It’s been two days since the Chicago Cubs won the World Series after a 108 year drought. Chicago is going crazy, although in a good way; and today the parade winds through the city.
I’ve pondered what I could add to the celebration. Sport columnists are paid to dissect the game. Newscasts are on the scene. And almost everyone knows someone who’s passed on without enjoying this singular moment.
My husband talked about his Dad, who never saw a championship. One of the last photos of my Mother, the one that was displayed at her wake, is of her and her husband at Wrigley Field. And don’t forget Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, and Harry Carey.
The only thing I haven’t seen elsewhere (and perhaps I’ve just missed it) is the seventeen minute rain delay. I’ve heard that the Cubs huddled in a meeting to focus on who they were, how far they’d come. And when the rain stopped, they went out and broke the Billy goat curse. I believe Ben Zobrist deserves the MVP for the series, but the rain deserves the title of Tenth Man on the Field that night.
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