A Dying Cubs Fan's Last Request

BASEBALL MITT

Steve Goodman
A Dying Cubs Fan's Last Request

by the shores of old Lake Michigan
where the "hawk wind" blows so cold
an old Cub fan lay dying
in his midnight hour that tolled
round his bed his friends had all gathered
they knew his time was short
upon his head they put a bright blue cap
from his all-time favorite sport
he told them, it's late and it's getting dark in here
and I know its time to go
but before I leave the line-up
there's just one thing I'd like to know

do they still play the blues in Chicago
when baseball season rolls around?
when the snow melts away
do the Cubbies still play
in their ivy-covered burial ground?
when I was a boy they were my pride and joy
but now they only bring fatigue
to the home of the brave
the land of the free
and the doormat of the National League

told his friends you know the law of averages says
anything will happen that can
that's what it says
but the last time the Cubs won a National League pennant
was the year we dropped the bomb on Japan
the Cubs made me a criminal
sent me down a wayward path
they stole my youth from me
(that's the truth)
I'd forsake my teachers
to go sit in the bleachers
in flagrant truancy

and then one thing led to another
and soon I'd discovered alcohol, gambling, dope
football, hockey, lacrosse, tennis
but what do you expect
when you raise up a young boy's hopes
and then just crush 'em like so many paper beer cups

year after year after year
after year, after year, after year, after year, after year
'til those hopes are just so much popcorn
for the pigeons beneath the 'L' tracks to eat
he said, you know I'll never see
Wrigley Field anymore before my eternal rest
so if you have your pencils and your score cards ready
I'll read you my last request
he said, give me a double header funeral in Wrigley Field
on some sunny weekend day (no lights)
have the organ play the National Anthem
and then a little 'na na na na hey hey hey goodbye
make six bullpen pitchers carry my coffin
and six grounds keepers clear my path
have the umpires bark me out at every base
in all their holy wrath
its a beautiful day for a funeral
hey Ernie lets play two!
somebody go get Jack Brickhouse to come back
and conduct just one more interview
have the Cubbies run right out into the middle of the field
have Keith Moreland drop a routine fly
give everybody two bags of peanuts and a frosty malt
and I'll be ready to die

build a big fire on home plate
out of your Louisville Slugger baseball bats,
and toss my coffin in
let my ashes blow in a beautiful snow
from the prevailing 30 mile an hour southwest wind
when my last remains go flying over the left-field wall
I'll bid the bleacher bums adieu
and I will come to my final resting place out on Waveland Avenue

the dying man's friends told him to cut it out
they said stop it that's an awful shame
he whispered, don't cry,
we'll meet by and by near the Heavenly Hall of Fame
he said, I've got season's tickets to watch the Angels now
so it's just what I'm going to do
he said, but you the living, you're stuck here with the Cubs
so it's me that feels sorry for you!

and he said, ahh play, play that lonesome losers' tune
that's the one I like the best
and he closed his eyes and slipped away
what we got is the Dying Cub Fan's Last Request
and here it is

do they still play the blues in Chicago
when baseball season rolls around?
when the snow melts away
do the Cubbies still play
in their ivy-covered burial ground?
when I was a boy they were my pride and joy
but now they only bring fatigue
to the home of the brave
the land of the free
and the doormat of the National League