Cubs Postseason Rally

If I were a good reporter, I’d have written about this event directly after it happened. I am not, however, a reporter (though I wouldn’t mind having that job someday), as my blatant opinions here attest, and I’ve shied away from describing the event because I felt like such an impostor being there—at the Cubs postseason rally. Last Tuesday, Daley Square was bursting with Chicago pride (the Cubs kind, not the Sox kind) as Jessica, Chris, and I milled around on our lunch break. We arrived early, but it wasn’t long before the place was overflowing with blue. I was wearing blue, too—a lucky coincidence.

As I watched all the cheering fans around me, I hoped they wouldn’t sense my unavoidable naivety. I felt as if I wore my secret on my forehead like a scarlet letter—I know nothing about baseball. I’ve been to one game in my entire life, a sad showing this past summer by the minor-league Tennessee Smokies (a Cubs affiliate, ironically); they couldn’t even seem to get a man on base, let alone score any runs. I was bored stiff, and my (now ex-) boyfriend treated my disinterest as a personal slight against the Smokies, against Tennessee, and against him. I tried to appear amused, but it wasn’t working. His friends, far more supportive, assured me that I needed to see a real team play. They told me that the major leagues are a completely different experience, and that if I really wanted to enjoy a game, I should go see the Cubs. I believed them then and believe them now. Unfortunately, as badly as I wanted to go see the Cubs after I moved here, I was completely broke upon my arrival to Chicago this fall.

So, instead, I stood there in Daley square, feeling my baseball ignorance more strongly upon me than ever before, but somehow it didn’t completely matter. I became swept up in the excitement (believe you me, I am now twice as excited to see the Cubs, and even more anxious for next season when I will hopefully have the funds to go.) I loved it that businessmen and women had hung Win posters from their office windows facing the square. I loved that parents decked their kids out in head-to-toe Cubs gear. And I loved seeing Jim Belushi (“According to Jim” is one of my favorite TV shows, though I’m not sure why) and Ernie Banks (I remember him from years ago when my brother and I collected baseball cards.)

At the Cubs postseason rally, I learned a little more about Chicago politics. Everyone cheered for Mayor Daley (although there are certain events occurring in Uptown, as well as a few moments from Chicago’s past that I think may be cause for concern among some residents), and booed at Illinois Governor Blagojevich (I don’t know why—I’ve got some research to do.) All of the speeches were pure fluff and no substance, but that’s what the occasion called for. Every speaker said exactly the words they knew would excite the Cubs-loving crowd, lauding Chicago, praising the team, and flattering the fans (except, of course, when Governor Blagojevich made the mistake of bringing up the White Sox.) It was during this rally that I began to understand what it means to have pride in a sports team (and I have not had a very good grasp on this in the past) and why you don’t wear White Sox gear in my neighborhood.