Readers keep the faith, and dish out some Cubs reality
I had figured my "Cubs Sweep to the Pennant" column would fill this space today while I caught a flight back from Colorado. Instead I find myself in an odder place.
"Burt: I thought you might like to see this. Ever think you'd end up in a sermon?" -- the Rev. Nancy Nichols, pastor of Broadway Christian Parish, a United Methodist congregation in South Bend, Ind.
A former pastor in my hometown, Nancy used my family's long Cubs' conviction as an example in a recent sermon about Jeremiah, faith and the power of hope. I always thought that if I made it into a sermon, my mention would be preceded by "And let us pray for…" followed by a litany of debts and trespasses I had committed. But Nancy found a way to use me in a great column (oops, sermon). And her parish (www.broadwayumcsb.org) does wonderful things in the community helping those who really need help. Speaking of which…
"Did you really feel the need to compare your addiction to the Cubs with the life-altering addictions of alcoholism and depression?" e-mails Marla Cichowski, a Cubs fan from Chicago. "I want you to know I found your comparison in extremely poor taste. Hope you choose your words more wisely in the future."
Right you are, Marla. I made a bad comparison. Sports are just for fun, and even the worst Cubs hangover will be "cured" by spring -- when I'll probably run into the following folks again:
"Burt: I am one of the people included in your article written way back on Opening Day, when hopes were high and all was right in the baseball world," writes Debra Hruby of Wheaton, who was sitting in the leftfield bleachers that April day with her son Sean and Kevin Riemer, an 11-year-old boy she used to watch in her job as nanny.
"Sean says every October that he has had just about all he can take of this team and then spends the long off-season desperately unhappy with the Cubs -- sometimes going so far as to suggest he will not be attending any games in the future," Hruby says. "Along about February, he begins the slow climb back toward the Light that is the Hope of another year of baseball.
"Kevin and I, come October, find ourselves in the 'Well, what do you know -- they seem to have blown it again' situation, and wondering how we will get through the winter," Hruby admits. "We did think that this might be the year we won it all, and I'm fairly certain we will think that again next year. It's just what you've GOT to think, isn't it?"
Yep. And when it does happen, Hruby will have tickets. "Kevin is unshakable in his belief that he will one day PLAY for the Cubs," Hruby writes. "He has promised to leave tickets for me at the will-call window when those days arrive." When they do, Kevin might give an interview to the woman in the next paragraph.
"Burt: My 20-year-old daughter Brittany, a journalism major at Wartburg College, was asked to write a column on the Cubs for the school paper," writes Frank Feagans of Lake Zurich. While he notes that "young adult" daughters and dads sometimes butt heads, "the Cubs have always been the thing we can enjoy, experience and talk about together, anytime."
Writing on deadline after that sad season finale at Wrigley and before her five-hour drive back to Iowa, Brittany still managed to offer hope: "Although the Cubs came up empty once again, fans have witnessed a transformation in their team that promises to reward them for their patience. Just wait until next year."
Forever and ever. Amen.