Jim Amidon — I have a confession to make and it’s one I make with a little trepidation.
I am a life-long Chicago Cubs baseball fan.
I’m one of those fans who sticks by the “loveable losers” year in and year out, and have done so for well over half my life — at least 30 years.
Sure, like everybody else in the Midwest, when I was a young man, I did fall in love with the Big Red Machine. I liked Pete’s hustle, Concepcion’s sure-handed glove, Joe Morgan’s unorthodox batting stance and swing, and Sparky Anderson in the dugout. When I was a kid, the Reds were my team.
But by about age 14, I got interested in the Cubs — thanks to WGN — and I’ve stuck by the Northsiders all my life.
I was with them during the magical ’84 season and even had tickets to the World Series if only they could have put away the San Diego Padres. (I still went to the Series in Detroit and rooted for the Tigers, but my heart was broken when the Cubs choked away that series.)
I nearly cried in 2003 when Steve Bartman reached over into foul ground and knocked the ball away from Moises Alou, which set the stage for the Marlins’ miraculous comeback. And, honestly, I had a feeling at that precise moment that something bad would happen. It did and the Cubs choked that one away, too.
Being a Cubs fan — a true, devoted Cubs fan — requires, shall we say, endurance. Heck, I’ve only been waiting 30 years for Chicago to make it to the World Series. I know people who’ve been waiting 70 years. But it does take endurance to be a Cubs fan.
If you’re a Cubs fan, you also have to possess a certain, healthy amount of amnesia — at least enough to get excited for “next year” after another sub-.500 year on the North Side the year before.
A whole heaping helping of optimism also doesn’t hurt if you’re a Cubs fan.
That’s baseball, though, and it’s probably why the sport sticks in the hearts and minds of so many Americans. Sure, I’m smart enough to admit that the NFL has become “America’s Game,” but baseball is about nostalgia, tradition, and second chances.
So here we are — about a week away from opening day in Major League Baseball — and for the 31st year, I’m excited about the Cubs’ chances. Milton Bradley is gone (don’t let the door hit you on the way out), Carlos Zambrano has lost weight, and Aramis Ramirez and Derek Lee are, I hope, healthy enough to play a full season.
None of this has anything at all to do with Wabash College, of course. But last Friday, when the Alumni Office hosted “Wally at the Bat: A Liberal Arts Symposium on Baseball,” my level of excitement for the coming season jumped about eight notches.
We had a nice group of faculty, staff, and alumni baseball fans gather to give a series of presentations on baseball. Scientists talked about building better bats and the physics of the game; professors talked about Pete Rose, the New York Mets, and the Brooklyn Dodgers; and alumnus Bob Wedgeworth discussed the history of the Negro Leagues.
The keynote talk after dinner was given by Will Carroll of Baseball Prospectus. While known largely for his background in sports medicine journalism, Carroll shared his views on baseball in the information age — a time when pitchers use databases and video captures to determine how they’ll approach certain hitters.
We ended the evening with President Pat White introducing the all-time classic baseball movie, Field of Dreams.
Now, if watching Field of Dreams, eating popcorn, and chomping on “Big League Chew” bubblegum doesn’t get you ready for Opening Day, nothing will. Even with another week of college basketball remaining, the symposium focused my attention on the Boys of Summer.
The Cubs open in Atlanta next week and I’ll figure out a way to tune in — on TV or the Internet. Whether they win or lose, I’ll be there for the second game, third game, all the way through the summer, hoping that maybe, just maybe, by the end of September they’ll be playing their best ball of the summer and prepping for the World Series.
Hey, life doesn’t give us many second chances. But being a Cubs fan, there is always next year.
Here’s hoping next year is this year, and this year is our year.
