Cubs Territory—or How to Become a Cubs Fan
I had never seen a cockroach before I moved into my two-room garden studio near the Belmont El stop. Most of the long-legged girls who strutted past were boys. Alleys bore the transient tags of skirmishing gangs, the most frightening of which was the Insane Unknowns.
As a college student, I had many afternoons off. My boyfriend at the time, also a student, would come over, and we would walk the few blocks from my studio to the ballpark. Conveniently, the Cubs played only in the afternoons because Wrigley Field did not yet have lights. After half an inning you could get a sidewalk scalper to accept a few bucks. At the 7th-inning stretch, the bleacher doors opened wide so students and other misfits might catch the end of the game and an Old Style buzz.
It was the Dark Ages for the Cubs. My boyfriend taught me about baseball while we witnessed one of the rare “almost!” seasons.
For the next 35 years, Wrigley Field remained my neighbor. I endured dozens of baseball seasons, and the Chicago Cubs burrowed into my heart. Alas, by the time the World Championship 2016 season changed the world, I had already left Chicago. Now it’s Cubs Territory wherever I am.
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Lake Michigan's Left Coast 