I walk into the stadium, and make my way down the concourse with the flowing wave of people. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place as packed as it is today. Gone were the days of this place being half full, watching a team that would lose 100 games, year in and year out. But this year was different. Even winning the division, everyone discounted us. “No way they could make it past Atlanta,” they said. “Their offense can’t deal with their rotation,” the analysts said. Yet here we were, one game away from being the National League champions. One game away from playing in the World Series.
       I walked up the steps, and saw one of the most beautiful sites in the world:The grounds crew, hard at work, getting the field ready for…. They were hosing down the dirt, pounding the mound, and bringing out the turtle in preparation for batting practice. As I made my way to my seat, I could see the night shift warming up their arms. Kyle Farnsworth, Joe Boroski, Mike Remlinger, it was all hands on deck for tonight’s game. There was no way that there was going to be a game tomorrow night, so I took in as much as possible of this one.
       The lineups were announced, teams standing on the lines as the voice boomed over the microphone.
       “Please rise, and kindly remove your caps for the playing of our national anthem.”
       As I stood up along with the 39,000 other fans in the stadium, it was a wave of Cubbie blue all around. However as I looked in front of me, there was one outlier. A man with a navy shirt, and what looked to be a green turtleneck under it. He was wearing headphones to what I could only assume was connected to a walkman (or something like that) tucked away in his pocket.
       After the national anthem, I didn’t sit down. I don’t think anyone in the stadium sat down as Mark Prior ran out to the mound. Prior had maybe one of the best seasons by a Cubs pitcher in recent memory, at least that I could remember. He was going to be a great pitcher for years to come, but right now we were just focused on this one start. We had the right man on the mound.
       Immediately though, Prior’s in trouble. There’s a man in scoring position, and up steps Derrek Lee. I was super high on him, he’s quietly been one of the best first basemen in the league these last couple of years. I think he’d look good in the pinstripes, but sadly tonight he wears the teal and black. None of that matters now though, he’s the last man I want up in this scenario. I watch fearfully, as Prior fools Lee with his slider, one of his signature pitches. The whole stadium erupts, as he sends the ever dangerous Cubs offense to the plate.
       Carl Pavano walks out of the dugout for Miami. A starter with a career 4.60 earned run average. There’s no way that this offense wasn’t going to put up a crooked number off this guy. We immediately get a guy on second, and in steps Sammy Sosa. A Chicago hero and legend at this point, not much as alluded Sammy in his career. An MVP, all star games, leading the league in home runs, it seems like he’s done it all. Now he was trying to lead the team, he has done so much for, to a World Championship.
       Sammy loops one into right field, it seems like the ball is hanging forever. But it eventually gets down, and Kenny Lofton is around third to easily score for the Cubs. Just like that we’re winning. The stress in the stadium seems to go away, we’re inching closer to having a chance. The sound is deafening:the ground below me shaking, I’m turning, high fiving people I don’t know, the guy behind me grabs my shoulders and shakes me. The Cubs are winning.
       It’s the 6th now. We still haven’t sat down. We’ve had no reason to. After Sammy’s RBI hit, this game turned into a pitcher’s duel. Prior is doing Prior things, not allowing the Marlins to plate a run. After the 3rd inning, when Juan Pierre got onto 2nd again, he hadn't even allowed a runner into scoring position. It’s almost as if we’ve come to expect it from him, at this point. After every out for the Marlins, the stadium gets louder. It doesn’t seem humanly possible, but every out closer to 27 the roar of the crowd becomes more deafening. Despite Pavano being an inferior pitcher, he’s (much to my dismay) held his own. I watch as he walks off the mound, his day finished after getting Aramis Ramirez to roll into a double play. This game is still just one swing away from being tied.
       Out comes Dontrelle Willis. Why this guy didn’t start this game I had no idea. It seemed like he was the clear cut winner for Rookie of the Year, much less starter in a game like this. Regardless, the Marlins manager made the right decision with Pavano out of all people. Willis goes up on the mound for his warmups, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a funkier motion; His back to us, the white and teal lettering on his jersey is probably visible for miles. We could see his leg kick up behind his body even being on the opposite side before dropping down almost to a side arm motion.
       Dusty Baker puts in Eric Karros to hit. Smart, given the fact that Willis is a lefty and Karros is a righty. Karros works the count up to/down to 3-1, and the stadium erupts again, like thousands of Cubs’ fans had been holding their breath and finally let go. Almost 40,000 people are awaiting each and every pitch, hoping Sosa can score from his critical position on 3rd. Willis winds, and fires a fastball low. It hits off of Pudge’s mitt, and the usually sure-handed defender sprints to the backstop while Karros flips his bat back to the dugout. Despite being 34, ancient by MLB standards, Sosa books it home. I don’t think anyone in the stadium had seen him run that fast in over a decade, but how could he not given what’s on the line? He scores standing up, Willis swats his mitt at the ball in frustration, and the Cubs have an insurance run.
       Six outs away. Six outs away from glory. From 58 years of pain and suffering being washed away. Maybe we wouldn’t go a whole century without winning a World Series. I think everyone in the stadium was starting to forget what a Billy Goat was anyways. Excitement kept growing, creeping up on me every second we got closer to the end of the game. Was it finally our time?
       Prior was back out on the mound. A surprise given how many pitches he was at, but how could we doubt Dusty’s leadership. He was a big reason why we were in this moment anyways. Dusty was so confident that he didn’t even have anyone warming up. But with a three run lead after another run last inning, why did we need anyone else? A three-run lead with Mark on the mound was almost a death sentence for the opposing team, especially when we only had six outs to work with.
       He gets Mike Mordecai to fly out. Five outs now. It’s almost as if you could grab it now. The World Series would be back at Wrigley. Up steps Juan Pierre. He’s been a thorn in the Cubs side all night, fighting all of his at-bats and terrorizing Paul Bako with his speed. It wouldn’t stop there, as he lines one past Aramis and towards our corner. As he strolls into second, I look down to see movement in the bullpen, but I can’t tell who’s getting up quite yet. Luis Castillo is next. I see Kyle Farnsworth starting to warm up now as Castillo works Prior to a full count, and fouls one off Then another. And another. Prior looked like he was starting to lose his edge. I desperately hoped his day would be over soon.
       On another 3-2 pitch, Castillo skies one towards the bullpen. I look up and realize that it’s headed right for us. As the ball is coming down, I reach up for it. Wouldn’t it be cool to catch a playoff baseball? I feel the person behind me reaching out for it too, along with seeing at least 5 other fans try to go for it. But it’s too far out in front of me, I misjudged it. As it’s almost down, it might even be in the field instead of the stands.​​ Then a glove appears over the wall. He reaches up, slightly over the railing, trying to catch the 23rd out. It looks as though he’s tracked it. Then a hand reaches in front. The man with the headphones. He knocks the ball away from Alou while trying to catch it.



       Riding the train back, all the magic was gone. People were crying. It was quiet on the train, except for hearing the axles screech to a halt at each passing station.
       “Kerry will get em’ tomorrow,” one man said to break the silence.
       There was still a game tomorrow, but it didn't much feel like it. Even the man who tried to bring up spirits on the train seemed unsure of his own statement. Everyone was trying to search where it went wrong. Was it Dusty Baker leaving in Prior too long? Or Alex Gonzalez muffing the double play ball to short?
       “It’s that damn goat,” someone on the other end of the train yelled, adding yet another thought to my head. Was it the goat? Was this team really cursed by a Billy Goat?
       “That guy in the green is to blame” the person next to me turned and said. I feel like it all happened so quickly. After the play, he just sat there. Not saying anything, not looking at anyone. Almost as if the whole world was looking at him, and he froze. But he didn’t cause all of the on field issues, did he?
       “Alou would have caught that ball too” the woman on the other side of him said. “That last inning wouldn’t have gotten that out of hand if he wouldn’t have been so nosy.”
       Maybe they were right. It seemed as if the man in green became Chicago’s most wanted man. But just for going for a foul ball in the stands? That could have been me, I thought. I had reached out for that ball too, just like everyone else around me. What if I was the one who touched that ball?
       “This is Lake. This is a Red Line train to 95th,” the voice came over the loudspeaker. I was the only one to get up from my car. Not many people were left this far into the ride.
       I walked out onto the platform, and the cold air felt sharper. There was more of a sting, more of a pain to it. Like there was something lost that night, more than just a game. I passed the TV again walking back up the stairs towards the street. ESPN was still on, and they were showing the 8th inning with a headline under it.
       “The Bartman Game.”