Creative Writing: The Cubs

It was a beautiful day for the beautiful game of baseball to be played in the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, Chicago: breezy, sunny, but not a scorching hot, sweat-bead kind of day. Merely six miles south of Wrigley Field, we boarded the CTA purple line el train, along with clusters and clusters of Chicago Cubs fans also getting on each and every rail car from who knows where. But, let me tell you, I was in awe; I have never been with so many true fans who knew, not only baseball, but knew the Cubs!

“Who’s ready for the Cubs to crush the Astros!” Shouted a taller guy with a 1970’s Cubs throwback jersey on.

“We are!” Howelled the rest of the train audience.

As the doors steadily slid shut behind us, you could vividly hear the conductor exclaiming over the intercom, “Doors closing,” in his deep, monotone voice. And off we went, only to stop every mile or so to scrunch many more baseball fans inside for barely any standing room. Thirty-minutes passed of stopping and starting and finally, the stop we have all been anxiously waiting for was coming around the track bend, Addison.

“Welcome to Wrigley Field” was what the colorless voice of the conductor blurted out. After the doors expanded open,

But it fortunately wasn't actually a gunshot. No, it was the sound of a baseball being absolutely destroyed off of the thirty-six inch maple bat of Alfonso Soriano, the Cubs all-star left fielder! Plummeting from the clouds, the baseball crashed halfway up the bleachers in left-center field. All the fans swarmed over to attempt to catch it for their very own souvenir but it flew down quite too quickly and nobody had a chance of catching it cleanly. One lucky fan got the homerun, batting-practice ball eventually. I’ve seen many home runs on television but never in person until that day. Then I thought to myself, “Wow! It’s going to be a tough journey to come this far and become as talented as a professional baseball