I hate the Cubs. I really, really hate them. My father hops on the Orange Line every morning to come to work. When in doubt, we get my mother something with a White Sox emblem as a gift. I was born and reared to be a White Sox supporting machine. So, when I found out the Cubs were playing in the series, I truthfully didn’t really care. And yes, I found out, because I hadn’t been paying attention. Last year, I only knew the Royals won because one of my best friends comes from Kansas City. I thought of it sort of the same way this year. It’s not my team—why do I care?
Then, as a commuter student, I realized this really does affect me. When the series moved westward, it took me twice as long to get to DePaul. This is when my “Crosstown Classic” rage came out. This is when I prayed for Tribe to take it all so it would be over. I didn’t want to deal with these commutes. I didn’t want to be held captive in my own city. I became that Sox fan that makes Cubs fans hate Sox fans.
But on Wednesday, they won. History was made. I heard firecrackers that told me the game was over. I saw my friends crying. I read posts about how they wished their loved ones could have lived to see it, and my heart broke.
I was still young in ’05. But, I do remember learning how to cheer on a sports team properly from my mom. I remember the joy in the room and jumping off the couch when Konerko brought in his grand slam. Those moments with my family are as vivid now as they were a decade ago.
I’m so excited that my brother, the odd ball Cub fan of the family, now has those experiences. I’m so grateful my loved ones on the North Side of the best city in the world get to have this bonding experience with their loved ones. Sports are about spending time with your family and friends. I will never like the Cubs. It’s in my blood. But I am truly thankful that my friends are able to experience this part of history and create these intimate moments with those that they hold dear. It’s the best thing, isn’t it?