The Cubs are Chicago. Chicago is the Cubs.
Not the ramblings of a life-long Cubbies fan as they dance on a bus-stop and flutter a ‘W’ in the crisp November sky.
It is a sense of history unfolding before your very eyes.
In a time, in America, were the division and bile-filled rhetoric is hard to ignore, inspiring images are all around you. The White Sox fans are lying low but the rest of the city is decked out in blue and red. “Go Cubs Go” rings out on every street corner. An entire city in good form.
Their heroes, the perennial underdogs and underachieving Chicago Cubs finally made ‘Someday’ their day. They came back from 3-1 down to clinch the World Series in a nail-gnawing Game 7 in Cleveland’s enemy territory.
The party began immediately after the final out confirmed the Cubs’ 108 year wait for that sacred pennant was over. FOX 32 had three reporters down at Wrigley Field and each of them had their hands full with fans too drunk on excitement [and/or beer] to make much sense.
Through the tears and hugs and exclamations, one thing was clear – all races, ages and creeds in this city feel the Cubs is their them. Previously connected by complaining about the Cubs – much like us Irish lament the weather – they are now united in an undulating wave of joy.
I spent my J1 summer in Chicago, back in 2003. The Cubs had a rare good summer and got to the National League Division Series before losing out to Florida Marlins. Always next year. 95 years rolled into 96.
It was a great way to get settled in the city. Get a Cubs cap, or t-shirt, pick your favourite player, get down to Wrigley Field for a game or two and get immersed in it all. I promised myself after that summer that I’d keep a close eye on the Cubs forever more.
I kept it up for about a year. The Cubs got worse and life went on.
To live here though is a different matter. After 108 years, there is no-one alive in the city that saw this team win their last World Series.
No fathers, grandfathers, aunts or friend’s uncle’s mechanic that had a tale of victory to give you hope. A whole city has, generation after generation, pinned their hopes to a team of losers and told themselves that ‘Someday’ would be today. Soon. Surely.
Ireland’s players literally touched down in the middle of the greatest sporting week this city has enjoyed for over a century. 108 years of ‘never will’, ‘never could’ put to rest and smiles on so many faces.
One can only imagine what the All Blacks made of the scenes of bedlam on Chicago’s streets. Their rugby-mad nation went 20 years without a World Cup and nearly tore themselves apart.
You can’t but be inspired by the joyous, bandy-legged, poorly sang scenes around you in Chicago this week.
Ireland have been told they won’t stop the All Blacks juggernaut. They are down at 14/1 to end 111 years of getting their noses rubbed in it.
Just because the clamour says it can’t be done does not mean that it can’t be done.
There are an estimated 40,000 Irish supporters heading to Soldier Field to see Ireland take their 29th shot at New Zealand. If they fell the world champions, 40,000 voices may yet reverberate through a city nursing a collective hangover and ring out all the way back home.
Ireland’s Someday could be November 5th 2016. Looks just as good a day as any.
Who are the winners of the much-coveted 2016 Wooly Awards? Find out in our GAA Hour Special
