We are the Tortured Fan Base!
Some of us have spent our formative, middle age, and whatever happens after middle age mysteriously rooting for Chicago Cubs. Yes, it is mysterious and wonderous. Why on earth would otherwise sane people continue to find meaning in following, watching, attending games and generally obsessing over the Cubs.
We discuss our primary theory on how many Cubs fans of our generation were created in “Everything Has a Beginning”. The Tortured Fan Base takes no solace in the statistical ranking or analysis of our team. We want only victory and we know mathematics has no place between the foul poles. We crave mental toughness, we want entertainment, and we dream of the day we will go all the way.
The Tortured Fan Base has determined that Wrigley Field really is the Friendly Confines. The beauty of an unadorned field, majestic scoreboard, green ivy, and the faint sound of an organ brings soft tears to our imagination.
We live for the sweet sweet taste of a draft Old Style in wax paper beer cups, the crush of peanut shells beneath our feet and the excitement of the first pitch. We detest the encroachment of advertising in our playground, we will not stand for loafing, and we demand entertainment.
Most of all, we dream. We dream of that day when our Tortured Fan Base will finally be sanctified. We know that when this day comes, when they proclaim us the Champions, we will be able to celebrate with more gusto, greater panache, and far more intensity than any other assortment of fans.
We have learned that to fully appreciate our summers we need to observe our Chicago Cubs with optimism, gilded by useless knowledge, and armed with bombastic candor.
Andre Fonseca and Popeye Ojeda