I came into this world a Chicago Cubs fan. From my first game at Wrigley as a literal baby to my latest (a walk-off walk, by the way), that team has shaped my days, for better or for worse.

It’s been the source of tears and of some of the most joyful moments of my life. The first time I ever swore in front of my mom, it was because of the Cubs. My childhood was accompanied by the sounds of Pat Hughes and Ron Santo (and then Coomer) on the radio. My first celebrity crush was a Cubbie. (I will not be sharing who.) 

There’s a photo of me as a baby being held by former Cubs catcher Michael Barrett, the one who punched a Sox player. To hear my mom tell it, she threw me at him and told us to smile. 

As I approach my graduation this spring, I’m getting sappier by the day, and I can’t help but reminisce on the old days and how baseball has grown along with me. I’ve gone from playing on the Oakland A’s tee ball team three years in a row (no, I didn’t get to pick) to losing games of wiffleball to the younger cousins who are now taller than me. Suddenly there are professional baseball players younger than me, and I’m allowed to spend $20 on a beer at Wrigley Field (ouch and ouch).

I think it’s fitting to be graduating from DePaul in Cubs colors. God knows I’ve had issues with the team, but that’s also very applicable to college. Both have made me laugh, made me cry, made me dance and throw things and stay up way too late and bury my head in my hands to get away from it all. They’ve made me friends. They’ve made me enemies.

I once went to a Cubs game with one of my best childhood friends and her family, all of whom are huge soccer fans. I distinctly remember my friend’s mom being baffled at what she called the “solo nature” of the game, and I get it. As opposed to a sport like soccer, where a team works together for the entire game, baseball can feel solitary with one player up to bat. It can feel slow and, to hear some say it, boring. 

But when that player is up to bat, facing the opposing team, you can bet there is a line of Cubbie blue along the dugout rail, waffle iron at the ready. There is dancing in the bullpen. There are thousands of fans losing their minds. And there’s a six-year-old girl learning what innings are based on when her dad says they can get a snack. 

There are neighbors running onto the street crying on a November night in 2016. There’s also a girl hiding upstairs because her parents made her go to bed, and she will never let them live that down. There are two siblings holding hands as they run around the bases and get lapped by the older boys — they don’t care. There’s a woman living overseas who wakes up to watch games in the middle of the night (shoutout to my mom). There’s a crackle on the radio. There’s the crack of a bat. 

There’s a girl graduating in Cubbie blue. And the Cubs are gonna win it this year. And you can’t convince me otherwise, no matter how hard that team tries.

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