Did the Cubs really win?

My bad.

Call it distractions, call it day-to-day life, call it ennui if you must you yuppie swine, but I never got around to writing about the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series.

So call this a make-up column.

Do I have any new insights on the games? No. Do I have any insights on the players? No. But I do have a keen memory of the fans I saw the night they wrapped up Game 7 (finally) for the win.

I saw Damian from Chicago bear-hugging Randy from Wisconsin, jumping up and down as if they were gathered at the pitcher’s mound in Cleveland on that rainy night at Progressive Field. A young black man celebrating with a middle-aged white man with only two things in common — a gig at one of the largest newspaper companies in the world and a shared love of a once-cursed baseball team that had just conquered the world.

Yes, I saw this in a newsroom, where there’s no cheering in the press box, where we’ve seen it all, heard it all, read it all. Where news of election results, car crashes, celebrity sightings, rapes, murders and, yes, sporting events are met with either gallows humor or a detached shrug.

But not in this case. The Cubs won the World Series, ending a 108-year drought. This win mattered, even to fans in the newsroom. And I’ve got proof.

Fifteen minutes after the Cubs sealed the deal, Randy emerged from the men’s room dressed in his Cubs hat and jersey. Why did he wait until after the game?

“The last time they were in the playoffs, I was wearing this while they were playing and they lost. Didn’t want to jinx them,” he says.

Jerseys and hats are for closers, so once the Cubs closed the series, the well-deserved swag came out of the duffel bag and onto the superstitious fan who knows best — you don’t mess with a win streak, not in Vegas, not in Cleveland.

Randy’s a Packers fan, so he knows what it’s like to have your team win the big one. But this is baseball, and there’s nothing like a World Series win. It’s a glow in the chest that keeps you warm until April when the sun comes out on the dawn of a new season.

It’s memories of game-winning RBIs from Little League when you pretended someday you’d hit the game-winner in the major leagues.

It’s a call to Dad, Mom, and maybe Grandpa, who also witnessed his first World Series win in his lifetime.

It’s a chance to talk to old friends and new acquaintances, even the ones who sometimes annoy you, they’re all right now, because they’re Cubs fans too and we won.

And it’s a time for pure baseball lovers to unite because we remember when our teams finally won, like my Giants in 2010, and how great it feels, and when we see our friends feeling the same thing, that glow in the chest comes rushing back into us too.

The Cubs won the World Series. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment. For everyone.

Except Cleveland fans, of course. Oh, well. Maybe next year.

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Some last minute Super Bowl thoughts

My 49ers are in the Super Bowl? Hell, I don’t think I ever got around to writing about the Giants World Series win last year, and it’s been less than four months since the boys from the bay swept the Detroit Tigers on Oct. 29, 2012.

To a San Francisco fan like me, the past 120 days has been sports Nirvana. But it could turn into purgatory if the ‘9ers lose. They are 5-0 after all, so a perfect record is going to be put to the test.

I plan to watch the first quarter stone sober with a pen in hand, just as I have the last five Super Bowls the 49ers played. Yes, I realize they no longer script the first 20 plays like Bill Walsh used to do, but I’m a creature of habit and don’t want to give way to the jinx. I’m pretty sure I can wait until the second quarter to crack my first beer. (Editor’s note: Turns out I was wrong about that.)

Here’s to 6-0.

• • •

The Super Bowl is where it should always be in my opinion—New Orleans. It’s the perfect way to revive the city that won’t wash away. And there’s only a conflict of interest once every thirty years or so when the Saints are actually in the Super Bowl.

Next year in New York will be a disaster. Or maybe not, since global warming happens.

If we can’t have the Super Bowl in The Big Easy every year, then I say we should restrict the big game to these four cities—New Orleans, San Diego, Miami and Dallas.

Frankly, it’s not likely any of these teams will be in the Super Bowl much either.

• • •

Got my sushi, got my Lone Star beer, got my deer antler spray. Let the game begin. I’ll be keeping a blog and will post after each quarter. My prediction? 44-21, 49ers.

Hey, if you want objective, go read last year’s blog.

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While I was sleeping…

Where have I been?

My Giants won the World Series and I didn’t say a word. Why? The whole point of this column is to write what other sports writers don’t, and I certainly have had that opportunity.

For instance. Bruce Bochy and Brian Sabean both swayed like willow trees during the post-game interview. What’s up with that? Is this some knee-jerk reaction from living in earthquake country? Or did they both drink from the greenie coffee pot.

(If you don’t know what I’m talking about, please read Ball Four by Jim Bouton. If you do know what I’m talking about, read that book anyway. It’s great.)

But I digress. The reason I feel so vacuous after the Giants second World Series win in three years is because I did not get the revenge I have sought since 1962.

I want the Giants to win the World Series. Again. Against the the big dog.

Yeah, the Giants beat the Texas Rangers in 2010. And in 2012 they beat the Detroit Tigers, sweeped them for crissakes. But I love those teams—the Rangers are my favorite AL team and the Tigers were my dad’s favorite AL team.

I want the Giants to beat the Yankees in the World Series. The NY Yankees. The damn Yankees. That would be true revenge.

Can I get an amen?
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