Here is the column:
This week at the start of the World Series in Cleveland, fans will see something that has not been seen in 71 years: the Chicago Cubs. The last time the Cubs played in the Series was 1945, when gas was 21 cents a gallon, diapers were not invented, and deodorant was a wild new product. For me, a lifelong Cubs fan, the long drought is measured in generations. Families in my neighborhood passed down a team fealty that overcame years of denigration and jokes … and ultimately became a badge of character for every Northsider.
Some things you have to learn to live with, like being called the “lovable losers.” It was bad enough to have a team that last won the Series during the final years of the Ottoman Empire, but being called a “lovable loser” made you feel like the dim-witted golden retriever of the National League. However, there are a few more pressing matters that I would like to address to set the record straight.
The White Sox. In 2005, when the White Sox played the Houston Astros in the World Series, my USA TODAY editor John Siniff suggested that I write about it as a native son columnist. I tried for days and then sheepishly explained that I could not. People do not understand that most of us were raised to root for two teams: the Chicago Cubs and anyone playing the White Sox. While there are a few commendable baseball Buddhists who follow the path of oneness and enlightenment, there remains a deep and insurmountable chasm for most of us. Honestly, we are not real fond of each other. Chicago remains a city divided by a common sport and that is how most of us prefer it.
While the Cubs were formed in 1870, the Braves insist that there was an interruption in the Cubs playing in 1872 and 1873. However, that was due to a little thing called the Chicago Fire, in which hundreds died, miles were laid waste, and 100,000 people were left destitute. The claim is that an interruption for a public tragedy means that the Cubs are not a “continuously playing” franchise — a ridiculous and callous notion. On the Northside, we toast the oldest baseball team in the country and it is not some color-shifting pretender that traveled from Cincinnati to Boston to Milwaukee to Atlanta before putting down roots.
The Cubs have a real curse. It was duly recorded by witnesses in 1945 when Billy Goat Tavern owner Billy Sianis became irate when he was asked to remove his pet goat, Murphy, from Game 4 of the World Series. The goat smelled and fans complained. The Greek immigrant and his Irish-named goat left in a huff, and Sianis was heard to curse, “Them Cubs, they ain’t gonna win no more.” And we didn’t. Indeed, his family has said that Sianis drove the curse home with a telegram to team owner Philip K. Wrigley that read, “You are going to lose this World Series and you are never going to win another World Series again. … You are never going to win a World Series again because you insulted my goat.” We were up by two in 1945 and vanished as a contender faster than the lingering stench of that ill-begotten goat.
Through the years, we have tried everything from a Greek Orthodox priest to opening the field up to goats. To no avail. For me, I am taking no chances. This World Series, my family is holding a party in Virginia where the honored guests will be rented goats that will be given everything that goats love in life. Call it superstition. Call it insurance. However, to paraphrase the infamous Billy Sianis, “Ain’t no goat going to stop the Cubs no more.”
Jonathan Turley is the Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at George Washington University and a member of USA TODAY’s Board of Contributors. Follow him on Twitter @JonathanTurley.