Sweet Home Chicago once again

This past Sunday, adrift in the post-musical haze, waiting desperately for this school year to stop struggling and go into the light, I found salvation in the strangest of places.

I feel you pulling away from me, but don't worry. This is not a Tammy Faye Baker, 700 Club experience I'm about to describe. I go to church, sure, but I don't go to have epiphanies. I save that for when I'm listening to John Mayer lyrics (oh, he's soooo deep and cool...)

No, for me, sacred and pure glory came in a neat little 3 hour block. Some would question why I wasted 3 hours on anything this close to finals, but in the grand scheme of things, really, 3 hours is nothing. Just a speck of dirt on the yam field of life. But it was enough on this day. Enough to lift my spirits more than any Disney movie ever could. Yes, including Beauty and the Beast. It was enough to renew my faith in humanity for the first time in years. And as anyone can tell you from how moody I am, it was starting to get ugly between me and the rest of humanity. Most importantly, it put me back in a magical place I hadn't been to since the golden, naive days of my pre high-school youth.

It was the Bulls. In the playoffs. And it was good.

I sat there, literally on the edge of my seat, for 3 hours. I yelled. I screamed. I bitched like a soccer mom at legendary referee Dick Bavetta. I was living and dying on every single play, and the best part was that I never wanted to change the channel. Not once, not even for a second. It made me realize that nothing has held my attention like that for that long literally in years. I remember the last time I got that feeling. It was 2003, and the Cubs were in the NLCS. I let myself honestly believe that there was nothing that could stop them. Prior, Wood, Clement and Zambrano were unbeatable in a short series. Clutch hits were coming from everywhere. And the law of averages said it just had to happen for them sometime, so why not now? Why not when I was still alive to see it? But the Cubs did the same thing that the Bears had done two years before. And the Sox the year before that. In my opinion, they were so happy and content to be in the postseason, to have given the fans what they were clamoring for, that they never fully prepared to do what it took to reach the next level. It had nothing to do with curses, or slumps, or bad luck. They just weren't ready. They forgot that they represent the greatest city in the world. They couldn't handle the mantle of greatness that the fans of Chi-Town wanted to thrust upon them. The broad shoulders the city is known for were just too unstable a place to sit atop. And deep down inside, I knew that going in. So is it any different this time?

Yes. This time, it's the Bulls. The Bulls, to me, represent everything that is good about Chicago sports. Heck, about sports in general. The Bulls of the 90's came at the precise moment when I needed them. I was young, impressionable, and shy. I didn't have many friends, and I didn't have many real heroes. And then, they were there. Scottie Pippen, Horace Grant, John Paxson, B.J. Armstrong, Scott Williams, Dennis Rodman, Trent Tucker, Steve Kerr, Ron Harper, Toni Kukoc. And the crown prince of all athletes, hero to billions, playing right in my own backyard. Michael Jordan. An imperfect yet transcendant demigod that made me believe anything was possible. That made me believe the home team could truly win the big one. Who (almost) never let me down. It was weird, because Jordan really was so amazing that I never once doubted the Bulls would win it all with him on the roster. And it didn't matter that without him, they were really nothing but a very talented bunch of role players. They weren't flashy, they weren't an all-star team. They didn't outrun you or outgun you, they didn't rough you up or dazzle you with streetball moves. They just played hard and smart (except for Rodman and Stacy King on occassion). They all did their jobs without complaint or fanfare. And just a little touch of magic from His Airness every once in a while made them the greatest dynasty I've ever seen. They were a group you really felt good about cheering for. And Good God, did the city ever love them.

I took them for granted, I know that. The greatness of Jordan spoiled me, and all of Chicago. It was so good, too good to last forever, and it has been rough going ever since it ended. But I knew that once the Bulls broke up, it would be a very long and hard road back to prominence. I had already seen it with the Celtics after the 80s. To be honest, I thought it would be a lot longer before the Bulls made another playoff push. Then again, these 7 years have felt like 70. It was getting to the point that I didn't really care about the Bulls much anymore. After they drafted Eddy Curry, whom I had heard from players on the DHS squad wasn't even that good in high school, I really started to shut them out of my mind. I had to settle for being schizophrenically optimistic and doom-and-gloom about the Cubs, Sox and Bears and how they bounce between mediocrity and possible elevation every year. But the Bulls drew me back. They found a winning formula again. And I can't help but notice the similiarities to the last Bulls dynasty. Not a lot of flash. Not the highest scoring team, not the most well-known or high paid group of players. Just a lot of hard working guys with winning attitudes coupled with a real spark plug who knows how to finish games and wants the ball with everything on the line. A team you want to believe in. A team that epitomizes the best qualities of its city. It just feels right, like slipping back into a warm blanket you haven't slept with in forever. That's why it feels different from the Sox of 2000, the Bears of '01 and the ill-fated Cubs of '03. I don't think that the Bulls will win the NBA title this year, but I really want to believe. And I don't have this gnawing sensation in the pit of my gut that they really should win it all but that they will screw it up somehow. Maybe that's because no one gave them a shot when the season started, or maybe it's because the Bulls are the only Chicago team to win a title since the Bears of my faintest early memories.

Only one thing is for sure: I will relish the Bulls playoff run and all the Chicago sports pride it swells up within me as long as I can. Coupled with the White Sox' amazing start, this run has renewed my Windy City vigor. No longer do I have to hang my head as I listen to obnoxious New Englanders prattle on and become just as bad as the New York assholes they hate so much. I can stand my ground, and I will, come what may. I will watch the playoffs, and glory in all the trappings of Chicago fandom. The Blues Brothers, the Superfans, "Sweet Home Chicago;" it will be great to have it all back. And I will willingly let myself be drawn up in all the 90s Bulls flashbacks that will inevitably arise. I won't deny myself the nostalgia any longer, because now I have reason to believe that glorious new memories will be made. If not this year, then soon. And when it does come together, I will look back at this past Sunday and smile. Because that is when I knew. It was cool to be a Chicago fan again. So Bulls, "baby, don't you want to go?" I hope so, because I'm ready to follow you back to the top.