The Cubs are the World Series Champions. Just let that sink in for a second.
I only watch baseball because my husband is a fan. This usually means that I’m sitting on the couch reading the New York Times or playing Candy Crush (yes, I’m still playing that) while he paces and yells at the TV. But last night I was glued to the TV, twisting my hotel sheets into a knot of agony, looking at my phone only to furiously text with my husband about the game. I thought I was going to die, like, seven times.
Because how could you NOT care about this game, Cubs fan or not? When the Cubs were down 3-1 in the series, I thought all was lost. My husband put my son to sleep in a baseball onesie the night of Game 5, and that’s when they made a comeback. And if there’s any way to beat a curse, it’s with superstition. So you’d better be sure we stuffed him into that same unwashed onesie the next game night, which they won, and, of course, the final game night. They didn’t win easily, despite apparently taking control of the game early, but win they did. You’re welcome, Cubs fans. (That onesie is getting mounted into a shadow-box frame when I get home. Unwashed.)
So now our beloved hometown, lovable losers for over 100 years, will have to adjust to being the winners. I hope no one dies from the shock. We’re in Richmond until Sunday, so we’ll probably miss the victory parade, but I’m sure the celebration will continue for weeks on end. And the story, as far as my future Cubs fan son is concerned, will be that he’s the reason they won.