As a fourth generation Cubs fan, raised to hope for a better next year, I thought I would never see the Wrigley Field marquee ablaze with the words: “World Series Champions”. All my life, all my father’s life, and all my grandmother’s life, the Cubs have lost. It was just the way it was.
Last night that changed. If you’re not a Cubs fan and stayed up to brave the last inning, I hope you had some sense of how epic the battle was. It wasn’t just Game 7 tied going into the 10th inning. It was 108 years of longing balancing on the edge of a knife. Would there be victory finally? Or would we (Cubs fans) feel the cut of defeat in our souls yet again?
Last night wasn’t just about the Cubs finally winning the World Series and busting that (ridiculous) goat curse. It wasn’t just about baseball and sports. It was about life. It was about who we are as creatures.
We long for victory because one day there will be a final defeat of everything lost. Defeat is like death. It’s why it makes us cry—and why victory makes us so happy. And it’s why victories long waited for feel like heaven on earth.
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