This post was originally published at csnchicago.com but since it appears to have been purged, I am posting it here. It is not autism related in the least, but I hope you enjoy the read all the same.
- Lou
One of the exciting things about working in the media is
that there is a chance that you are going to witness history. It is seldom the
way in which you would have imagined it, and Game 6 of the 2003 National League
Championship Series was no different.
I was hired as the audio technician of a camera crew for a
sports television network to cover the NLCS that year. As a lifelong Cubs fan,
the opportunity to be AT Wrigley Field INSIDE the clubhouse of the World Series
bound Chicago Cubs was a dream come true. The Cubs were coming home up 3-2 on
the Florida Marlins and Cubs Nation KNEW that this year was the “next year” we
had been talking about for 58 years and that the 95 year drought was coming to
an end.
Despite being so close to the action, I watched the game
like most of the extra media there that day… on small televisions in a dank and
cold storage area that had been converted into a “media room”. There were still
bags of limestone, piles of dirt with shovels jabbed into them and wheel
barrows in the one corner. Despite the atmosphere of the room, the media
huddled inside were buzzing and the feeling was electric. Prior was pitching a
gem of a game and had a 3 hit shutout going through 7 innings.
It was at top of the 8th inning when the liaison
from the MLB came over to our crew and instructed us to follow him. As I
scrambled for my audio bag and boom pole, I remember thinking to myself “This
is it!” I was going to be IN the locker room of my favorite team when they broke
the decades long absence from the World Series. As we left the media room, Mike
Mordecai flied out to Moises Alou on a Prior fastball. The Cubs were 5 outs
away from the World Series.
We walked up to the ramp and onto the concourse and the
scene was unreal. A combination of pandemonium and exuberance was exploding
before our eyes. Grown men were misty eyed with tears of joy; strangers were
hugging each other as cheers filled the air. We squeezed through the masses as
my thoughts were with my dad back home who just two days previous I had called
and boasted, “Don’t worry dad, we got this! There is no way the Marlins are
going to beat Prior AND Wood at home in back to back games! We are going to The
Show!”
The photographer I was working with doesn’t remember this so
my memory may be sketchy, but in my mind I clearly remember walking past a souvenir stand as the vendor
was putting up “Cubs National League Champions” t-shirts. I even remember the vendor telling eager fans
that she could not sell the shirts until the game was final.
We turned towards the hallway to the Cubs clubhouse and as
we did, I could hear the roar of the crowd and feel the frenzied energy that
they were exuding. We hurried into the cramped and bare concrete hallway to the
clubhouse and waited to cover what was surely going to be history and a story
that I would be able to tell my children.
There was a flurry of activity and traffic in that little
hallway. As the door to the clubhouse swung open, I caught a glimpse of
something that drove home the magnitude of the event. In the clubhouse were
tubs and tubs of champagne and beer. Plastic was up over all of the lockers, it
appeared as though a tiny staging area was being set up. I took that as my cue
to prepare as well, so I threw my audio bag on and draped myself and my
equipment with my poncho.
It was about that time that the crew I was with started to
notice a distinct change in the rumble that was coming from the Wrigley Field
stands. A loud groan was heard and then the unmistakable low pitched booing and
feet stomping filled the hall. We weren’t sure what was going on, but clearly
Cubs fans were not happy. The noise built into a frenzy of nervous energy that
was apparent even from our position. We could not see anything. There were no
televisions in the hallway, no speakers in the ceiling from which to hear Pat
and Ronnie. We were blind.
Occupying the hallway with us and standing ready to charge
out onto the field to keep the peace after the inevitable Cubs victory were a
dozen or so of Chicago’s finest. Not long after the noted shift in mood of the
Wrigley faithful, several officers got calls on their walkie-talkies and dashed
off. The remainder of the officers huddled together and listened carefully for
updates or orders while muttering to one another and shaking their heads in
disbelief.
Our producer started to become concerned and asked me to
approach the officers to see if they would tell me what all the commotion was
about. When I asked the cop he smirked, “Some f***ing kid interfered with the
game and now the crowd wants to kill him.” I repeat back the information to our
producer and we tried to understand how a whole crowd could turn against a
little kid. We had no idea that the “kid” was in fact a 26 year old man, nor
did we know how serious the officer really was about the threats against him.
Our conversation was broken up as a flurry of workers rushed
into the clubhouse. A man whom I could only assume was in charge of the
clubhouse was screaming at the workers as they rushed in pulling down plastic
and trying to roll out tubs of boozer. “Not one person sets foot in this
clubhouse until I give the all clear!” shouted the man in charge and he rushed
into the clubhouse and out of view.
“All right guys” said a frustrated voice. We turned and our
liaison from the MLB was standing at the other end of the hallway. “It’s not
going to happen today so let’s head back to the media room.”
We went back up the ramp to the concourse and the tears of
joy were now tears of sadness, people were distraught for other reasons and
there was a great deal of what sounded like yelling and booing coming from the
direction of the concourse that would take you to the left field seats. As we
walked back to the media room, the same vendor that was putting up the shirts
was now taking them down. We caught a quick glimpse of a replay of Moises Alou
trying to field a foul ball down the third base line and getting interfered
with when it all became clear. We were now aware of what the sporting world
already knew so the producer and photographer decided that they would head
towards the commotion coming from the other end of the concourse and directed
me to wait for them in the media room.
As I continued to the media room, TVs in the concourse were
being turned off so as not to show the replays of the incident. I went down the
ramp and turned left into the media room and the entire group was standing and
gathered around a couple of televisions.
The local media looked stunned, the national media looked like Christmas
had come early and the Florida media looked giddy. I just stared at the
television dumbfounded and the confidence that I once had in my favorite team
melted into doubt and resignation.
“This is what it means to be a Cubs fan.” I lamented to
another friend working that day.
I hate to say I expected it, but I can say that it didn’t
surprise me. What did surprise me was finding
myself where I was, when I was. I just hope that the next time I find myself in
a situation of historical significance with the Cubs; it comes in the form of a
celebration. We deserve it. To be so close and have it taken away seemed
particularly cruel. All we needed was 5 outs.
