A year later, and my love of baseball has deepened.
In Chicago, unless you're a purest, you root for the team your family has rooted for, which is often dictated by the side of Chicago where you grew up: North side or South Side. With that comes its own set of history, a mix of baseball and family ties broken over a member choosing to root for the other side.
I have often said that I love baseball, but my heart and soul belong to the Cubs. Doomed to misery, maybe, but such is the bed I made and remain content to lie in. Even from half way across the country, I still follow the Cubs, and still turn a deaf ear to people who complain about not having won a championship in less than a century.
Last night, though, my love of baseball as a sport, deepened as I witnessed history as the Vancouver Canadians, the Toronto Blue Jays Single-A Short Season affiliate, won the NWL championship for the third year in a row.
They beat the Boise Hawks, who are, with perhaps a hint of irony, the Cubs Single-A affiliate.
Last year, the two teams squared off for the championship as well, and I had the pleasure of watching one of the games. The Canadians ended up winning the championship on the road.
Last night reminded me of the beauty of baseball. Few sports allow one to take pleasure in the simplest of things, and few sports present the stark contrast between beauty, ugliness, sheer joy of winning and complete desolation of losing. You can witness both the mental breakdown and struggle against being overconfident. Facial expressions, plays, at bats.
Vancouver may be a one sport town, but beneath the popularity of hockey lies an untapped, or perhaps unacknowledged, love of baseball. As a story relayed in a book on Buddhism said: "The key is looking."