Cubs Triptych Part III: Dylan and the Cubs

Game four of the 2016 World Series played last night in Chicago and was won by the Cleveland Indians, who now lead the best-of-seven series three games to one. Timely hitting and “good” at bats (taking pitches, getting walks/base on balls) continue to elude the Cubs. To be fair, the club from Cleveland has played quite well.

While the link between the Cubs and Dylan may seem far-fetched at best, for a moment, please indulge me.

This year’s Nobel Laureate in Literature, Bob Dylan, has remained quintessentially Dylan-like by not responding in public to the announcement that he was awarded the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature. But that said, he’d not granted an interview in two years—unusual in this age of social media where everybody’s squawking about everything—not, however, for Dylan. Fortunately, Ben Sisario spoke with the troubadour and wrote about the interview in Bob Dylan Speaks, At Last, on His Nobel.

Here’s the connection: My (fan-of-his-music) relationship with Bob Dylan goes back as far as my attachment to the Cubs—college days. Just as the Cubs are my favorite sports team, Bob Dylan and his back-up band The Band are my favorite rock ‘n rollers. Martin Scorsese’s 1978 film, The Last Waltz, The Band’s last concert, remains among my favorite paeans to rock ‘n roll—a notch above Woodstock.

Dylan’s award announcement and the Cubs’ playoff “run” came together for me when I read a Dylan quote in the Sisario article: “You have to write a hundred bad songs before you write one good one.” I thought the World Series banner “one hundred and eight years to get a winner” takes patience, and so does working the lyrics and composition of one hundred songs before hitting on the “right” one. This doesn’t mean the efforts in between were for naught—some good tunes were written and great baseball seasons played, just not the big “prize” result each attempt was designed to create. I’m pleased that Dylan has been acknowledged for his words and music, and I hope the Cubs can persevere this week and in so doing capture the big “prize” they’ve been waiting so long for and working hard to win.

I attended Sunday morning worship service today, a commitment I made back in January of this year when I decided to be a regular attendee, a new direction in my spiritual odyssey. The purpose has been to find answers to my life-long questions about the relevance and existence of God. This day God had little chance as my thoughts were consumed by music and baseball—or so it seemed. Like Dylan and the Cubs my attempts seem futile—answers like the big prize or knock-it-out-of-the-park lyrics elude me. I discard fruitless attempts, strike out many times, but then there are times like this morning that keep me coming back.

A parishioner, sitting within my line of vision, a man who like me attends a monthly men’s breakfast at the church, appeared distracted if not teary-eyed and lost in his own hurt. After he walked by my pew to exit the sanctuary I waited a few moments then decided to seek him out.

When we met in the hallway I asked him how he was doing. He said he wanted a cup of coffee, and that his wife, who’s been in remission, had learned the day before that the cancer had returned, and was metastatic. I listened then offered to keep his family’s struggles in my conversations with God, and that he can e-mail or call me. Before we parted, he to check on his young daughters, and me to depart the church, he smiled and said, “Go Cubs!”

My thoughts implored the God whose existence I question to act, while my own watery eyes forced me to pull into a quiet spot near the local market where I said, “Thank you.”

(photo: La Cathedrale)

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