Alan Hovorka is a senior integrated studies major and writes "Relative Value" for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. Write to Alan at alanhovorka94@gmail.com.
Nov. 2 will go down as an unforgettable day in baseball history: The Chicago Cubs or the Cleveland Indians will end their century-, or decades-long, championship drought. But, this day was already unforgettable for me.
My grandfather would have been 90 years old today and over the moon to see his Cubbies play in the World Series, especially in a Game 7. A sign for something if I’ve ever seen one, but I’ve had my issues sticking with the Cubs.
Ludwig “Louie” Slechta died at age 81 on Sept. 27, 2008, which was followed by the Los Angeles Dodgers sweeping the Cubs in the post-season. Each time I sat down to watch a game, I revisited the painful months leading up to, and following, his death. Those months in 2008 crushed me. When they opened the parlor doors for his wake, my knees buckled and I cried outside the room for an hour. Soon after, I stopped watching the Cubs and baseball altogether.
He didn’t have long to live, and all I wanted for him was to see the Cubs in the World Series before he died.
There’s unreasonableness in a request like that. I see that now. To expect life to wait around is selfish, because it doesn’t wait on personal whims or wishes. But, I watched the man who shaped me — my best friend — slowly waste away through the course of a year. The only thing I wanted for him before he died was to see the team he loved for some 80 years go the distance and try to win it all.
After last year’s post-season, I thought it was time to try again, to see if the pain numbed enough so I could find joy in the game — and the Cubs — again. Louie wasn’t alone in his love for the Cubs. Charlotte Slectha, his wife, partner-in-crime and the other biggest Cubs fan in my life, could see the team they loved together win it all.
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Giving up on baseball and the Cubs for six years probably makes me a bandwagon fan now, but I’m not rooting for them because of a sense of Chicago pride, because “they’re my team” or because they’re just in the playoffs.
I'm cheering for The North Siders because of how important the team was to Louie and Charlotte’s love, the hope and dedication they showed the franchise. They visited me at least once a week for a year after I was born, which turned into a month and then regular family vacations. I remember the family vacation car rides, where I would fall asleep with my head in my grandma's lap listening to Cubs Radio with Ron Santo. My grandparents were inseparable and in their retirement would take the camper down to Mesa, Arizona, in January until the end of March to watch the Cubs' spring training.
At age 87, each day is a blessing with my grandmother. I want her to have this moment and not have to wait one more year. If Louie's would-be-90th birthday falling on Game 7 is a sign for anything, it’s a sign that maybe I can move forward and find joy in the game again.
As the Cubbies stare down history, I won’t be wearing any team gear. Instead, I’ll be on the phone with one of the most important people in my life to share those last few innings of a great World Series.
It's more important that she has this moment than me and, in a way, we’ll be sharing it with Louie, even if it's just his memory. Maybe a sense of closure will come after almost a decade. It’s not about the ring for me — it’s about him and her.
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