By Heather Nelson
Twelve years ago, on a crisp October night in St. Louis, Red Sox centerfielder Johnny Damon hit a lead-off home run to start game four of the 2004 World Series. Flash foward 12 years later, this time a warm night in Cleveland, Cubs leadoff hitter, Dexter Fowler, blasted a home run to begin game seven.
The 2004 Red Sox broke an 86-year curse that night. The 2016 Cubs? They broke a 108-year curse that November night.
As a sixth grader, watching that game in 2004, I didn’t understand the significance of the game I was watching. I had some clue — the shots back to bars in Boston; the post-game phone call to my cousin, who lived in Boston; the Sam Adams my dad and neighbors drank; the mere fact that I got to stay up late on a school night watching baseball. But, I didn’t understand the years of agony that Sox fans endured. I barely understood how much sports meant to people; I was just figuring this out.
Last night changed that for me. I know fans of the Cubs — real fans, who’ve stuck it out during the hard times. I also understand sports on a much different level because I live and breathe them. And yet, last night felt extremely familiar for me. Former members of the Red Sox family peppered the teams in the series. On the Cubs: Theo and Lester and Ross and Rizzo. On the Tribe: Tito and Napoli and Crisp. Key men that have helped my team win over the years…
I felt a certain connection to the Cubs (mostly because I’ve never really liked Cleveland). When Theo left Boston to go to Chicago, I knew great things would transpire. I tried to latch onto the Cubs as my “National League team” but I never paid as close attention as I meant to, and it’s just extremely hard to invest your full self into two teams. Still, for me, it felt right to root for Chicago once Boston was eliminated.
While watching the game Wednesday night, I had flashbacks to 2004. An anxious energy filled the room 12 years ago, but we never gave up hope that the Sox would pull this off. The same thing happened last night. I got texts from a few friends, who knew I’d be watching. “Who you got tonight?” I told each person that I had faith in the Cubs and that I believed they had the momentum — homefield or not. (Heck, the Sox didn’t win it on homefield the first two times, most recently.) Last night, I was the only one in the Nelson house actively rooting for the Cubs. And yes, I was nervous for them.
The game dragged on, and my anxiety — for a team I’m not even truly invested in — worsened. Cleveland tied the game late, while I was on the phone with my boyfriend, who bet on the Tribe to win. I told him he was bad luck and quickly hung up. (I mean, I wore the same shirt and hat for good mojo.) At that point, I questioned Chicago’s ability to come back and win. I atill had faith, but I was prepared for heartbreak. And in the 10th inning, it happened.
Cubs fans alive breathed a sigh of relief, and the deceased rolled over in their graves. The Cubs won. Generations celebrated. No more curse. Theo Epstein dubbed some-kind-of magician. Jon Lester earned the win. Grandpa Ross slammed a dinger. Anthony Rizzo with a hand in the final out.
How did this happen?
I sat on my couch stunned, refreshing my Twitter feed. Twitter served as some sort of validation that I hadn’t been dreaming. I got to relive that feeling that sports gives you when you see players’ (and a city’s) dreams come to fruition. I had flashbacks to 11-year-old me dancing in jubilation after witnessing one of the biggest sports moments of the century. I got to taste another one last night — this one is even bigger.
On November 2, 2016, the Chicago Cubs set free all those chained by the “curse.” The Cubs reminded America why baseball is a beautiful pastime, rich with history. They gave us that fuzzy feeling that’s been hard to find lately. And, my, doesn’t it feel great to feel like a kid, again?