It took 4 hours and 38 minutes, 10 innings, and a seventh game, but the Chicago Cubs did what some believed may never happen – they won a World Series again. The Cubs actually, after 108 years, won a championship. Man, that’s gotta be one helluva feeling for those players. But what about the fans?
Not baseball fans in general, who were graciously treated to an epic final game to the MLB post-season; I mean the die hards; the eat, sleep and breathe Cubs fans. The old. The young. The fourth generation. Those fans. How does that feel?
I’m not a baseball aficionado. I won’t pretend to be. However, the good news is this post doesn’t require a massive amount of baseball knowledge or know-how. This is strictly a post from a sports fan. To be more specific, a Vancouver Canucks hockey fan. This post only requires pain. Clubber Lang amounts of pain.
The Vancouver Canucks entered the NHL in 1970. 46 years ago. They are, to the best of my knowledge, Stanley Cupless. Sure 46 is a far cry from the Indians’ 68, or even the San Diego Chargers’ 56, but 46 years is still long enough for any fan to look within themselves and ponder the deep, black and unforgiving universe that is sports fandom.
I honestly didn’t think the Cubs were going to win that final game. Sure, if Cleveland won, they’d snap a long-ass championshipless drought. But 108 years? That shit is just meant to go on forever. As the game went through its ups and downs, the Cubs looked poised to blow it. There were way too many times where they had the game wrapped up, in the palms of victory, only to let their opponent right back in (see Rajai Davis). I said to myself, ‘this is what happens to teams like the Cubs.’ But it didn’t. They did it. They won. They freaking won. Why had I been so reluctant to believe?
I then reflected briefly in between casual sips of my Old Milwaukee premium lager. Why was I so sure the Cubs would lose? Why did I fear the worst? Ahh yes. It all comes back to my one true love. The one who has torn my heart out and continues to torment me with snapchats of her delicately kissing her new boyfriend on the cheek all the while maintaining eye contact with the camera: The Vancouver Canucks.
I will live and die the blue and green, but it has been the ride that’s devastated my foundation of trust. Thrice has this team made the Stanley Cup Finals. Albeit I was a few months shy of birth during their first run, I was involved more than I should’ve been during 1994 as an 11 year old and much too emotionally invested during the 2011 run.
It took two seasons for me to remotely even care what the Canucks did after torching a 2-0 series lead in the 2011 Finals. Serious; I was rattled. This kind of love packs a legitimate punch.
Since, well, the Canucks have been poised to challenge for the 31st spot in the American Hockey League. They have been mediocre at the best of times. Even the thought of playoffs feels like a pipe dream.
I have a friend who once wrote a great fictional piece on the resulting 2011 NHL off-season had the Canucks won the Stanley Cup. I only got to read it about a year ago. It felt like pure fantasy. It didn’t even seem possible that we were once that close. How easily it is torn from you, as if by a middle aged man in glasses and a green turtleneck.
I have since asked many friends about that scintillating run in 2011. Had you known at the end of the regular season the Canucks would take a tire iron to the knees of an entire fanbase during the Finals, would you still cheer?
The answer was a resounding ‘yes.’
‘It’s my team. I’ll support them ’til the end,’ one respondent said.
‘Of course!’ said a second.
‘Sometimes sports breaks your heart, but it’s that risk, that … chance of winning or losing that makes it all the more exciting,’ I was then told by another.
It’s true.
I guess the real question is: are some of us doomed to cheer for an everlasting dud? Maybe one day we’ll find out.
108 years isn’t that long, is it?
Written by Chris Heavenor of Coach Blogbay
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