Cubs, Game 7 drained me, but it was well worth it in the end

For as long as I can remember, I have been a sports fan and throughout all that time, I have been a fan of the Chicago Cubs.

My love for the Cubs has always been organic. I remember watching their games when I grew up in Nebraska. I would watch their games on WGN after school and it didn’t take long to fall in love. I loved Wrigley Field, the ivy, Mark Grace, the day games and the tradition.

Oh and they had Harry Caray.

To me, the Cubs have always represented something good about baseball, something simple and majestic. If you have ever visited Wrigley Field, you know even more of what I speak. The Cubs are, for lack of a better term, special.

Always have been, always will be.

That’s how they win over so many hearts and minds, and that’s why so many cheered so joyously when they finally ended 108 years of heartbreak last week. But while the Cubs ultimately gave us the ending we wanted, the path to getting there was long and arduous.

Many times, during the World Series and even the playoffs, I wasn’t sure if the Cubs were going to make it. There were also many times, when I didn’t think I would. The only time I have ever been more nervous, was the day my son was born. By the time the five-hour marathon that was Game 7 finished, my nerves were shot. I was in that box of emotions right alongside Anthony Rizzo.

It’s the weirdest thing being a Cubs fan. For years, I always expected the worst and hoped for the best. That didn’t change when Chicago was down 3-1 in the World Series, but even though the odds were long, I just kept thinking there is still a chance. After Game 5, when the Cubs clawed out a win, a win that tested my intestinal fortitude, I felt like Lloyd Christmas as I thought to myself “so you’re telling me there’s a chance.”

Even then, it seemed like a long shot, but I had a good feeling. I thought to myself, after 108 years, I’ll take being within two wins of a world title and watching the Cubs play at least one more game in the World Series, an idea that at once seemed unimaginable. I went into Game 6 with cautious optimism. I was ready to accept 2016. I was happy the Cubs won the pennant and had at least won one World Series game in Chicago. This team has promise I thought to myself — this isn’t the end of something, it’s the start.

Then, I went in thinking Game 7 would be gravy, trying to let myself down easy, trying to protect myself from the heartbreak I thought was to come. Yet, in spite of what I told myself, deep down, I knew the Cubs had way better odds than one-in-a-million.

Then, to my pleasant surprise, the good times continued to roll.

Kris Bryant hit a homer, one that made me fly out of my seat. And just like when he went yard at Wrigley two days earlier, I felt something, something I had felt only years before. That was belief, the belief that the Cubs could actually force a Game 7 and win a World Series.

Of course, I quickly shut this down. Last time I believed in the Cubs, Steve Bartman happened. “No!” I thought. No thinking, no believing, no talking, Act casual, be cool. As the game wore on, I couldn’t help but countdown the outs, I tried not to, I tried to ignore my own mind, shut the stupid thing off!

Even with a big lead, I was a wreck, but finally after a two-run bomb by Rizzo in the top of the ninth, I felt confident in a Game 7 and to my surprise, my worst fears were never realized. The Cubs had lived to fight another day.

Of course, Game 7 was an entirely different animal. The Cubs had the momentum, but still, I didn’t know if it was destiny or just a sick joke. I considered that it was the plot of all plots, one designed to sucker Cub fans into believing — truly believing, before crushing their souls dust and ripping their hearts (my heart) into a million pieces.

However, even in the midst of my apocalyptic mindset, I soldiered into Game 7 with hope. My mom told me I should believe, but even then, I was apprehensive. The odds still seemed against them — there was a lack of bullpen depth, not to mention, the curse, the black cat and Bartman.

When the first pitch rolled around, after seemingly the longest day of my life, I was a nervous wreck. I have watched a lot of significant sporting events in my life, but I’d have to say, none were ever bigger than this.

When would Chicago get this chance again? Could they finally deliver? Would the pain and suffering finally cease?

When the Cubs roared out of the gate with a 5-0 lead, I was excited, but scared of what would come. When you love the Cubs, you learn to expect disaster and on that night, my anxiety was at an all-time high.

In layman's terms, I was freaking out, big time.

I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop shaking. Every single out seemingly took hours and every pitch felt like the fate of the universe depended on it.

Things got real for me at four outs away. Then just as quickly as my belief came, it was gone, thanks to a punch to the stomach that was the Radjai Davis home run. That ball he hit was a shot and it felt like a bullet right through my heart. I was crushed, I crumpled to the floor.

My mind was debilitated.

At that point, I was drained. Much like Americans and the 2016 Election, I just wanted it to be over, one way or another. Certainly, I wanted a Cubs win, but I had reached the point of emotional insanity.

Thankfully, Chicago withstood the ninth inning and the field withstood that rain delay. I could not have made it much longer than I did. I was so emotionally spent, that during that delay, I dozed off, only to be awoken by the hit by Kyle Schwarber.

The rest, as they say is history. I awoke from my nap, Ben Zobrist got a double. The Cubs got two runs and somehow, someway got three outs.

When the final out came, so did the tears and they were of joy and exhaustion. And they wouldn’t stop coming. They came the whole next day as we heard stories of Cubs fans across the country celebrating their collective victory.

Sometimes, when you want something so bad, you don’t know what to do once you’ve got it. That’s kind of where I was immediately after, it’s where I’m still at. I mean what does the Wiley Coyote do when he finally catches the Road Runner?

All I know is that for years, I was afraid to think about the Cubs playing in the World Series, let alone watch them play in a Game 7. But now, knowing all that I do, I’m glad I chose to be a Cubs fan, glad I went through it all, no matter how much it hurt at times. The Cubs taught me to love baseball and how to love a loser.

But now that I can truly call them World Series champs, the Cubs are no longer loveable losers and in my eyes, they never will be again.

I guess that’s where I’ll leave this column, but not before apologizing if it seems disjointed. You’ll have to forgive me, my mind’s been a little crazy. And after all, how can you explain something you’ve never even allowed yourself to think.

Go Cubs Go.