Maggie’s Musings

First, let me say: GO, CUBS GO!

I was born a Cubs fan. It’s as much a part of my DNA as my daddy’s nose or what my husband calls the ‘Suzanne stare’ (named for my mother). Some of my earliest memories of being a cubs fan involve men’s pocket combs.

You see, the men’s rooms at Wrigley Field used to be equipped with vending machines like this:

They dispensed blue plastic Chicago Cubs combs, and each time we went to Wrigley, I used to beg my dad and brothers to get one for me because they weren’t in the ladies’ rooms.

Baseball games were also the perfect opportunity to exploit my love of hot dogs. As far as I can remember, the hot dogs served in the Friendly Confines have been of the kosher all-beef variety.

When I moved to Arkansas, it was a bit of a challenge to uphold my standards, but my friends at Hebrew National came through. Still waiting for the Vienna Beef, though.

When I lived in the city, I spent a few years in Lake View (just east of Wrigleyville). Many a warm summer day was spent watching the crowd and listening to Ronnie Woo Woo call to fans as I sipped beer in the beer garden at Murphy’s Bleachers.

I loved those days so much, I ended up writing them into a scene in my novel, Contentment.

My dad was the epitome of a Diehard Cubs Fan. He caught almost every game either on WGN-TV or WGN-AM. I can still sing the whole ‘Hey, Hey! Holy Mackerel’ song. I can still hear the voices of Jack Brickhouse and Harry Caray. I remember one of the first times I ever used someone cell phone was from a rooftop party across from right field. Who did I call? My dad. What did I say? “Hey Dad! See the Torco sign, look three buildings north. I’m waving to you!

I’m be no means an avid Cubs fan. I don’t watch the games on TV. Most of the time, I have little more than a passing acquaintance with names and stats and a general idea of how they are doing. But I do keep a framed photo I took of the Wrigley Field sign next to one of my parents. Because they are all a part of who I am.

The Cubs are heading to the World Series for the first time since 1945. The last time they went, my dad was serving in Germany post WWII. This time he’s in Heaven with Jack and Harry, Ron and Ernie, and all the diehard Cubs fans who never stopped believing.

And they’re waiting to fly the W flag once and for all this season.

GO, CUBS GO!