Cell phone photos aren’t always great, but they’re quick. š
No, that’s not a typo. It’s a dilemma. It’s what happens when you grow up in one city desperate for a championship, and you end up living in another, and the two face each other in the World Series. Like Cleveland and Chicago. I have lived in one or the other for 58 of my 66 years, only slightly longer in the latter.
As everyone knows by now, if you were listening to the broadcasts, Cleveland has not won the World Series since 1948, the Chicago Cubs since 1908. The Cubs have allegedly been trying to erase the curse of the billy goat since 1945, their last previous appearance in the World Series, ever since William Sianis was denied entry with his goateed pet in that series by none other than Philip Wrigley, who, it is said, claimed that the animal smelled bad. But then, it was a goat. Was he supposed to smell like perfume?
Meanwhile, the Indians made it to the Series in 1954, 1995, and 1997, each time unsuccessfully. In 1954, the winningest team in Major League history (111-43) dropped four straight to the New York Giants, whose Willy Mays made that famous catch of what might have been a Vick Wertz home run. Nothing went right for the team, which suffered four decades of mediocrity before moving to Jacobs Field. And no other team brought a championship to Cleveland until the Cavaliers and LeBron James did it in June.
I rooted for the Cavs earlier this year. I held no brief for the Golden State Warriors, and Cleveland needed a rallying point. I was happy for them.
But the Cubs-Indians matchup put me in a difficult spot. Sentiment for the Cubs finally breaking the curse drove me to the home team, while my relatives in Cleveland obviously felt differently. OneĀ suggested I was a traitor to my home town, though I noted that I was actually born in New York. My mother was from Cleveland, hated New York, and dragged my Queens-native father back to Cleveland before I was a year old. He was a New York Giants fan. I never heard the end of the story of 1954 and Willy Mays. But that conflict of loyalties was never my story, and the Giants in any event decamped for San Francisco before I was old enough to know about it.
My sister made a bet, savoring the idea of winning a home-delivered frozen deep-dish pizza from Lou Malnati’s, which I promised if Cleveland won. In return, I extracted the promise of a case of Great Lakes beer if the Cubs triumphed. I’ll pick up my brewskis over the holidays.
But then came this year and this World Series. And those long-suffering, hungry Cubs fans, who finally had a team as hungry as they were. For years, under Tribune Company ownership, the team had lagged under the influence of bean counters. Then came the Ricketts family, determined to win, and another story line emerged.
I am aware, of course, that the Chicago Black Hawks have brought this city three Stanley Cups in the last seven years. The city is not completely hard up for victory.
And yes, I was here for those two three-peat Chicago Bulls teams who so dominated the National Basketball Association under the stardom of Michael Jordan. The city has tasted major glory.
Even the White Sox won the World Series in 2005, and the Bears the Super Bowl way back in 1986. Until LeBron came back, Cleveland had not had any championship since the Cleveland Browns won the NFL trophy in 1964. That’s a long time.
Still. There was that issue of the Cubs. It had to be resolved somehow. And Cleveland did win something this year already.
But these were two damned good teams, and neither was going to make it easy. So I watched every game. I watched last night, thinking the Cubs were on their way, only to watch them give up a lead and go into extra innings. Just to add drama, these two teams in Game 7 had to add the suspense of a rain delay following the ninth inning. Seventeen minutes later, they resumed, and the Cubs’ bats went to work again, and by mid-tenth inning, they were up 8-6. Still, it could not be simple. Both teams were burning through their bullpens, Andrew Miller failing to stop the Cubs and leaving the game, and Aroldis Chapman literally burning out his arm and being replaced in the bottom of the tenth by Carl Edwards Jr., who had to put a runner on base and give up a run. Mike Montgomery came in with a one-run lead and two outs and finished the job, but only with a rapid-fire shot of an infield ground ball to first base by Kris Bryant, and the game was finally over. Nothing about this could be easy.
Somewhere in animal heaven, a billy goat isĀ happy to be relieved of his historic burden.Ā He is probably wagging his stubby tail. The curseĀ was probably never his idea anyway. Just likeĀ our dog, a Springer spaniel named Roscoe, was less than thrilled listening to the fireworks in the neighborhood when the game was over. He was shaking like a leaf. He doesn’t like thunder, either. He’ll be very happy when the celebration is over.
Jim Schwab