For Love of the Cubs

In a day and age where America's National Pastime and greatest game has lost some of its luster, great childhood memories of the game should be cherished. This became abundantly clear to me this year when I bought tickets to see the Chicago Cubs. One ticket was for me of course, but the other was for my twelve year old son. This will be his first major league game, and even more importantly, his first visit to the baseball cathedral known as Wrigley Field. Buying those tickets, I could not help but recall my first game. I keep the memories from that special day close to my heart even now.

I have been a lifelong Chicago Cubs fan. Cubs' fandom is often passed down from father to son generation after generation. This was not the case for me, as no other member of my family was even a baseball fan. There was something about the game of baseball which appealed to me at an early age though, and I was bitten by the Cubbie bug from as far back as my T-Ball days. Through the years my love for the Cubs has grown into an outright obsession with an entire room of my house dedicated to the team.

Before the days of Direct TV and every home having at least a basic cable package, I would live for those summer Saturdays so I could watch my beloved Cubs on a local channel that would carry a day game. A special weekend was when a Sunday game was available as well. The radio announcers became my best friends during the week as I lived and died with every pitch. On the West Coasts swings the team would make throughout the season, I fondly remember drifting off to sleep to the voice of Harry Carey as he called the middle innings. When I look back now, it seems almost perfect.