Through New Eyes

Well, as I sit to write the Cubs have nearly tied the game again, behind only 7 to 6, with no outs and the bases loaded in what we can only describe as a very wacky game. That seems about right. I mean, it’s that kind of weekend. Barely over a week remains, so all bets are off.



I was thinking this morning about how tomorrow afternoon will feel for my girlfriend. We are flying into Chicago tonight. Tomorrow will be her first Cubs game. Sunday will be her second. Really, could we have wound up with a better weekend for it?

Forget about all the fatigue from a very long season, all the downs and ups, and try to imagine how this will be for her.

The weather looks perfect, the kind of weather when I miss Chicago the most because as you sit in the afternoon sun you know you have to soak it up because there won’t be many more days like these, and then as the slightest chill arrives in the late afternoon you can’t help but perk up, ready for the night, but without the tensing and bracing against the cold (like in some years), which for this weekend will stay away just a few nights longer.

But more: The Cubs are in first place. This is rare. And the fans are ready. The electricity is palpable even on TV.

I mean, to see Wrigley for the first time this way, and then to be there for the next two games, the last two home games of a special season, where if the Cubs win they will lead the division going into the final week?

I’m actually jealous that it’s not my first time at Wrigley.

Now, keep in mind that my girlfriend has had to deal with a boyfriend who is also utterly infatuated with Cubs baseball. Not only that, but I’m one of those optimistic Cubs fans. One of those romantic fans who, in the moment walking through the turnstiles, believes all over again in his core that this really is the year, that the Cubs are going to win this game, because he cannot believe anything different.

Still, she likes baseball. Unless you’re one of those people who really presses the point on the meaning of the word, you can call her a fan. She grew up watching Nolan Ryan pitch, but then stopped following as she matured. Now she’s watching again, with me, and the Cubs. But watching some games with me is not –- so very much, not –- the same.

Tomorrow we will sit on the first base side. Lower level. Since the game starts at noon, we will be in the sun for the entire game I figure.

We will walk through the entrance and see where grass meets sky, smell the air, and find our seats. Can you even remember what this was like your first time? I was too young. Now, through her eyes, I can imagine all over again. I will get to point out the scoreboard, and the buildings across the streets, the bleachers, and everything else. I will probably make friends with the people sitting around us. By the time the game starts she might even -– ok, she will -– be sick of me jabbering, so I’ll stop and smile. And just... be.

As for me, well, it doesn’t get much better than this. The last time it was like this for the Cubs, in 2003, I was there on the last day of the season when they dedicated Ron Santo’s number and the Cubs had already clinched the day before. And I was there when it fell apart that fateful night against the Marlins. This season, all of those memories are finally relegated backwards, another era. This season starts this era. And I’ll be there for the final games. These being the only games I’ll attend at Wrigley in 2007, I could not ask for more.

I’ve been looking forward to this weekend since we planned it in July. Back then, we didn’t know a division title would be on the line. But there’s always that chance, and sometimes it works out. Sometimes things align themselves such a way that it’s set up to be a weekend you’ll remember for decades. Then you show up and see what happens.

And now it’s tied. 7 to 7. Settle in folks. It’s going to be a memorable weekend, and we’re off to the airport.

* * *
Author's Note: Literally as I posted this, Ramirez hit another homerun. 10 to 7 Cubs. I'm telling you folks -- it's going to happen. And this is the weekend it starts.