Herban Sprawl

There are a lot of reasons to be superstitious right now. As a long-suffering Cub fan, I’m on tenterhooks. I want desperately to write about how I eagerly turn to the sports section in the morning paper, but I’m afraid to jinx them! I haven’t even watched a ballgame except at my nephew’s, for the same reason. During the weekend of the 9th, I listened to John McCutcheon, one of my favorite musicians, talk and sing about baseball (he’s still, in his heart of hearts, a Milwaukee Braves fan -). I even listened to his baseball album - told him how it gave me hope for the Cubs. But I have this fear that the walls will come crashing down.

Back in the year of the Miracle Mets, my friend, Lil Linda, had her heart broken. It was the year of the yellow bleacher bum helmets and her team left her standing at the altar. She, like me, is afraid to breathe. No matter what, though, she wouldn’t switch her loyalties.

When the National League took its annual beating by the American League in the popularity contest known as the All-Star game, they gave the Cubs a disadvantage in the event of the culmination of The Hundred Years War. And, indeed, a dispirited team had a post All-Star slump that had me thinking it was all over even before Labor Day. It was depressing.

This morning, however, they have the same record as the Los Angeles Angels - the Cubs having gained, and the Angels having lost percentages. Dare I hope? Dare I ask my nephew to start investigating play-off tickets? Dare I plan to raid my savings to finance that? Better not. Might jinx them. If I don’t get my hopes up, I can’t be disappointed, right?

Hey, hey. It’s the Cubs and God loves Wrigley Field, just as it is. Sunshine, hot dogs and cold ones are the sacraments in a place that honors the divinity in the cynics known as Diehard Cub Fans.