Cubs win! Cubs win! Cubs win!

One guy’s journey into the heart of darkness, Cubs history, and Lincoln Park pubs.

The people in my neighborhood here in Chicago have been extremely friendly toward my family since we arrived here in August. Even when they learn I’m a lifelong Mets fan, after a quick scowl — they have still not forgotten ‘69 — they accept my wayward baseball allegiance. After all, Cubs and Mets fans both know very well the meaning of the word “long-suffering”.

My Mets have not won a World Series since 1986. But for Cubs fans? They last won the championship in 1908. That’s 108 years, even if you’re counting with New Math.

So last night after I returned home from a Black List Happy Hour event, I decided to walk around The Hood — Lincoln Park and Old Town, to experience Game 7 from the locals’ perspective. I Facebooked my experiences and people seemed to enjoy the saga. Here’s what I wrote, each installment from the middle of the game to the end:

Walking around Chicago. Excitement mixed with dread floating in booze. #WorldSeries

Drunk guy singing “We are the CHAMPIONS!” Dude, it’s the 5th inning.

Pubs are packed. Streets are empty. Decades of ghosts floating around. And somewhere Steve Goodman is writing a new Cubs song.

It’s eerie. The whole Northside holding its breath. Agnostics praying. Adults clutching talismans. An entire city on hold.

Old Town / Lincoln Park. Home of yuppies and millennials. They share a common blood type: Cubbies.

Every apartment, every townhome, every house, TV turned onto The Game. Muffled screams and groans. Not sex. Baseball.

What’s this? Someone walking the lonely streets. Me: “Not watching the game?” They reply in French. Not the World Cup. Shrug.

Uber drivers drop off staggering fans decked out in Cubs gear. Stanley’s Kitchen and Tap.

Guys outside bar sucking down Marlboros. Guy shaking head: “Don’t know what’s worse. Fucking Cubs or fucking Trump. Both KILLING me.” Others nod, smoke… thick silence.

Back at Marge’s Still. Three women locked on game through window. Girl 1: “We can’t go in yet. Bad luck.” Start singing Hakuna Mutata for good look. Ground out to 2nd. Girl 2: “Disney sucks!”

Young couple dashes out of a club. Holding hands, scampering away into the night. Free of fandom. Lucky bastards.

Extra innings. Rain delay. Guy staggers out of Marge’s. “Xanax, here we come!”

I picked Cubs in 7, Baez wins it in the 13th. Sticking with that. Later.

NOTE: At this point, I went home. Then the Cubs scored two in the top of the 10th inning to take an 8–6 lead. So I made the one block trek to Marge’s yet again, bought a Jack Daniels on the rocks, and watched history in the making.

Pandemonium at Marges. And in the middle of the chaos, a Cubs clad dad holds his 5 year-old son’s hand, leading him inside… in his pajamas… to remember this moment.

Believe it or not, I had a few writing takeaways from last night’s trek around Chi-town.

• Make damn sure to create a strong emotional connection between the characters and events in stories and the people reading the script.
• Give ’em emotional highs… and emotional lows. The latter make the former that much more intense.
• There is great dialogue quite literally everywhere. We just need to open our ears and listen.
• Finally, there is no ending to a story quite as satisfying as a happy ending.

Where were you during Game 7 of the World Series? I’d love for you to share your stories. If you’re a Cubs fan — or even if you’re not — and you feel like it, please recommend this post.

UPDATE: Here’s a cool story about Game 7: Chicago Cubs Fan Drove 600 Miles to Listen to Game 7 At Father’s Grave: ‘We Had a Pact’.