I moved to Chicago in 1979, after growing up with Ernie Harwell on the radio and a once-a-year visit to Tiger Stadium – usually on free bat day. It took a while for Cubs fever to strike, but when it did, I got it bad. Delirious highs, devastating lows. Carefree day games in bleacher seats, celebratory nights haunting the watering holes at all four corners of the ballpark.
By 1984, I was a diehard and was crushed to the core when Steve Garvey’s thick forearms stole our show. I hung in, through a Cub-filled courtship, scorecard training, and many sunny Saturdays in Section 242. I was there to see the first night game rained out, and back again the next night to revel under the lights.
As more years went by, I entertained clients in the box seats, cursed that poor guy Bartman, hugged my soul mate and danced with our beautiful daughters way down the left field line. Like every other fan, I willingly traveled the long and treacherous road that led to this year’s triumph for the World Champion Chicago Cubs. Long may they reign (and not suck!)
Here is a smattering of Wrigleyville photos taken on the morning of World Series Game 3. Holy cow, someday actually arrived. Can’t wait until next year!
