THE CHICAGO CUBS AND I - A LESSON LEARNED
We were devoted bleacher bums, my brother and I. We didn’t buy the cheapest seats in the ballpark because it was all we could afford, we bought them because those seats high above center field were the best in the park. Gorging on hot dogs, peanuts and coke we were in the thick of the ballpark party scene. Our first experience in the bleachers was with our entire family on a very hot summer day. My Dad, worried about the heat made each of us hats out of newspaper and poured as much coke into us as we could drink. Cheering our beloved Cubbies surrounded by our fellow unruly and boisterous fans we basked in the spirit of the brotherhood of long suffering but nevertheless always hopeful Chicago Cub fans.
My brother, Dave, and I would watch the Cubs every summer, always optimistic that this would be the year they went to the World Series. They never failed to disappoint. But like a true Cubs fan, no matter how many times the Cubs disappointed us, the next year we were just as hopeful. Nearly every year I would turn to my brother “This might be the year Dave.” My brother would smile back. We knew the Cubbies were destined for greatness, we just didn’t know when that greatness would show itself. The New York Mets were one of Chicago’s biggest rivals at the time and most hated by Dave and I. Those were the games we would try to see in person at the great Wrigley Field, known for its ivy-covered outfield wall, the unusual wind patterns off Lake Michigan, its views of the outfield from the neighboring rooftops and its location in a primarily residential neighborhood with no parking lots. We would buy the cheap seats in the outfield where the bleacher bums hung out thoroughly enjoying the party atmosphere. We never failed to stand and join Harry Caray in his distinctive, down tempo version of “Take me Out to the Ballgame”during the 7th inning stretch. We bought and traded baseball cards of all of the baseball stars of that time, Ron Santos, Billy Williams, Randy Hundley (my personal favorite), Fergie Jenkins, Don Kessinger and the great Ernie Banks, Mr. Cub himself. For years we fantasized about what it would be like if the Cubs ever really did get into the World Series even as the flag poles that had been erected to hold all of the team’s future World Series pennants remained empty and finally were so rusted they had to be taken down. Eventually my brother and I reluctantly accepted the fact that the World Series was something other teams won.
I hadn’t realized the Cubs reputation as the worst baseball team in history had spread beyond Chicago until I moved to California. Every time someone asked where I was from and I proudly replied Chicago what inevitably followed was a joke about my beloved Cubbies. Since the last time the Cubs won the World Series George Burns celebrated his 10th, 20th, 30th, 40th, 50th, 60th, 70th, 80th, 90th and 100th birthdays. Halley’s Comet passed Earth… twice. Harry Caray was born… and died. The Titanic was built, set sail, sank, was discovered, and became the subject of a major motion picture. Radio AND TV were invented. The U.S. went from a fledgling car industry to space travel and landing on the moon. A combination of more than 40 summer & winter Olympics had been held. Bell bottoms came in style, went out of style, and came back in style and Alaska, Arizona, Hawaii, Oklahoma, and New Mexico were added to the Union.
Sometime in the 90’s our boys were all old enough to appreciate baseball and we talked about the Cubs. I promised them that if the Cubs ever won the World Series I would do a celebratory head shave. Over the next 20 years they went from hoping it would happen when they were in grade school (How fun would that be!!) to praying it wouldn’t happen when they were in high school (How embarrassing would that be!). If the Cubs came even close to getting into the finals one of the boys would sidle up next to me and say “Worried, Mom?” My response was always a wan smile - I had been a Cubs fan for a long time and knew better than to get my hopes up too early in the season which for a true Cubs fan was anytime before the last out of the League Championship Series.
Then in 2016, 108 years since the Cubs had won a World Series and another 50 years from the time Dave and I ever hopeful clung to our World Series dreams in our grade school days, it happened. The night the Cubs won the World Series I almost didn’t have to shave my head because I nearly pulled all of the hair out just watching the game. In Game 7 my Cubbies went from a 6 to 3 lead in the sixth inning to a tied game by the 9th leading to a rain delay just as the tenth inning was about to start. I was certain they were once again going to disappoint - But alas, hell froze over and the Cubs became the sixth team to come back from a 3–1 deficit to win a best-of-seven World Series.
The taste of winning was oh so sweet to this long suffering Cubs fan. And so the electric razor came out, the champagne flowed and the shave began. The neighbors were there helping me celebrate as they were for most important events in our lives. As everyone took turns shaving my head I never once flinched or thought maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I was excited as I watched my hair fall to the floor. I felt such joy - a long childhood dream finally coming true. All of those years of disappointment gone just like my hair.
When I first looked in the mirror I was blown away by the psychological liberation I experienced. In the absence of what I thought contributed to my physical beauty I felt my inner beauty and I felt radiant. I was brought down to my very core and what I saw, is what I was. I was my authentic exquisite self. Instead of feeling a bit embarrassed or humiliated when I went out in public, I felt invigorated and powerful. Instead of wanting to hide under a scarf or hat I wanted everyone to see me, the real me without the worry of how pretty or not pretty I was on the outside. Everything from within was reflected in my eyes and face and the way I carried myself. I realized that this is what it felt like to totally accept myself for who I was, to recognize and celebrate my strengths as a woman rather than focus on how attractive I looked and it felt brilliant.
I wish I could say that feeling of brilliance stayed with me even as I grew my hair out but alas, it did not. I went back to worrying about what I looked like, messing about with my hair every morning, lamenting the growing rolls around my midsection, eyeing the wrinkles and sags of an aging body, my too big teeth and my pointed nose. I long for the return of that feeling of total self acceptance despite what I see in the mirror. I can’t believe that at the age of 64 I am still struggling to find a way to bring it back. What I keep coming back to is that I have felt it and it is real and although it is deep and not easily accessed, it is attainable.
Perhaps another head shave is in order.