Fandom; or Why I Wear a Cubs Hat

The cricket World Cup is underway, as is the Six Nations Tournament in rugby. England has a very good cricket team and rugby team this year, which I guess is unusual. The poor Welsh team is riddled with injuries and plagued with old age, so their chances were gone before the season began.

Or at least that's what people tell me. I've seen one game, and the aftermath of two more when I was out an about walking (probably to get a delicious Mars bar after getting my 1000 words for the day done). I tried, I really did, to get into it. I read up on some of the stats, which is how I knew the Welsh rugby team was not going to be very good this year; I engaged my friends in conversation about rugby; and I even went to go watch the first game, between England and Wales, looking to get into it. But, honestly, I don't feel that stirring in my chest.

Though, when I heard that the Cubs were on the radio for Spring Training, I immediately wished I could find the game on-line somewhere. You see, for my entire life I have been a Cubs fan. There were times I was more rabid than not, but since I was in grade school I have had a Cubs hat, and probably a t-shirt or two. When I was a wee-little blogger, and the Cubs made it into the playoffs, I remember sitting in my Great Uncle's bedroom watching the game. As the Giants superior pitching tore apart the Cubs, I remember thinking how unfair life seemed. I really wanted them to win - a feeling which has since resurfaced every season since.

Honestly: the Cubs are terrible. If I am being honest with myself, this is one of the worst teams they have fielded in some years. The pitching is broken (mentally so, in Zambrano's case), they traded away everyone that was consistent (Theriot, Lilly and Lee) and are left resting their hopes on a less-than-stellar Fukadome, a blackhole of productivity in Soriano, and the very capable hands of Aramis Ramirez. The offseason has seen the addition of Carlos Pena (an older, less productive version of Lee), and re-re-addition of Kerry Wood, amid the exodus of decent talent. Let's hope that we can get most games in before the Early Bird Special ends at the Old Country Buffet. Otherwise, half the Cubs are going to get cranky.

Okay: sure, Dempster had a decent season last year. Better than decent. But one good season does not a starting pitcher make. Anyone remember Daisuke Matsuzaka or Dontrelle Willis? And of course, the names across the outfield sound familiar, but mostly in that, "Remember when ______ was good?" sort of way. There is a lot of young talent to get excited about, but that is the same tired excuse I hear from Royals fan every year (if I knew anyone who liked the Royals). I'll be excited to see if Randy Wells can normalize on the side of decency, or if Koyie Hill will save our asses when Soto injuries himself again.

All in all, I am braced for disappointment.

One would think that I would be open for new, exciting sporting events like watching a world class rugby club trounce their neighbors, or learning anything about cricket other than it takes five days to play. But I can't get in to it, or the rest of the sports that they have around here. Sure, I get interested when important games come around. I asked about the Arsenal V Barcelona game, but mostly because I was interested in that one match as a phenomenon, not the sport as a whole. Much in the same way that people will watch the Super Bowl and not realize who is playing in it. Soccer, rugby, cricket and so on: interesting in small bits, but I still check in on my Cubs, 3000 miles away, and sucking hard.

It's because the Cubs are my family, or might as well have been. My family used to go and sit in the nose bleed sections to watch cheap games; I try to go at least once in the summer to see my Boys in Blue; it was one of the few conversation topics that was always lively with my Dad; and so forth. I've grown up with the Cubs: I've watched them succeed (a few times) - I was there with Moises Alou when Steve Bartman grabbed the ball, and with Alex Gonzales when the next ball rolled through his legs with their hopes of a World Series. I felt Ron Santo's pain every time he would sigh exasperatedly over the mic, calling games on the radio. My heart swells with every victory and hurts with every loss. This sort of connection cannot be instantaneous, nor could it be pulled from me when I moved.