I hate the Chicago Cubs.
A father reflects on his families baseball traditions, and whether or not to pass on the legacy with his daughter.
I hate listening to “Go Cubs Go” after the games. I hate that everyone hangs their “W” flags on their porch, regardless of if they win or lose. I especially hated when they were the ‘lovable losers’, as if running an ineffective business for 100 years is some sort of badge of honor.
The worst part about it- I want to like them.
I do. Every logical reason in the world tells me why I should like this. I like that I can walk to games. I like the neighborhood of Wrigleyville. I like the rooftops in the outfield. I like that, unlike Comiskey Park, I’m usually not in fear of getting shanked after a game.
Even knowing all this, I still hate them.
I know exactly why I hate them: I was brainwashed as a kid.
My Grandfather, a former Marine, worked as a lumberman and volunteer firefighter on Chicago’s west side while raising 13 kids. To say he was working class is an understatement. For him, and my uncles, the Chicago White Sox represented the working class.
And so the cycle begins. The Peck family (Peck is my mother’s maiden name) and all their descendants hate the Cubs.
To give you an example of how deep this hatred runs, my uncle, Ed Peck, was in the Wall Street Journal because he hangs an “L” flag outside his house every time the Cubs lose. He is quoted saying, “A perfect day for a White Sox fan is a White Sox win and a Cubs loss,”
I agree with him.
Last Friday, I took Fiona to her first baseball game. Chicago Cubs vs. the Pittsburgh Pirates. (Go Buccos!)
We take the red line up to the stadium. Fiona is so excited to be on a train going to a baseball game.
We find our seats and a hot dog, and Fiona is radiating. She is overwhelmingly excited to be in this strange location with people intermittently cheering for unknown reasons.
She turns to me with her big brown eyes, and says, “Dad, which team are we rooting for?”
Damn it. It’s the moment of truth.
I wasn’t expecting this conversation this early.
What do I say? “Fiona, the team who plays in your backyard, they are the bad guys”
I give a huge sigh and say, “We are Cubs fans”.
And that was the first time I lied to my daughter.
We are watching the game, cheering, eating popcorn, and hot dogs, and soda, and more hot dogs, and now candy.
In the middle of this, an usher comes over to our seats, looks at Fiona and says, “What’s your name? Fiona responds,“My name is Fiona Rose, the brave, I’m 3 years old, and I’m very precautious”. Because that’s how wind-up dolls respond to those questions.
He laughs and says, “Well, Fiona Rose, the brave, I caught a baseball and I want you to have it”.
Fiona is besides herself.
Two innings later, a different security guard comes over and gives her a pack of cards. Three innings later, ANOTHER usher comes over and gives us ANOTHER ball.
Where the hell are all these baseballs coming from?
We end up staying the entire game. In the top of the 9th, Pirates are down two and have the bases loaded. Pop fly into right field, game over. CUBS WIN!
I’m now standing and belting out “Go Cubs Go” with my daughter.
I realize that I didn’t lie to my daughter, we are Cubs fans.
Something I could never imagine. But how did they do it?
They didn’t do it by telling me how bad the White Sox were. They didn’t insult me, or make a logical argument on why it makes more geographical sense to be a Cubs fan. They won me over by being nice to my daughter.
Maya Angelou said, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
And as we think about how we persuade the unpersuadable (or more likely, the majority of moderates (38%) in Illinois), how do we make them feel? What experience do they have with us?
Sometimes we get too focused on trying to win an argument, instead of trying to win converts.
Because if the Cubs can convert me into being a fan after decades of brainwashing, man, our job is easy.
Go Cubs!
Matt