So, I grew up in New England without any real devotion to baseball (although if you made me choose, I’d have said Red Sox), and if you had asked me what football team I was into I would have picked the Miami Dolphins (my Dad’s pick) or the New York Giants (loved by my grandfather and a large handful of my cousins). But I wasn’t die hard about sports, except maybe my travel soccer team.
Give me a break–CT doesn’t have any professional sports (and yes, I am ignoring the Hartford Whalers of the pas here), so it’s hard to affix yourself somewhere and really stick with it. At least it was for me. In the early 90s.
Then when I was fifteen and relocated to MI, I was too angsty and dramatic to really care about sports. I was wholly uninterested.
And now, here I am. In Chicago, there’s really no way to avoid sports unless you:
a) Live under a rock
b) Really, really don’t care at all about athletics, parties, social activities of any kind, or drinking. These things are all related here in the Windy City.
So, I did what any city devotee would do, and I became an obsessed fan. The kind my mom tries to console every Sunday when the Bears don’t do what I want them to do. Which is win.
My mom doesn’t love sports the way I love sports. It’s okay.
In any case, inevitably every September I roll into a melancholy mood over the downfall of the Cubs’, which is aggravated this year by the fact that they won’t even make the playoffs.
I don’t know what I expect from a team that hasn’t won a World Series since the year Lyndon B. Johnson was born.
But we’re gonna do it one of these years.
However, every September also produces a glimmer of hope. It looks like this:
The above image sparks football season, which always ramps me up. Football season accepts my loud, obnoxious game time behavior far more frequently than baseball does. Plus, I’ve never been to a Bears’ game, so the public is less apt to see my couch jumping, play screaming, I’ve-just-blacked-out-from-adrenaline-and-done-a-Bears-victory-dance ways.
I can’t help it. I get excited.
But then, Sunday night, this is what happened:
There was this:
Game 1: Wrist Injury
And then there was this:
I know how you feel Cutler.
So I remained dejected for around 24 hours, before bucking up, visiting Wrigley Field for a quick goodbye on the season (and not a bad personal send off with a D. Lee home run and a W!) and deciding that there are still several months of football and that I better get my act together.
And I’m a Chicago fan, so it’s my job to remain (at times unwisely) optimistic.
Count me back in. It’s football season!