How I Became A Cubs Fan

A friend of mine, a dedicated White Sox fan asked me, “How the heck did you become a Cubs fan?” I had to stop and think. It was a pretty subtle process. It was almost ordained. My Grandfather was a Cubs fan. So was my father: But it even subtler than that.

I remember watching my first Cub game on television in 1959. The Cubs won that game. From then on I would watch the Cubs play whenever my play- time allowed me.

Meanwhile, my mother teaching me to read in earlier years, taught me to read the standings and box scores of the game so I could follow along as the Cubbies went through the season.

Then there was the time that my parents called me into the house to watch Don Caldwell pitch a no hitter. I remember the left fielder catching the last out on a sinking fly ball to preserve the win and no hitter; another nail in the coffin, so to speak.

Finally my Dad took me to a game at Wrigley Field. To see the place in full color glory was an overwhelming sense of awe. Not only that, but to see my heroes live, especially Ernie Banks, surely meant I was hooked for life.

So that’s how it is today. I suffered through all the futility because it was destined to be. I ached through the 1969 swoon. Cheered like mad when they won the division in 1984 and 1989.  Sat in shock as Bartman and Gonzales knocked the Cubs out from the World Series in 2003. Yet, I remain a faithful fan of the Cubs.

I can’t help it. It’s a family tradition. Mostly I just think its karma.


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