by Jill Gengler
So I was told recently that it was a surprise I’m a Cubs fan.
I was born and raised a Cubbie. I grew up with the Cubs on WGN; straight-up crappy reception on the 1970 AM dial in Melvin, 100-some miles away. But the Cubs were always on the radio, all summer, always. They weren’t great, but they were there. And they had commercials for places and things I’d never heard of in my town of 550. It was exciting.
Then I got to go to the Illinois Mathematics and Science Academy. I didn’t fit in. I was a hick from the sticks who was jaw-droppingly behind many of my classmates. We had nothing in common, except … oh those Cubs.
IMSA friends Marie and Kelly took me to my first game at Wrigley. We had standing-room only tickets, a sign made out of a bed sheet with a Shakespeare reference, and enough cash to buy Pepsi after the game. Andre Dawson hit three home runs.
The next summer, my mom whispered that my dad was sick. Cancer. Doctors didn’t want to make eye contact. I took an extra math class at Parkland so I could catch up to my IMSA classmates. Mom let me drive her every day Dad was in the hospital. I watched every single Cubs game that summer while doing what felt like remedial math and overhearing bad news.
The Cubs and letters from my friends were all that kept me going. I couldn’t tell you how a single game ended, but it didn’t matter. There’d be another game because there was another tomorrow, no matter what else happened.
Dad survived that round with a big chunk missing. He even managed to be healthy enough to complain about the ’89 Illini men’s basketball team, which shows true dedication.
Dad died in 2000. Mom in 2003, two days before my oldest child was born. My Aunt Pat and Uncle Shirley are hanging on, giving full attention to the Cubs.
So go Cubs. The team means a whole lot to me.
A die-hard Cubs fan from Central Illinois, Jill Gengler is a Champaign mom of three who works at the University of Illinois. She typed this love letter to the Cubs from her iPhone. Reprinted from her Facebook page with permission.