Posted 9/8/2008

WAIT 'TIL NEXT YEAR

By guest columnist Tonia Lorenz

It was 1927, and Old Matthias was taking an uncharacteristic moment to reflect back on his long life.

He'd set sail for America when he was in his 20s. During the voyage, he'd met the girl he'd eventually marry. Now, many years later, he was proud of his neat and comfortable home on Chicago's North Side, in a neighborhood made up of German-Americans just like him. He and his wife had been blessed with eight sons and daughters, and now there were grandchildren to amuse and entertain him. He'd put in a lifetime of back-breaking hours working as a beer bottler, keeping his family safe from hunger and need.

But now… ahh, now. He was lucky enough to be retired. His children supported him these days, telling him that he'd earned the right to do something other than labor in a factory. For the first time he could remember, he had leisure time. And a fine new hobby to fill these golden days. What could be more fitting than the all-American sport of baseball?

He'd been vaguely aware of baseball before, but he was too busy working to pay much attention to it. The National League team with the silly nickname, the Cubs, had played their games at the West Side Grounds, much too far from home to travel. But now they played in a fine new ballpark just a mile from Matthias's home, which had just been renamed. It was easy for him to attend games at the newly christened Wrigley Field.

He was sorry he'd come to enjoy the game too late to enjoy the Cubs' World Championship in 1908, and that he hadn't been there to see them win the pennant in 1910 and 1918. But he was sure there were more winning seasons to come, more championship teams to see. Retirement was his joy, the Cubs were his leisure, and together they had all the time in the world.

* * * *

Margaret sat in a pew at St. Michael's church, listening to the funeral Mass being said in German. She missed a word every now and then; she'd been speaking English for so long that the language of her childhood grew less familiar every year. But her father, Matthias, had spoken only German, despite his many years in America, so the family had decided to send him to his reward in the language most familiar to him.

Margaret was the youngest daughter, the pet. Her favorite memories of her vater were those they spent at Wrigley Field, watching their beloved Cubs together. She was glad they'd been able to share the pennant-winning seasons of 1929 and 1932. They couldn't attend the World Series, of course, but they'd listened breathlessly to the radio broadcasts, Margaret translating every play into German for Matthias. The Cubs had lost the World Series both times, but it was a strong team. They'd be back in the Series in no time, and soon Margaret would get to brag that her Cubs were world champions.

The service ended; the casket was carried out of the old church. Margaret smiled; she was the only one who knew that her father was being buried with a scorecard from last week's game against the Boston Braves. He'd like that, she was sure of it.

* * * *

George was exhausted. He'd just spent two hours sweeping away trash the spectators had thrown on the ground during that afternoon's Cubs game against the Brooklyn Dodgers. He'd never stopped being surprised how slovenly people could be. His home had always been immaculate, a result of his mother Margaret's strict German upbringing.

He was breaking his back for the same reason every other teenage boy who'd stayed after the game was. Not for the money … there was no pay involved. But if he stuck around to help clean the ballpark, the Cubs would reward him with a ticket for the next day's game.

Times were tight for the family in 1952; his mother didn't have money to spend on baseball, no matter how much they both loved their Cubs. But they'd worked out ways to see games anyway. Margaret attended every Friday home game because they were free "Ladies Days." And George had discovered cleaning up the ballpark.

He loved the games, the home runs, the cozy ballpark. He was there so often that he'd gotten to know some of the players – Phil Cavaretta, Andy Pafko, Handsome Ransom Jackson – and occasionally they'd give him baseballs and their game-used mitts and bats.

The Cubs weren't drawing well these days. Only 6,000 or 7,000 fans showed up to a ballpark that could hold 30,000. He remembered Margaret telling him about the World Series she'd been to, in 1935, 1938, and 1945. Wrigley Field had been packed to the rafters. The Cubs had been good enough to win the pennant those years, but hadn't been good enough to win the whole thing.

Oh, well, he was still a teenager. Someday he'd be able to afford tickets without having to clean up other people's trash. And he'd enjoy the World Series from a box seat.

* * * *

It's September 2008 and Elaine is nervous. She fidgets. She can't enjoy the fine warm weather because the Cubs are driving her crazy.

She's had box seat season tickets for over 20 years in creaky, ancient, beautiful Wrigley Field. She's been a Cubs fan her whole life, and has had her heart broken by the young men in blue pinstripes more times than she can remember.

But she can't imagine life without the Cubs. When her friends were swooning over bubble gum rock stars, she had crushes on middle infielders. She'd learned to play poker in the Wrigley Field bleachers as a teenager. She was there when history was made: when the lights first were installed in the 1980s, when Sammy Sosa chased the home run record in the 1990s, and the infamous Bartman playoff game in 2003.

So what's the problem these days? Here it is: The Cubs are good this year. Really good. They've led their division for most of the season, and at times they've had the best record in all of baseball. Pundits say that anything short of the World Series will be a disappointment.

One month left in the season. One month with the potential for the Cubs to blow it. One month to see if they'll stomp on her heart yet again, or provide one of the biggest thrills of her life.

Most fans can remember the first game they attended. Not Elaine. Her grandmother, Margaret, took her to Wrigley Field every Ladies Day, starting when she was only two years old. Her father, George, skipped work a few times a year and wrote her teacher a note saying Elaine had been suddenly taken ill. Then they would spend the afternoon eating popcorn and hot dogs at the ballpark.

At every game, Elaine sees a sign on one of the buildings across the street from Wrigley. This year, It reads Eamus Catuli ("Go Cubs" in Latin) and then AC006299. These are not happy numbers. They mean in the Year of Our Cubs (Anno Catuli), it's been 0 years since they last won their division championship, 62 years since they last won the pennant, and 99 years since they last won the World Series.

In October, the numbers will change, rolling over like a car's odometer. Will the sign read "000000" on Halloween? Or will another placeholder need to be added to it, signifying 100 years have passed since the Cubs' last World Series championship?

Elaine looks at the sign, and fidgets, and worries, and wonders, as so many generations of Cubs fans have before her:

Will this be the year? Will it ever be the year?

* * * *

Addie can't understand why her Aunt Elaine is looking so stressed. They're at Wrigley Field! Addie's first game! This is GREAT, this is FUN, so why isn't Auntie enjoying it?

Everything is bright and exciting and loud. The grass and the ivy are lush and green, the day is warm, and Addie has on her new pink Cubs hat and pink replica jersey. The Cubs are leading by five runs, and Addie joins in the singing of "Go Cubs Go" after the game, along with everyone else in the stands.

As they leave the ballpark, Addie looks at her aunt and says, "This was the best day ever. Can you pleeeasse take me to see the Cubs again? I want to come here for the rest of my life!"

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