America might be rooting for the Cubs, but shouldn’t be
I grew up in Chicago. I love Chicago. Lake Shore Drive, the Magnificent Mile, Rush Street, Second City, Vienna hot dogs, the University of Chicago (more Nobel prize winners than any other university in the world), the Pump Room in the Ambassador East hotel, the lemon soup in Greektown, the Mies van der Rohe architecture, the rough-and-tough politics, all 50 ward committeemen, the precinct captains, the Italian beef sandwiches, the ambiance and camaraderie of that great American bar, Gibsons.
{mosads}The city has been the home of a great cast of legendary figures: Saul Bellow, Mike Royko, Jack Brickhouse, Carl Sandburg, Mayor Harold Washington (D), Steve Allen, City Treasurer Morris B. Sachs (D), Dick Gregory, Richard Wright, Mayor Jane Byrne (D), Tony “Big Tuna” Accardo, Nelson Algren, Saul Alinsky, Cook County Democratic Chairman Jake Arvey, Ed Asner, Alderman Paddy Bauler (D), Stuart Brent, Gwendolyn Brooks, David Burnham, Nat King Cole, Sam Cooke, Alderman Leon Despres (D), Hugh Hefner, the Rev. Jesse Jackson, Mahalia Jackson, Ramsey Lewis, Alderman Vito Marzullo (D), Mike Nichols, Elaine May, Kim Novak, William Paley, Sarge Shriver, James T. Farrell, Frank Lloyd Wright, Bob Kur, Rep. William Dawson (D), Sen. Paul Douglas (D), Gov. Adlai Stevenson (D), “Around the World in 80 Days” Mike Todd and best of all, Bill Veeck.
The place has a rich and true sense of itself. It doesn’t believe that in any way it’s missing anything. It doesn’t want to be New York, L.A., Boston or Miami.
Norman Mailer called Chicago “the quintessential American city.” He was so right.
It’s my kind of town — except for one thing.
That one thing seems to be everywhere. The entire country is smitten. Millions seem to have fallen for a baseball team.
The Chicago Cubs.
I have serious difficulty even writing down the name of that team. You should know that the second game of the World Series is being played as I put these words own on paper. I am not watching it. I have absolutely no knowledge of who is pitching, who is at shortstop or who is playing center field.
I just know that I want them to lose. Ideally, I want the Cleveland Indians to finish the Cubs off in the “The Friendly Confines” of Wrigley Field. That outcome would produce the ultimate euphoria.
Why, you may ask, all this bitterness and venom? What brings forth these ill feelings and ugly sentiments?
I’ll tell you right off the bat — I’m a Southsider!
Southsiders are for the Chicago White Sox, the city’s other baseball team. The team of Minnie Minoso, Luis Aparicio, Earl Wynn, Chico Carrasquel, “Jungle” Jim Rivera and “El Señor” Al López.
In 2005, I went back home for the World Series. As I approached the ballpark, one huge placard was the first thing I saw. It read, “World Series tickets, $186 dollars. No Cubs fans in sight? Priceless.”
Perfect. Just perfect.
You have to understand that Southsiders don’t acknowledge the North Side. We have no diplomatic relations with people from there. It’s not on our map or in our head. We don’t know anyone who lives there. We won’t go there for any reason.
The Cubs are the team of the North Side.
Their crowd calls going to the game an “outing.” They bring picnic baskets. There are a smattering of “bleacher bums,” but most of the crowd is well-off and well-heeled. There is a high concentration of denizens from the leafy North Shore suburbs. They live in ritzy havens called Winnetka or Highland Park or even tonier places like Barrington and Lake Forest.
The neighborhood around the ballpark is affectionately called Wrigleyville. It’s populated by prosperous, trendy millennials.
But even worse are those are self-appointed national ambassadors of the Cubbies.
The most obvious is pundit George Will of The Washington Post. (This is the same individual who advocates perpetuating the District of Columbia’s voteless status.) For years, he has sung the praises of his beloved Cubbies. He has essentially anointed himself their prime promoter.
You see, we are all supposed to be for the Cubbies because they have not won a World Series for 108 years. They are the underdog. I am, most of the time, for the underdog.
But this underdog does not deserve our sympathy or affection. The Cubs should have to wait another 108 years before they get into another World Series.
The last time I went to “The Friendly Confines” (enough already about the vines in left field!), I became sick. Just being there made me ill.
I’m not a fan of our current president. (It has to do with his indifference toward the place he has lived for nearly eight years, the District of Columbia). But I like him on one particular issue.
In 2004, in Boston, I happened to be walking with David Maraniss (Bill Clinton’s biographer and later, President Obama’s). It was early afternoon and Barack Obama was walking into the convention hall to practice his upcoming keynote speech, which he would deliver that very evening before the party faithful at the Democratic National Convention. He was an unknown Illinois state senator at the time.
I yelled out “Obama!” and he turned around, looking somewhat surprised that anyone recognized him. I asked him one question.
“White Sox or Cubs?”
Without pause or hesitation, he clearly and proudly said, “White Sox.” Then he briskly walked into the hall.
You see, when it comes to sizing people up, I divide up the world — White Sox or Cubs?
Sorry, Bill Murray. You’re a funny guy, but you’re on the wrong team.
Plotkin is a political analyst, a contributor to the BBC on American politics and a columnist for The Georgetowner.
The views expressed by contributors are their own and not the views of The Hill.