Kissng the Cubs
Sunday, October 26, 2003
You can listen to this piece through WBEZ.
- - - - - - - -
As the Marlins celebrated their victory over my beloved Cubbies in the NLCS, I realized something extraordinarily important about romantic relationships: When it comes to first kisses, there are two schools of thought. You've got your devil-may-care, brash let's-just-kiss school, whose students will just lean in and kiss people willy nilly without even asking if it would be all right. I like this sort of confident impulsiveness in principle, but then in practice sometimes a let's-just-kiss person will try to kiss me, and then if I don't want to kiss them because they're unattractive or a Republican or something, it will be very awkward.
Now, I am smart enough to know that a pretty good percentage of women in Chicago don't want to kiss me, so I am not personally a let's-just-kiss kind of guy. I belong to the let's-talk-this-over-for-a-couple-hours-as-if-it-were-a-life-threatening-surgical-procedure-until-you-realize-that-the-only-way-to-shut-me-up-is-to-kiss-me school of thought. It's true that my first kiss strategy lacks impulsiveness, excitement, and romance, but when you spend several hours talking about a kiss before it finally happens, you can rest assured it is going to be one special kiss. Usually, an especially bad and nervous one, but still: Special.
I'm a careful kisser because I like all the parts of a crush leading up to and including the first kiss, and then I am inevitably disappointed by everything that comes afterward. And last night, I found myself wondering if maybe I feel the same way about the Cubs: Will I love the Cubs any less if they ever stop flirting with me and finally bring the World Series back to Wrigley?
No. Absolutely not. Listen, lovable losers: We've drawn out our pre-kiss rituals long enough. I fell for you in 1984, when I was seven and you very nearly went to the World Series before losing three in a row. Being the kind of guy who enjoys a little heartbreak now and again, you were clearly my team. And now, 19 years later, you've done it to me again. I've wanted you for so long, Cubbies. Please: Make it next year.
Despite our perennial and inexplicable optimism, Cubs' fan could easily lose hope after a series like the one against the Marlins. But we must not lose our faith in the fabled but illusory next year. We must continue to believe in our irresistibly unfortunate Cubbies, because one day, when next year arrives, it will be so, so sweet. So in our mutual time of grieving, I ask you to put aside your pain and imagine with me, just for a moment, what it would be like: It would be as if you had a very long conversation, say a 19 year-long one, with a girl about whether or not she and you should kiss, and the whole time your nervousness and excitement kept building and building, the deft conversational maneuvering leading you ever closer to kissing, and then finally she says it: "Okay we've talked and talked about it; let's just do it," and she leans in and oh yes, delayed gratification is gratifying indeed, and oh my God the shock of her so-soft mouth, her breath sweet and warm against your face, and GO CUBS GO CUBS GO CUBS!
It will happen for us, Cubbie faithful. It will. Next year.
As the Marlins celebrated their victory over my beloved Cubbies in the NLCS, I realized something extraordinarily important about romantic relationships: When it comes to first kisses, there are two schools of thought. You've got your devil-may-care, brash let's-just-kiss school, whose students will just lean in and kiss people willy nilly without even asking if it would be all right. I like this sort of confident impulsiveness in principle, but then in practice sometimes a let's-just-kiss person will try to kiss me, and then if I don't want to kiss them because they're unattractive or a Republican or something, it will be very awkward.
Now, I am smart enough to know that a pretty good percentage of women in Chicago don't want to kiss me, so I am not personally a let's-just-kiss kind of guy. I belong to the let's-talk-this-over-for-a-couple-hours-as-if-it-were-a-life-threatening-surgical-procedure-until-you-realize-that-the-only-way-to-shut-me-up-is-to-kiss-me school of thought. It's true that my first kiss strategy lacks impulsiveness, excitement, and romance, but when you spend several hours talking about a kiss before it finally happens, you can rest assured it is going to be one special kiss. Usually, an especially bad and nervous one, but still: Special.
I'm a careful kisser because I like all the parts of a crush leading up to and including the first kiss, and then I am inevitably disappointed by everything that comes afterward. And last night, I found myself wondering if maybe I feel the same way about the Cubs: Will I love the Cubs any less if they ever stop flirting with me and finally bring the World Series back to Wrigley?
No. Absolutely not. Listen, lovable losers: We've drawn out our pre-kiss rituals long enough. I fell for you in 1984, when I was seven and you very nearly went to the World Series before losing three in a row. Being the kind of guy who enjoys a little heartbreak now and again, you were clearly my team. And now, 19 years later, you've done it to me again. I've wanted you for so long, Cubbies. Please: Make it next year.
Despite our perennial and inexplicable optimism, Cubs' fan could easily lose hope after a series like the one against the Marlins. But we must not lose our faith in the fabled but illusory next year. We must continue to believe in our irresistibly unfortunate Cubbies, because one day, when next year arrives, it will be so, so sweet. So in our mutual time of grieving, I ask you to put aside your pain and imagine with me, just for a moment, what it would be like: It would be as if you had a very long conversation, say a 19 year-long one, with a girl about whether or not she and you should kiss, and the whole time your nervousness and excitement kept building and building, the deft conversational maneuvering leading you ever closer to kissing, and then finally she says it: "Okay we've talked and talked about it; let's just do it," and she leans in and oh yes, delayed gratification is gratifying indeed, and oh my God the shock of her so-soft mouth, her breath sweet and warm against your face, and GO CUBS GO CUBS GO CUBS!
It will happen for us, Cubbie faithful. It will. Next year.
