108.
The number had hung there all season long. 108 years since the Cubs had won the World Series. We'd come so close in 2015 that "There's always next year!" had become the mantra of the faithful.
108.
It was used by our detractors too, of course. If we hadn't won one by now, we never would.
108.
We'd heard it all by now. The Curse of the Billy Goat, the Loveable Losers. As much as we hoped, being a Cubs fan means being cynical by nature. And that cynicism means that even as much as we believed, we all had that lingering feeling in the backs of our heads. Something was going to go wrong. Something was going to happen. Something was going to screw this up.
But, being a lifer means you stay faithful. Because that's what you do. You do it because your granddaddy did it, and your daddy did it, and by god, you're going to do it too.
The closer we got, the more we let ourselves hope.
We put apples on Harry Caray's grave. Green apples. Because "as sure as God made green apples," the Chicago Cubs were in the World Series again. We took time off of work, to go to the cemetary with our phones, so we could watch the game with our fathers, our grandfathers, our mothers. Who, like us, never gave up on this team. They needed to be a part of this moment, too. For those of us who remember watching the games on WGN with our parents, it was important to make them a part of this moment. The moment we thought would be a part of history.
It was a nailbiter of a week. My fingers are still recovering, two years later, from the amount of chewing on my fingers I did.
Cubs lose. Cubs win. Cubs lose two more times. We groaned. We gnashed our teeth. We resigned ourselves to what we thought would happen because it was what always happened. But, we still believed. These things were never over until they were over.
Cubs win. Cubs win again.
The slogan of the team that year was "That's Cub." And the way they rallied back the way they did... That was most certainly Cub.
The hope started to creep back.
This thing was going to go into Game 7. Cubs had 3 wins, Indians had 3 wins. Game 7 would decide it.
Dexter Fowler led us off right. A lead-off homer? In the World Series? Well, goddamn! We started to chant. "You go, we go!" we shouted as Dex ran backwards around the bases. "You go, we go!"
We thought this game would be different. This team was different.
It certainly wasn't going to be easy.
We gained an early lead thanks to some masterful batting by Russell, by Contreras, and capped off with a homer from Báez. Rizzo made it 5-1 in the next inning with the help of some incredible base-stealing by Bryant. Hope creeped up again.
But it wouldn't last.
Chapman comes to pitch relief in eighth. And the Indians take advantage of the fact that we have overworked Chapman this week, and they tie it up. Guyer and Davis both hit runs off of Chapman, turning our 3 run lead into a 6-6 tie in the ninth inning.
Oh god. No! No! You can't have this! It's ours!
Then came the rain.
We've all heard the story by now. How Jason Heyward called a meeting, how they rallied around Chapman, and dried the tears he had been crying when the rain started. How Heyward reminded these boys who they were, and how far they had come. That they were the best team in baseball for a reason. And that if they stuck together, they were going to win this thing.
It rains for 17 minutes and then the game resumes. Tied at the bottom of the ninth, we're going into extras.
The Cubs, re-energized by their pep talk, make sure that if the Indians are going to win this game, they're going to have to fight tooth and nail for it.
Schwarber, gone all season with a torn ACL, becomes everyone's hero when he singles to right. Almora comes in to pinch run. Bryant hits a deep fly to center, and Almora tags up to second in the savviest base-running move anyone's ever seen. With an intentional walk on Rizzo, Zobrist delivers a clutch RBI double that sends Almora home to break the tie.
7-6.
Another intentional walk to Russell, and Montero singles into left, sending Rizzo home.
8-6.
The Indians score one more time, making it 8-7. Mike Montgomery comes in with one strike left.
One strike.
Martinez grounds it to right, and Bryant skitters forward to scoop it up and throw it across the diamond to Rizzo, smiling like a doofus even as his foot was slipping underneath him.
We hold our breaths. We hear the ball hit Rizzo's glove. And when Rizzo raised his arms over his head... that was the moment we knew.
Joe Buck's call of this moment will be forever etched in the minds of Cubs fans all over.
"This is gonna be a tough play... Bryant! The Cubs! Win the World Series! Bryant makes the play! It's over! And the Cubs... have finally won it all!"
The rest of the team pours out of the dugout, this mob of overgrown manchildren leaping around like a bunch of delirious 10-year-olds.
And we, the faithful, the ones who have been here since the beginning, and the ones who joined us more recently. It didn't matter now. From outside Wrigley, to bars in Wrigleyville, to our own homes all around the country, we were all united. We jumped up and down, we hugged strangers, we cheered like we have never cheered in our lives.
And... we cried. We dropped to our knees, we covered our faces with our hands, and we cried.
Because at nearly midnight on November 2, 2016...
17 minutes of rain washed away 108 years of drought.