Note – written in mid-March, before the season started.

It was the English poet Alexander Pope who penned the words, “Hope springs eternal,” back in 1732—one hundred fourteen years before the New York Nine pounded the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club 23–1, in what is recognized as the first game in baseball history.

I’m reminded of Pope’s words every year about this time, as the Major League Baseball season opens. My Chicago Cubs will host the Washington Nationals at Wrigley Field on March 26th. Am I the only one who thinks it’s absurd that, at the beginning of the season, all the southern teams seem to go north to play in the opener? But that’s a rant for another day.

Incredibly, the Cubs are entering their 155th year—and their 111th at Wrigley. In MLB history, they have won the third-most games with 11,419 victories, behind only the Giants and Dodgers.

In checking the internet, I see the Cubs are ranked tenth in the power rankings heading into the season, fifth in the National League. They haven’t done so well in the preseason, going 10–14 so far, including getting swept by the White Sox. I understand the Sox brass may be planning on hanging a banner at the park to mark the event—“HEY, WE SWEPT THE CUBS IN SPRING TRAINING!” – they need to count their wins where they can get them.

The Cubs lost Kyle Tucker to the detestable Dodgers over the off-season but did pick up third baseman Alex Bregman and pitchers Edward Cabrera, Phil Maton, Hoby Milner, and Jacob Webb. Hopefully, the extra arms will help. A team can never have enough pitching.

Just talking about the Cubs—the perennial lovable losers—brings fond memories pouring forth.

Events like sitting next to my grandfather, Willy, when Kenny Holtzman threw a no-hitter in 1969 against the Braves…without striking out a single batter. Had the wind not been blowing in that day, Hank Aaron would have ended the no-hitter.

As a kid in ’69, I had baseball cards of every Cubs player pinned to the wall in my bedroom. I’d move them around whenever the lineup changed—an act that wasn’t needed very often, as manager Leo Durocher pretty much ran out the same group every day, which I still remember:

1B – Ernie Banks (my favorite player at the time)
2B – Glenn Beckert
SS – Don Kessinger
3B – Ron Santo
C – Randy Hundley
LF – Billy Williams
CF – Don Young
RF – Jim Hickman
SP – Fergie Jenkins
RP – Phil Regan

I thought poor Jack Brickhouse was going to commit Harry Caray over the collapse.

I recall the Saturday afternoons when I had two acres to mow, all the while listening to Cubs games on WGN. I did that for eighteen years—from 1990 to 2008—sometimes with my son in my arms, trying to put him to sleep. He was usually out before I made the first trip around the yard.

Oh, there’s been plenty of heartbreak too.

The ’69 collapse still brings out my blind hatred for the New York Mets. Then there was 1984, when the Cubs won the first two games at home against the San Diego Padres before losing three straight in San Diego. I was at that second game with my golfing buddy, the late Denny Smith. Steve Trout took the mound, and the Cubs won 4-20. Denny and I celebrated afterward at Murphy’s Bleachers, outside of left field, with about 5,000 of our newest and closest friends—delirious at the thought of an upcoming World Series.

Sadly, Denny didn’t live long enough to see the 2016 championship.

In 1989, it was more of the same, as the Cubs lost in the NLCS to the San Francisco Giants. How a team with Ryne Sandberg—my all-time favorite Cub—Andre Dawson, and Rick Sutcliffe lost that series is still a mystery to me.

Then there was 2003 and the infamous Bartman incident. Mr. Bartman was wrongfully made the scapegoat when it was the errors that doomed them. I’d bet he’s still a Cubs fan, though.

Speaking of the 2016 championship, I have a fond memory of my son.

Keep in mind, before 2016 the Cubs hadn’t won a World Series since 1908—a modest 108-year drought.

At 24 years old, he was living in Las Vegas at the time, and after the game he called me—in tears—overcome with excitement. We shared the moment, both of us caught up in it, and then he said:

“Dad, I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

Ironic, huh?

Baseball is a great respite from this every day, hurry-up life we live.

The game is simple. You don’t have to keep your eyes glued to the television or worry about missing a batter or two. Nothing happens…until it does.

There are no clocks—just nine innings until it’s decided.

Every year, about this time, it returns. Right on schedule. And hope reigns supreme—even for this old Cubs fan.

And somehow, that’s enough.