Curse of the Billy Goat

In 1958 and 1959, he was the MVP for the National League, but he still couldn’t keep the Cubs’ hopes for ending the Curse of the Billy Goat alive. During those 2 years, he averaged 46 home runs as a shortstop in a time before guys like Alex Rodriguez, Cal Ripken, Miguel Tejada, and Nomar Garciaparra were redefining a position that guys like Mario Mendoza had held down “effectively” in defensive capacities while hitting .215 and 4 home runs over a career that lasted from 1974-1982.
For that matter, from 1978-1996, the great Ozzie Smith who did hit a defining playoff home run where fans were allowed to go crazy afterward, had 7 seasons where he didn’t hit one home run, and other than his "slugging" year of 1983 when he hit 6 home runs, there was never another year like that as he never got more than half of this total. In aside, Smith should be glad that he didn't do that in 2001 when he would have been investigated for steroids. Of course, the Wizard could do summersaults and stop sharply hit grounders up the middle while channeling programming messages to future ESPN Baseball Tonight programmers that stated the importance of the “web gem,” but Ernie Banks was a guy who could do it all. He had personality, he had life, he had a hot bat that could drive in serious runs and hit for a more than respectable average, but he had no World Series rings.
Despite Banks having a total lack of October experience, he did have one thing other than the fact he made the All Star team for 10 of his seasons and hit 512 home runs over his career. That thing that made him stand apart in the history of baseball was a catch phrase: “It’s a beautiful day for a ballgame. Let’s play two!”
And here we are at the start of the season and my two ballgames are the two fantasy teams that I will take to the finish line: the Ephrata Fighting Amish and the Amish Paradise Green Dragons.
All the same, neither is as memorable as the real game that will be taking place at Fenway Park for the first time since the Cubs lost the 1918 World Series to the Red Sox. In a game that someone had to win, much like the Rangers and the Giants in last year's World Series, the Red Sox, the dominate team of the 1910s, took the series from the Cubs and added another year to their championship drought, which had just moved to a decade since Merkle's Boner.
So will this be a sign that the Cubs are going to move past evicting some stinky farm animal and his uncouth owner who would have even dared to bring him into the park? Will this be the year that Steve Bartman's soul can rest in peace and he finally is forgiven for interfering with Moises Alou's catch in foul territory? Can he come back from his purgatory? Can the Cubs gather round all of their great players from the past and let them cry as the drought ends? Will the real live Ryne Sandberg get his opportunity to guide the team to the crown or will he be passed over yet again? Will fans make peace with Sammy Sosa's corked bat and steroids use enough to let him come back to a late 1990s love fest all over again? Can Rick Sutcliffe's pitching arm slap the new look Cubs on the back? Would Ron Santo walk back onto the field like he did before diabetes claimed his legs, and if he did, would he walk in with the ghosts of Mordecai "3 Fingers" Brown, Ed Reulbach, Tinker, Evers, Chance? Would they recognize Starlin Castro, Aramis Ramirez, Carlos Zambrano, Geovany Soto, Marlon Byrd, Kosuke Fukodome, and Alfonso Soriano?
Is this the year that Billy Williams gets to come back with Leon Durham, Greg Maddux, and Fergie Jenkins, the Cubs greats of the past, and speak about what could have been and be applauded for being there for the 102 years of sadness?
Can Harry Caray finally rest in peace?
When all is said and done, will Charlie Root bring his fastball and throw it at the effigy of Babe Ruth set to go on the bonfire at the center of all that is more than a century of sadness in Wrigleyville?
Not if the new look Red Sox have anything to do with it... but here's hoping from the heart of a baseball fan.

Ron Santo

When I was younger, I always thought that my dad's father died of yellow fever. I don't remember what actually killed him, but I was told later that it wasn't yellow fever. In much the same way of being confused by what I thought I heard, I always thought that my dad's favorite player when he was a kid was Ron Santo, but it was actually Richie Ashburn. I didn't learn the truth until I talked to my dad after Ron Santo died on December 3rd.
Interestingly enough, the Cubs have declared that my dad's birthday, his 64th, will be the celebration of Ron Santo's life and the new statue that will be displayed outside of Wrigley Field for this 3rd base great.
Santo and his 342 home runs and lifetime .277 average over 15 seasons (9 on all-star teams), were never enough for the Hall of Fame, but true fans know. Santo was a true fan of the Cubs, the team he became famous while playing on. He celebrated their trials and tribulations as a player and announcer and always seemed to believe that the Cubs would end their drought and the Curse of the Billy Goat, the stupidest curse in history, would be over.
All the same, heart problems, cancer, and losing both of his legs to diabetes took their toll on this baseball great first.
On August 10th, Chicago will play a low key game that very few people will care about. They're taking on the Nationals, and neither team will be fighting for playoff glory. It will just be another August game, but to the Wrigley Field and a few sportscasters and some die hard fans, we will take notice of a man who was truly great.
We're not asking for special favors like being let into a McDonald's in the wee hours of the morning to use the bathroom, which results in the temporary firing of an employee who gives into his star status.
We're not talking about a man who had questionable relationships outside of marriage and must wear a scarlet S on his chest as he tells neighbors where he lives in order to avoid jail time. Even football players fear the pokey. I know that I would.
We're not talking about a man who profiteers off of making animals fight each other to the inevitable death of one of them, but who deserves a presidential thank you to the coach who took his "chances" on hiring him again, despite the fact that there was nothing to lose in hiring a former all pro quarterback.
And we're not talking about how an entire town remembered his greatness because it led them to 2 Superbowl victories and moves them towards a third victory despite the fact that the only reason he's not in the slammer is because the evidence against him couldn't differentiate consensual violent sex and rape.
But Ron Santo is not Adrian Peterson, Lawrence Taylor, Michael Vick, or Ben Roethlisberger. He's just a baseball player from a different generation. He's not the kind of person that leaves the average person star struck. He's just a man and a great gamer from a different era who still inspires enough respect to be immortalized for all who care to find out the back story of a statue that will one day join other Chicago Cubs statues of Harry Caray, Ernie Banks, and Billy Williams - note that Ryne Sandberg isn't even on this list.
Somewhere is reverence for truth, justice, and the American way.
That's why baseball will always be the national pastime.