Confessions of a Cub Fan

I am a Cub fan . . .

There . . . I said it.

Like the obligatory introduction at a 12-step meeting, long-suffering Cub fans are famous for cheering on a lost cause. But wait. Today as I write this in the third week of September, with only a few games left in the season, the Chicago Cubs are half a game out of first place. And I am living and dying with each game . . . or each pitch, if I am so fortunate as to be listening to the game.

Now, I have a serious question about this. I began asking myself, why do I care? I mean I’m not even certain I know what it means when Chicago manager, Dusty Baker, comes out with his line-up card and announcer Pat Hughes says, “He’s going to make a double switch.” I think I know, but Cubs' Ron Santo legend goes on to describe the situation as if everyone knows all the strategic implications and, alone in my car, I give a knowing nod like I too understand this most basic of managerial strategies.

So why does a latecomer to baseball even care? Why is my mood noticeably better after another inning in which pitcher Mark Prior “runs the table” (of course I know what that means!), or why am I depressed when the Cubs fall prey to a 6-4-3 double play (don’t ask).

I was pondering this
the other day
while out walking my dog.
Why do I need such a thing?
Why does it affect me this much?
Why do I care?

For some reason . . . I thought of Jesus. Do you think Christ would go to a Cubs game, I ask myself? Well, I answer, if his journey brought him to Chicago, I could see him eating a hotdog at Wrigley if somebody invited him to enjoy some box seat tickets. I think he would be equally at home with the bleacher bums. But by now, I could sense this was more than a conversation of me with myself, because my next thought is of Jesus weeping over Jerusalem. Why did he weep? All the buzz was about how Jesus might be coming to liberate the Jews. Swept along with all those pilgrims streaming toward another Passover celebration in Jerusalem, out of nowhere, he starts weeping. Why?

Well, it occurs to me it has something to do with the Cubs. I’m not saying Jesus is picking up some long-term Cubbie fan habits. But what I am saying is that Jesus looks at all these people whom he dearly loves and would (make that “will”) die for and he sees they don’t have a clue. He sees teenagers jostling each other, using every childish means they can think of to appear grownup . . . adults arguing about the best way to haggle for the lowest price for sacrifice offerings bought from vendors. They might as well have been talking about the Cubs.

They don’t have a clue about the cosmic forces at war around them. They are oblivious that an age-old drama is moving toward climax. The creator of all humanity will allow himself to be abused and debased by that same humanity he so lovingly designed. All those pilgrims are unknowing extras in the drama of all time as angelic and demonic hosts watch with baited breath. The eternal flame is about to be snuffed out by the passing mist. Could pristine purity hold up under the weight and refuse of the world’s sinful garbage? How could the indivisible unity of God the Father and Son survive this trauma? How would it all end?

And while all that is going on . . . all these people could think about were the Chicago Cubs, or the Jerusalem Mudhens, or whatever endeavors people used in that day to inject artificial significance into their lives.

That was then, but this is now, you say. Jesus came and went. This is different.

Is it?

Maybe that is why he said for us to be ready, lamps lit, ever vigilant because he would return like a thief when we least expect it.

The drama continues; the cosmic congregation is still on the edge of their seats. The war rumbles on. "We wrestle not against flesh and blood," Paul says, "but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” 1

Do we really? If we really did, would we pay more attention to the armor we strap on every day than we do to whether major league hitters have too much amour when they come up to bat. That’s where Paul is going in the Ephesians passage. He wants to make certain we are not vulnerable as we make our way through this spiritual battlefield.

Well, this internal conversation
hadn’t gone where I thought it was going.
Feeling a bit chastised,
I now somewhat timidly asked myself
(and the One who freely interjects himself
into such conversations)
what do I do with the Cubs?

Well (the answer came) forsake the Cubs . . . hate them.

Oh?

Yeah, like Jesus said, "Unless you hate your father and mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters — yes, even your own life — you cannot be my disciple." 2

Okay, I get it now. The problem isn’t the Cubs. Just like the problem isn’t really parents and family, but rather our letting parents and family become more important than the One who gave us parents and family. The fact that I enjoy the agony and the ecstasy of the Cubs is a challenge to me to pay more attention to the cosmic struggle of which I am a prime player. It’s a wakeup call. It’s like Sammy Sosa forgetting to take batting practice because he was too busy watching a little league game on TV.

So, I don’t have to give up the Cubs. Just "hate" them. Keep them in perspective, dwarfed in the cosmic significance of the all-important role God has assigned me. I get it. In fact, I am going to let the Cubs be my reminder every time I get worked up about them or anything else. It’s a benchmark. It forces the question . . . are the rest of my endeavors in perspective?

That's my pennant quest.

Could it be that while I'm here saying "Go Cubbies," heavenly hosts are saying, "Go David?"

1 Ephesians 6:12.  (Back to Article)

2 Luke 14:26. (Back to Article)