Been There, Done That

At around 11am on October 14, 2003, I got a lead from a friend of a friend -- standing room only tickets to Game 7 that night, Cubs-Marlins, chance for a World Series ride, day after that foul ball floated over Moises Alou's stretched glove and into the front row of the 102s. $150 for a $15 ticket at face value.

We thought about it for a couple of hours. It seemed wild, crazy, illogical, unbelievable. But so was the prospect of the Cubs making it to the World Series, and maybe we frightened ourselves into saying yes to the tickets -- what if our team made it and we turned down tickets to be there in person? So we said yes, I got money from the ATM downstairs in the Illinois Centre, exchanged it for the tickets at 4pm. My boss told me to go home early, get to the game early, go Cubs.

I remember we stood near the 224s, just under the ramp, peanut shells and bits on our fleece jackets. When Kerry Wood hit that three-run homer in the bottom of the third to tie the game at 3-3, it was electric. I thought we were going to win then. But when Jeff Conine caught the final fly to end our season, the entire ballpark was silent. It was like TV on mute watching the Fish run out onto our diamond to celebrate. It took us about 45 minutes to walk to the L (I lived in Old Town then). We didn't say a word to each other.

Tonight was another Game 7 night, and even though I don't have any more personal stakes in the playoffs, I just didn't want the Cardinals to win. I got home from playing ball when it was just underway, and had the game on making dinner, eating dinner, clearing some work. Puckett came on and we cheered for the Mets together. What a classic battle. 1-1 tie through the top of the ninth, then Yadier Molina -- all of six home runs in the regular season -- hit the go-ahead two-run ding-dong. Mets come up and load the bases. Beltran up to bat, melodramatic fairy-tale situation -- rain falling, two outs, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, two to tie, three to win. Strikes out on a breaking ball that nicked the K-Zone like a sinking three-pointer. I scream out loud, and the Cardinals won.

Puckett was very sad, and I told her I knew how she felt because of October 14, 2003. Even Tommy Lasorda couldn't explain this kind of emotional attachment to your baseball team. It's the kind of thing that makes a Chicago tough guy cry into his Guinness, something he only knew how to do when his Cubs were six outs from the World Series. It's the kind of thing that made me ride home alone on the L, staring into nothing, thinking about everything that could've, should've, would've.

So I went in to work on October 15, 2003, still sad, but not hungover. I'm getting up early tomorrow to go for a run, then I've got a long day of work. It's another regular old day of peace on the North Side come October.