great pride.5 I had a neat moment in the Austin airport over Thanksgiving break, when, while chowing down on airport BBQ lunch, a San Francisco Giants fan - a fan of a team we beat en route to the title - congratulated me (as I wore my championship hat) on our win and gushed about how much fun it was to watch the team and the city.
As we try to sustain our joy, our charity, and our community, I think a key consideration is retaining our positive energies. When it comes to sports - and even more broadly to life - I strongly dislike moments when people are simply against things. For example, I remember watching a Notre Dame football game with friends. As Notre Dame took a commanding lead in the second half, many turned their attention to a second TV, upon which USC - a big rival - was getting beat; rather than celebrate Notre Dame’s success, many of my friends became preoccupied with relishing USC’s struggles. Most of the time, I think our energies and focus are better spent in support and advocacy of people and things. Except in cases of very particular, narrow evils - and even then, really only for specific, limited moments - I think we are better off spiritually and socially being for positive concepts rather than fixating in opposition.
I think as Cub fans, our challenge now is to charitably sustain our joy in community, a striking challenge to be sure. And as new injuries, cold streaks, or other issues arise, resilience will be needed. Ideally, we can remember our fulfilled faith and realized hope in the 2016 Champs, and move forward with this sustained joy. Go, Cubs, go!
 |
| Eamus Catuli! means Let's Go Cubs! The numbers to the right represent the number of years after championships or Anno Catuli (Year of the Cubs). Before the 2016 season, it read 08-71-108. After the World Series, we rolled back this odometer to zero. |
1 See this goofy letter to the editor from my college newspaper that I wrote in Fall 2008 after the Cubs were swept out of the playoffs in the NLDS despite an amazing season and strong team to get a taste of our delirium.↩
2 I know, it’s weird how sports fans use “we” and “our” when they haven’t actually done anything themselves. I think it’s about the communal element of fandom and the great time and energy that hardcore fans invest in a team. I think it’s fine as long as it’s kept in perspective as something that is significant not ultimately important in the same way as God or family.↩
3 Insight from Rob (a fellow Cubs fan, no less): Any joy that requires comparison to others' failure is a bleak and broken joy. If perfect love drives out all fear, perfect joy drives out all spite.↩
4 I think I am in a minority among Chicago baseball fans in that I don’t root against or dislike the White Sox, except for those few days of the season when we are playing against them. They are in a different league, and we are not competing for the same thing. Plus, as Michael Wilbon says, I don’t root against a team that has Chicago across their chests.↩
5 I was already that guy who always has a hat or shirt on of one of my teams, and it’s been kind of fun to see so many others following suit in the wake of our championship. I basically live in my Cubs World Series champs hat and hoodie.↩
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