Is Being a Cub Fan Going to Kill Me?

TBT Lin's Bin from 2012 in which a World Series is predicted. Prematurely.

September 27, 2018

Photo by Nate Azark

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I haven't been the only one. "The Cubs are killin' me." Your devotion has been a life-long liability. It all reminded me that I once wrote about the health benefits of being a Cub fan. In 2012, Tracy asked,

 

"Lin- Is being a cubs fan going to kill me?

I have symptoms: heart palpatations, mood swings, paranoia, heartburn....the list goes on.

I also seem to have a cause: being a cubs fan.

Any ideas for treatment?"

 

What an intriguing question.

Could this storied baseball team, The Chicago Cubs, kill you?

There are so many other things that could kill you before the subject of game 6 comes up.

How many times do we turn on the news only to hear a tease for an upcoming news report?

What you don’t know about unwashed mung bean sprouts…could kill you.

We need to worry about exposure to a smorgasbord of toxic delicacies.

Asbestos and mercury.

Sugar and duck fat fries.
Fran Drescher’s voice...could kill you.

Too much salt or too little salt.

Flesh eating bacteria and cigarettes.

We could be erased by ice chunks falling off of buildings.

I love those signs downtown.  Danger: falling ice.  Danger: falling ice?

How about you just close the sidewalk? 

Life in any big cities accelerates our commute from the cradle to the grave.

And every opening day as I look over the diehards sipping beers in the early dawn or watch The Waco brothers pouring shots of whiskey before lunch, I feel it’s important to remind you that liquor...could kill you.

And for those who boast about their abstinence.  I quote only one of many scientific studies that claim in no uncertain terms, not drinking alcohol...could kill you.

Let me tell you something about the Cubs.  Everything about the experience of watching a Cubs game mocks our mortality.  They play baseball games in a ballpark where a stiffening wind off the lake in April keeps the temperature as raw as fresh hamachi.

They serve cheese nachos in souvenir baseball helmets.  And if they told us that the cheese was molten orange plastic, we would believe them.

The first time I saw one of those nachos helmets the left side of my body went numb. The other side was already numb from the air temperature.

And when it warms up, the bleachers on a sunny day is nothing more than a skin cancer petri dish.

A few years ago there was some concern about chunks of concrete falling on patrons in the terrace reserve.  Oh quit your whining, that’s why you buy box seats.

A visit to the men’s room after the 7th inning stretch will not kill you,

But you’ll wish you were dead.

Is being a Cubs fan going to kill you?  Consider all that you’ve survived.

Cubs collapse in ’69.  The Padres 3 game sweep in 84.  And whatever the hell that was in 2003.  The grim reaper keeps knocking at our door, but we don’t answer. 

Because that which doesn’t kill you, makes you drink more beer.

Cub fans live longer because each of us desperately clings to life with the salty persistence of a barnacle on a tide pool rock.

Do you really wanna die the year before the Cubs win the World Series?

We know that the Cubs quest for a Championship will never kill us; it just might outlast us.