Inspired by a piece in Sports Illustrated on why people are sports fans, I penned this little essay a few years ago . . .
I believed, firmly, that Jose Vizcaino was an all-star shortstop.
I was 10. The Cubs were mediocre. But they were there, every day after school, coming through loud and clear on WGN. And I was there, plopped in front of the TV with a snack and a growing love for a game I had never been very good at it.
The Cubs were my team, and Jose was my guy.
He was a career .270 hitter, with a career 36 home runs. But in 1993, when he was my guy, he was good. Solid. A little better than his career marks. He hit .287 with 19 doubles. He should have been an all-star.
We went to a game that year, my first time at Wrigley. Mom had pneumonia but we still went. Six hours in the car and a pricey night in a hotel on Lake Shore Drive. Amaury Telemaco pitched against the Marlins. The Cubs, if memory serves, lost.
I voted for Jose that year, punched his name in my All-Star ballot at Wrigley. I voted for him and for Rick Wilkins and for Jose Hernandez and Steve Trachsel and all of them. Every average one of them. I couldn’t see how they wouldn’t be all-stars. Who was better than Jose Vizcaino?
I don’t remember being terribly disappointed when he didn’t get picked. Maybe it didn’t much matter. Maybe I wrote it off. Either way, I just kept watching, and Harry Caray and Steve Stone kept talking. It was a wonderful summer. Jim Bullinger almost pitched a no-hitter and I was pretty sure I was responsible for breaking it up because my sister and her friend made me move from my lucky spot in the living room.
I have been a Cubs fan ever since those days. I am far less innocent now; if the Cubs sent out a lineup of Vizcainos and Wilkinses and Trachsels — and they’ve been close to doing that — I’d be mad. I’d complain about the general manager and the owner. Another lost year, I’d say.
But that team — they had me. They have never really let go.
It’s funny. I try, always, in the self-aware adult way, to be a believer in my life. It doesn’t always work. There are bad days and bad nights and frustrations. I try, though. I do try.
I wonder, sometimes, if the Cubs have made me a believer. People ask why I believe in them every year, losing year after losing year, why I keep getting my hopes up. I am incredulous in my response; I can’t even fathom that they ask. How could you not believe? What else is there?
I don’t know if the Cubs shaped this in me, or if it was already there. Certainly, it has something to do with my wonderful parents and my perfect childhood. But I think the Cubs have had their say too. Harry and Steve always kept talking, and I always kept watching and the summer seemed like it lasted forever.
It was 1993 and I was 10 and I believed Jose Vizcaino was an All-Star.
It is 2011 and I am 28 and I still believe in something. In everything. In Jose.