The Chicago Cubs and the Summer of '69

The Chicago Cubs and the Summer of ‘69

“The love that lasts the longest is the love that is never returned.”

-W. Somerset Maugham

The idiom that a child will learn from touching a hot stove does not, unfortunately, apply to adults and matters of the heart. Herb had been burned every summer for 24 years. The summer of ’69 dealt the most crushing blow. By September, his heart wasn’t just broken; it was empty.

Herb had a crush on Sally Marks in the 8th grade. He was smitten with Molly Berg in high school. He was enamored with Jane Wadkins in college. But feelings of true passion did not stir in Herb’s heart until he moved to Illinois and became an ardent Chicago Cubs fan.

Being a Chicago Cubs fan requires commitment and strength. The words “disappointing”, “hapless”, “floundering”, and “error-prone” often preceded the word Cubs in newspaper articles across the land. Fortunately for old man Wrigley, the word “die-hard” always came before “Cubs fans”.

The attachment true fans have to their teams is difficult to understand. It is indeed a puzzlement when a person’s happiness quotient on a given day might depend on how their favorite sports team, composed of players they have never met, performed the day before. It is as mysterious as a magnetic field, but often stronger.

Herb’s heart had been broken many times. He tried abstinence, but the lure of the blue and white was stronger than the Sirens' beckoning of Odysseus. He couldn’t resist. He unplugged his radio at work, but the guy at the next workbench was also a Cubs fan, and he listened to the games. He tried transferring his powerful allegiance to another team, but Papa Bear’s boys weren’t doing much better. At one shameful moment, Herb considered adopting the White Sox as his team. After a sleepless night, Herb scampered off to St. Alphonsus to confess his sin, and he returned to the disturbing, but familiar, world of a loyal Cubs fan.

Herb was a glass-half-full kind of guy. Every year, he endured the pain of the dream in his heart being dashed by his team’s performance on the field. In the past 24 years, the Cubs never made the playoffs, did not even have a 2nd place finish, and had only one winning season. The frustration was taking its toll, and Herb often visited the nearby watering hole, Ray’s Bleachers, to seek the comfort found in sharing misery with others.

The patrons regularly pontificated about the reasons for the Cubs’ lackluster performance.

“Our starting pitchers suck.”

“The first baseman couldn’t hit his way out of a paper bag.”

“We need a new manager.”

“It’s the curse of the goat.”

The curse of the goat. In 1945, a gentleman named William Sianis, owner of the Billy Goat Tavern, brought his pet goat, Murphy, to the 3rd game of the World Series played at Wrigley Field. Some historians say it was the goat’s offensive odor, while others contend it was Sianis’ refusal to buy a ticket for the goat, but whatever the reason, Sianis and Murphy were asked to leave. On his way out of the stadium, an angry Sianis turned, shook his fist, and shouted, “Them Cubs, they ain’t gonna win no more”.

And they didn’t.

Herb thought he had done all he could to bring some good energy to his team. He prayed; he lit a votive candle at St. Alphonsus; he employed the athlete's visualization technique, and envisioned the Cubs performing well in all aspects of the game; he wore his lucky Cubs baseball cap to bed. He had heard about all the reasons for his team’s troubles many times before at Ray’s Bleachers, but this time the curse of the goat comment followed him home. Herb’s devotion to his beloved Cubs compelled him to consider every possibility.

In a fanciful moment of desperation, Herb bought a goat, named him Murphy, and treated him with great kindness. By making amends for the indignity the original Murphy had suffered that fateful day so many years ago, Herb thought he might be able to lift the curse. Murphy had his own room, had the same meals as Herb, and was taken for regular walks around the neighborhood. Some nights, Herb would take Murphy along with him to Ray’s Bleachers, where he received the same acclaim as the golden calf in Exodus.

Unfortunately, the neighbors began to complain about the goat’s incessant bleating, the patrons at Ray’s Bleachers couldn’t acclimate to the smell, the Cubs went on a nine-game losing streak, and Herb’s hope for a better season was sent to the Union Stock Yards.

Some years, Herb languished and hoped. Other years, he suffered and hoped. The team motto had become “There’s always next year” as the Cubs hadn’t made the playoffs since 1945, but Herb never lost faith. Wrigley Field didn’t have lights back then, so all the games were played during the day, which made it difficult for Herb to see his Cubbies from the stands, but he listened to every pitch on the radio at work. He celebrated their victories and suffered through their losses. The guy bled blue and white, and after another lengthy losing streak, Herb was close to giving up on his team, but then…

1969. The springtime talk at Ray’s Bleachers was all about the Cubs.

“I think this is going to be their year, Ben. Get me another tapper.”

“You say that every year, Herb.”

“I know, but this time, I’m feeling it. Leo’s got the boys ready.”

After a 3rd place finish the previous year, 13 games behind the pennant-winning St. Louis Cardinals, the manager Leo “The Lip” Durocher had put the veterans on notice. No one was safe in their starting positions, and his team would be built on pitching, defense, and speed.

“I love it, Ben. During spring training down at Scottsdale, he said he wanted ‘scratching, diving, hungry ballplayers’. The boys are going to claw their way to the top this year.”

“We’ll see, Herb. I’m afraid you’re just setting yourself up for another fall.”

The day before the start of the season, Herb stayed up late re-reading the newspaper articles about the Cubs’ spring training games in Scottsdale, reviewing last season’s stats, and looking for possible causes for last year’s disappointing season. He did his visualization thing to psych himself up for the events of the next day. He saw Ernie Banks putting one over the vines in center field, and pictured Ferguson Jenkins mowing down the top of the Phillies’ batting order. Herb would will his beloved Cubs into the playoffs this year.

Opening day… the most exciting day of the year in Chicago and in Herb’s head. For the 15th year in a row, Herb had called in sick so he could be in the stands for the Cubs’ home opener. His boss was a good guy; he wasn’t suspicious, he understood.

Herb looked like a walking Cubs merchandise store as he walked down Sheffield Street to the entrance to the bleachers at Wrigley Field- the mandatory Cubs baseball cap, Cubs T-shirt with “Cubs Power” patches galore, and enough button-pins to blow up a metal detector.

Herb got there early, so he was able to secure an aisle seat in the center field bleachers. This enhanced his ability to secure food and beverages from the multitude of vendors circulating through the crowd, and he could take his bathroom breaks without missing a pitch.

Herb settled into his bleacher seat, hot dog in one hand and the first of many beers in the other. He felt the cool breeze coming off Lake Michigan on his face as he excitedly watched his Cubbies go through their pregame drills. The boys looked sharp, and Herb’s spirits soared.

The Phillies rattled Herb’s confidence right off the bat… so to speak. With two outs in the top of the 1st inning, the Phillies scored on a wild pitch by Cubs ace Fergie Jenkins, not at all what Herb had visualized. But the Cubs responded in dramatic fashion in the bottom of the frame. Ernie Banks, Herb’s favorite player, came to the plate with two men on. Herb closed his eyes and visualized the ball sailing over the wall. It was a repeat of the Babe calling his shot- Banks drove the ball over the center field vines. Herb immediately took credit for the blast.

“I did that! I saw it before it happened! No, I made it happen!”

Herb’s belief that he had the power to control events was solidified when Banks put another one out of the park in the 3rd with one man on.

“I did it again! Somebody buy me a beer!”

The Phillies scored a run in the 7th, but the Cubs were still comfortably ahead by 3 going into the ninth. Herb already had this one in the win column as he reveled in the launch of a great season for his beloved Cubs. Unfortunately, the Phillies scored three runs to tie the game, and a shaken Herb quickly ordered another beer.

When the Phillies scored in the top of the 11th, Herb considered gnashing his teeth and rending his garments. His team had once again taken him to the summit only to send him to the depths of despair. Herb flagged down the white-capped beer vendor, with whom he was now on a first-name basis, to wipe away his sorrow. But then…

Randy Hundley, not known for his hitting prowess, singled to left, reviving a spark of hope for poor Herb, but then the next two batters went down flailing away at the air. With one out and only one chance remaining, Durocher did the unexpected- he called on Willie Smith to come in and pinch hit. Perhaps it was genius, or maybe the luck of a hunch… or maybe it was Herb praying so hard that his ears almost popped off, but Willie smacked one over the wall… Cubs 7, Phillies 6. The place went nuts.

Up, down, up, down, up, a rollercoaster of romance with his team all in one afternoon. Herb was exhausted, but happy.

The Cubs swept the Phillies in their 3-game homestand, and they went on to post one of the most successful months in their history- 23 wins against only 7 losses. Herb was loving his Cubbies, and for once, they were loving him back.

“Ben, I told you this was their year! My boys are red hot.”

“Hold onto your socks, Herb. It’s only April.”

“I hope we play the Yankees in the World Series. I’ve never been to New York.”

“I wouldn’t be making any hotel reservations just yet. It’s a long season.”

At the end of April, the Cubs were atop the National League Central Division, and Herb was living on cloud nine. He called in sick more often at work, and he became a known fixture in his center field bleacher seat. In bed at night, he reflected on the previous game and visualized mighty feats by his team in the upcoming contest. He wore his lucky Cubs baseball cap day and night, removing the charmed artifact only to shower. His team was finally paying him back for all those years of torment.

Herb had played the role of jilted lover for almost half of his life, but now his heart was on the mend. Remarkably, the Cubs maintained their 1st place position through May, June, July, and August. Over the years, Herb had been tempted many times to abandon the object of his affection and find another, but he remained loyal through all those lean years. Sitting in his favorite center field seat, he beamed with pride as he watched his team perform with near perfection on the field, and he bought a stereo radio to enhance his listening experience at work.

“Ben, Ben, Ben… oh ye of little faith. I told you this was their year. It’s the end of August, and my boys are up by 8 ½ games!”

“There are 30 days in September, Herb. A lot can happen.”

And it did.

September 3rd: Reds 2, Cubs. Herb expected an occasional loss.

September 5th: Pirates 7, Cubs 5. Two losses in a row. Not good, but his team still had a comfortable lead.

September 6th: Pirates 13, Cubs 4. Herb was getting nervous.

September 7th: Mets 7, Cubs 5. Herb spent an hour at St. Alphonsus praying, and he lit 2 votive candles.

September 8th: Mets 3, Cubs 2. Herb was having trouble breathing.

And then another event that will forever live in the troubled minds of Cubs fans. As a disgruntled Herb leaned into his radio at work, the Cubs announcer described a most unusual occurrence:

“This isn’t a good sign, Cubs fans. A black cat suddenly appeared out of nowhere and walked directly to the Cubs dugout. And now he’s standing motionless and just staring at the Cubs players.”

Herb’s heart sunk. His first thought was it was a return of the ghost of the goat. His beloved Cubs were doomed. His dream romance was over.

The Cubs lost that game and continued their fall from grace, compiling a mind-boggling record of 9 wins and 17 losses for the month of September. The Mets continued their winning streak and finished in 1st place, 8 games ahead of the Cubs. Going from 8 ½ games ahead to 8 games behind in one month was a near mathematical impossibility. The feat became known as the “Miracle Collapse”, and the curses of the goat and the black cat were forever etched in the minds of Chicago sports fans. Herb’s mind, body, and soul went numb. His Cubs, his beloved Cubs, had let him down once again, this time in a cruel and unforgiving fashion.

It was Romeo discovering Juliet was gone from this world, Jack seeing the shimmering image of Rose above as he sank to the cold, dark depths below, and Rick watching Ilsa get on the plane, never to return. Herb’s dream was over, gone forever.

Herb wasn’t angry. He was hurt, drained, broken. He had given his love, and he lost his heart. The day after the end of the regular season, Herb vowed he would never again put himself in such a vulnerable position; he would never love again. He picked up his frayed lucky Cubs cap, looked at it one last time, took the slow walk to the dumpster behind his home, and sent his once-most-prized possession to an inglorious end.

But dreams die slowly. That night, Herb tossed and turned in bed. Sleep escaped him as a new form of visualization took control of his thoughts. He couldn’t get the picture of his Cubs cap resting amidst discarded garbage out of his mind.

True love never dies. Herb sprang out of bed, raced to the dumpster, reached in, shooed away a few flies, and retrieved his lucky cap. Standing alone in his backyard, he pulled the cap down snugly over his shaggy white hair, looked to the stars splashed across the heavens above, and whispered to himself, “There’s always next year.”