Tonight, after one hundred eight years, the Chicago Cubs beat the Cleveland Indians in an almost rained-out 10th inning of Game 7 of the 2016 World Series, to take the series. What was often touted as a curse, the Cubs win tonight ended their century long bar from the World Series and the lifted the spirits of millions of Americans.
(At this moment I would to recognize the Cleveland Indians, as they haven’t won a World Series since 1948, and also have a diehard fan base. It is unfortunate that the Cubs winning in 2016 will often overshadow the amazing season the Indians had this year. Great job Cleveland.)
So as a Boston Red Sox fan, I shouldn’t be rooting for any other team. But as a fan of a franchise that was also one of the “cursed clubs,” I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Chicago, not to mention their deep affiliation with the Irish, labor, organized crime, and delicious food. But I have also always been a champion of the underdog. And since 2004 the Red Sox have lost their underdog card. So when the Cubs went to the series, I was excited. And when they won tonight I started weeping. At first I wasn’t sure why, but on the train home I realized something.
The curses are all lifted. The Curse of the Bambino. The Curse of the Old Man amd the Goat (or something like that). But these only symbolize my own curses. The Curse of Homelessness. The Curse of Perpetual Violence. The Curse of Heroin. The Curse of the Bottle. All these curses have been lifted, at least the curses I personally identify with.
I dont know how to communicate what I am experiencing but it feels as if someone has just open the prison door and unshackled me. I am no longer tethered to anything holding me back. I haven’t been for a few years, but I am never able to see my own growth until someone else points it out. And in this case it was the lifting of the Curse of the Chicago Cubs.