With this, the boy genius elevates himself to best sports exec of all time and one of the finest in any field. So, now the curse is broken, the anti-gravity is gone, and we have firm evidence of a benevolent God.ĭon’t forget team alchemist Theo Epstein, 42, who has now accomplished the impossible in Boston and Chicago, two cursed cities. In the end, the real hero became an audaciously cerebral pinch runner who tagged and took second on a deep fly ball - another thing we never see. Home runs usually win ballgames like this, not bunts. True, sometimes the best coaching move is the one no one sees coming. Mark Monaco, of Wheaton, eats lunch while waiting to enter Progressive Field for Game 7. The Cubs skipper yanked his starter too soon, overused his closer, botched a bunt on a 3-2 count with one out and the winning run on third. Just like players can press too hard, so can managers. Fittingly, the Cubs didn’t keep it simple on Wednesday night - have they ever? Yeah, it’s all religion and numerology and things we’ll never quite fathom. A Buddhist mala has 108 beads, signifying all our mortal desires. There are 108 stitches in a baseball, and it’s been 108 years since they last won a championship.
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#2016 WORLD SERIES GAME 7 FAVORITE CODE#
The Cubs are no poetry society is what I’m saying, yet they couldn’t crack the mysterious code that wins a World Series. In fact, in the year the Cubs last accomplished this, 1908, one player threw ammonia in another player’s face, and then was beaten to a pulp by the manager, Frank Chance. It’s a city that produces more big-fisted literary lions and lousy quarterbacks than it does World Series champs. This time of year, the whole city starts to rust. The weather is awful, the elevated trains all squeak. It’s an angry city with - till now - a giant hole in its chest. It was, quite probably, the most spectacular seven-game series we’ve ever witnessed.īut to really appreciate this moment, you have to understand Chicago, if that’s possible. We’re talking baseball again, after a World Series as sweet as Halloween candy. A virus, a curse, an anti-gravity has finally lifted from the land.Ĭould this come at a better time for a twitchy and divided nation? Amid so much troubling talk, we’re all admiring baseball again, that stodgy, past-it’s-prime former national pastime.
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How momentous is this? The star-crossed Cubs are the world champions of baseball. And so does anyone who ever picked the long shot, rooted for the Apaches, bet the mortgage on the underdog. As a Chicago native, I feel caffeinated, buzzy, vindicated, sated. Couldn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t sleep the night after. I mean, the Cubs? Really? A trillion tweets, and I still don’t believe it. An agonizing, wonderful, jagged Game 7 became the biggest sports story of the year, and one of the finest of our lifetimes. To be sure, it is a snide and upsetting planet we all share, and then for five hours Wednesday night it wasn’t. For fans of the impossible, the Chicago Cubs’ World Series win late Wednesday night is a man-on-the-moon moment.