The Cubs are in a bit of a bind right now. They're on the bring of elimination in the National League Championship Series against the New York Mets. They need to reel off four consecutive victories, two in Chicago and two in New York, or kiss their season goodbye. The only other team in MLB history to accomplish such a feat was the 2004 Boston Red Sox, who were also trying to end a World Series drought.
The North Siders need all of the good faith, energy and goddamn moxie that Chicago can muster. If you live in the city and are sending negative vibes the Cubs' way, then you're no better than the grime on the floor of a CTA car. You should leave town, see a psychiatrist and reflect on whatever happened in your life that made you an awful person.
And this is all coming from a diehard White Sox fan. I've regularly denounced the Cubs fans who spill into Wrigleyville every summer as a bunch of ignoramuses who are more accustomed to chanting "Daddy gimme Cubbie money" than "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." I've claimed the team doesn't deserve to win a World Series, and I've jokingly mapped out areas in Wrigleyville that are perfect for public urination, insinuating the entire neighborhood is already one giant toilet bowl.
But this fall I'm singing a different tune. I've shamelessly jumped on the Cubs' bandwagon, because the team's 2015 campaign has been nothing short of magical. A Cubs championship would be a great thing for the city. If you're not inspired by their against-all-odds success this year, then you're a borderline sociopath at best.
Chicago is on the brink of one of the worst pension crises in the history of the world, our homicide rate isn't exactly something to be proud of and Houston is poised to pass us as the third most-populated city in the country. Things haven't been particularly peachy lately. Chicago needs a release—a morale boost—and our North Side baseball club's ability to swing bats better than their opponents has provided just that.
You can scoff at the tourists who waste their time snapping pictures of the statues outside of Wrigley Field. You can be disturbed by the giant frat party that is the Wrigleyville bar scene on game day. You can even crap on the traditions surrounding the organization. Heck, feel free to be apathetic about the whole situation.
But don't root against the Cubs when they're on the brink of making history. That's an act of social terrorism, and it warrants a firm smack in the jaw.