I was nine. My mom and dad took our family of five to Chicago for a Cubs game. My dad was a former star in the White Sox farm system who sadly ended his career by destroying his knee into a centerfield wall in the last game of the season. He was invited the next spring to the White Sox’s major league spring training, but knee rehab in the early 50’s was non-existent. (Thank God my dad got hurt for he would have never met my mom had his baseball career blossomed. But, hell, my old man could hit the crap out of the baseball. His baseball genes were later transformed to my big brother Thom and my little brother Greg, who were incredibly talented in the game. I could catch and, despite my scrawny arms in high school, I had a rocket arm from right field. Only problem was, I couldn’t hit, especially a curve ball.
So, we were a baseball family and we had made the journey from little Pella, Iowa to Chitown for a game. Not just any Cubs game; a crucial at-home series against the upstart New York Mets. It was August, 1969. The Chicago Cubs were in the driver’s seat for a pennant for the first time in, well, forever.The Cubbies had not been in a World Series since 1908; the subsequent yearly heartache over the next 61 years would destroy the psyche of Cubs fans for years.
The game was epic. The Cubs were so far ahead of the Mets in the standings that any Cubs’ win was a nail in the coffin for the Mets. On the mound were the league’s studs: Cubs’ Ken Holtzman and Mets’ Jerry Koosman. The Cubs sucked, but in the final innings, Mr. Cubs made an appearance. Yes, Ernie Banks, old by baseball standards and long past normal retirement age (unless you consider Satchel Paige), was pinch-hitting. Despite down by too many runs, the crowd was on edge and went wild. I don’t remember which pitch, but Ernie delivered, crushing a home run.
The Cubs lost, anyway, but it didn’t matter. (Oh, yes it did. It started the beginning of the great ’69 Cubs’ collapse. The “Miracle Mets” would later win the World Series.)
And the “power of the media” in this blogs title? We left Wrigley Field, got in our Chevy station wagon and drove to our Holiday Inn in the burbs. It was, maybe, a 45 minute drive. We piled out of the Chevy and walked into the hotel lobby. And there in the newspaper box was the latest version of the Chicago Times announcing the Cubbies had lost. It was almost like news at the speed on the Internet, two decades before the WWW was even a glint in anyone’s eyes and mind.
R.I.P. Mr. Cubs. R.I.P. Dad. May your memories be eternal and thanks for the fantastic memories.
whatdidjesusdrive 