Up second was the Cubs’ other MVP candidate, their big first baseman. For a moment, I thought he’d hit it out of the park too; he sent a long drive to right field. If it hadn’t been hit to where the wall had been set back right by the Budweiser deck, it would have been a home run. The right fielder figured out he wouldn’t be able to catch it and sort of ducked when the ball hit the wall. With the ivy, it was even odds that it would either bounce funny or disappear into the vines. The ball bounced over his head, but he quickly gathered it in and fired to second. If it had been on the line, the runner would have been out.
The third batter in the inning swung at a three-oh pitch and put it into shallow right field. The outfielder charged it and held the runner at second to just one base. Now the Cubbies had runners at first and third. The fourth batter topped the ball, and it dribbled down the third base line. The runner at third was safe at home, so the only throw the third baseman had was to first, which got there too late. There were two runs in, and the Cubs had runners at first and second with no outs.
The next man up shocked everyone as he laid a bunt down the third base line. The third baseman missed it, and everyone was safe. It looked like the Cubs had something going with bases loaded, no outs, and up a run.
With one out, the Cubs’ sixth batter of the inning hit a fly ball to left field. The Indians’ player gathered it in and conceded the run to hold the runner at second. The Cubs weren’t able to get any more runs, but now led 3–1.
Lester seemed to settle in, and I watched him paint the corners. My newest best buddy Kurt helped by calling them strikes. Now, instead of the Indians swinging and missing, they watched as pitches were called strikes. You could see them get frustrated. From where I sat, they looked like good pitches, but I might be biased.
With two outs, the Indians got a runner to second. The next batter hit a ball to left-center field. I think I might have gotten to it, but unfortunately, the Cubs’ center fielder made a dive and came up short. Luckily, he blocked it, so it didn’t get to the wall. The Indians now only trailed 3–2.
Lester had one weakness as a pitcher: he didn’t even try to hold runners at first base. I guess he just figured he would strike out the batter, and it wouldn’t matter what the runner did. The Indians did what they should in that situation: they sent a runner to try to steal second. In a one-run game, you need to move your runner into scoring position. The Cubs’ catcher came up throwing and gunned him down to end the inning.
At the top of the eighth, the Cubs pulled their starter. The place was about to come down around us as the fans stood and screamed while the reliever struck out the side. I did get to witness what a 102-mile-per-hour fastball looked like. It wasn’t like cranking up the pitching machine. The advantage of the machine was that it would consistently throw strikes. With live pitching, that wasn’t always a given. If you thought the ball might come inside, your body would react to protect itself. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to get up there and take my chances, though.
In the top of the ninth, with two outs, the Cubs still led 3–2. The pitcher threw two strikes against the Indians’ third baseman. I grinned as the catcher stood up and looked around the stadium to take it all in. The Cubs hadn’t won a World Series game at Wrigley since game six in 1945. Heather shared that little factoid with me, and it helped put everything into perspective. The place went nuts when the Cubs’ reliever struck him out. The Cubs remained alive. It impressed me when the players acted like it was just like any other win.
For the fans, it was a different story. If the Cubbies found a way to somehow win the next two, they would finally fulfill the dream none of the fans had ever witnessed.
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Inside the clubhouse, the players showed more emotion. When Bossy Pants said we had to leave, Heather and I ignored her. We watched as the press descended. You could see the players turn it off and become professionals as they answered the reporter’s questions.
Juan found us and offered to get our jerseys signed by the team. He then told us to get changed and that they had a buffet that featured Italian beef. Of course, I could eat. I would’ve been happy to stay all night, but my mom sent me a text to tell me to get my butt to the van. Heather followed me out.
“If you see Bill before I get a chance to call him, thank him for probably one of the best days of my life. It was pretty cool that we got to see the first Series win at Wrigley Field in over 70 years.”
“I’ll let him know,” she said, then cocked her head. “Aren’t you going to at least ask me for my number?”
“Yeah, I would like for us to be friends.”
Even I realized that sounded lame. Luckily for me, Heather was a good sport.
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