I wake up with butterflies in my stomach. I start my pre-game ritual: eat three eggs, over-easy, and some cereal, get on my lucky gear, and step outside for my 17 (Kris Bryant’s number) lucky jumping jacks. I step out of my house donning my Kris Bryant away jersey, grey sweatpants, and gold hat. I walk to the train as I see my fellow teammates joining me to hop onto the redline. In our matching uniforms we are a force with which to be reckoned.
I finally arrive to the stadium and take out my ticket as the crowds of Cubs fans flow from the streets of Addison to the stands of Wrigley Field, my second home. The smell of hotdogs and cheap beer draw me into the stands. I am immediately surrounded by fellow fans, people I have never met in my life, yet we greet each other like friends. The team we root for is our only connection, but it is a sacred bond.
We share stories of our first games, our favorite moments, and just like that we are getting to know each other. The man in the Kris Bryant jersey turns to me and begins to tell me about his first Cubs game back in 1982. He doesn’t remember who won or even who was playing. However, he can remember is the smell of Vienna Beef hot dogs and the crack of the ball on the bat. He begins to paint a picture of his father and himself sitting on the third base line. He then moves on to tell me more about his late father and the large influence he had on his life, and just like that the conversation became about more than baseball.
Being a fan of a team is more than just being a fan. It’s joining a part of a community. That’s why I love the Cubs. It seems as though all the people I meet at Wrigley greet each other with open arms regardless of whether they know one another. We are always friendly to one another. If I can find a sense of community in a stadium of 41,000 people, I am confident a sense of community can be found anywhere.

I have no doubt that if I can find a sense of community amongst complete strangers, I can also find community in a small group of students, some of whomst I have know for 13 years, at Parker. Although I have my group of friends I am very close with, that does not mean there are no other people to continue to bond with.
The last game I attended, I played a betting game with my friends. We passed a cup around after each batter. While each person had the cup, they were assigned to the current batter. If your batter got on base, you took a dollar out of the cup. If your batter struck out or didn’t get on base, you put in a dollar. If he got a home run, you emptied the cup.

It’s a simple, not super exciting game, but by the end of the 4th inning we had everybody in our general vicinity playing. None of us knew each other’s name, but nonetheless we were laughing, crying, cheering, and screaming together. Our team connected us, along with the fact we were all eating Vienna Beef hot dogs with everything but ketchup (obviously!) The game ended on a terrible checked swing call that struck out Kyle Schwarber, and we joined in his anger. Forty one thousand heckles echoed from the ivy walls to home plate. We were pissed, but at least were were pissed together.
I have come to realize that the sense of community I find at Wrigley Field, can be found almost anywhere. There is no magic chemical in the ivy outfield wall or the Vienna Beef hot dogs. The thing that allows us to connect is the attitude that we come into Wrigley Field with. I know it sounds simple and cheesy, but it’s true. I have no doubt that the reason Wrigley Field feels the way it does is because it is impossible not to walk in smiling and ready to have a good time.

This translates to our experience at Parker. We are an extremely small school. While there is a sense of community already, I feel that it can be enhanced. I’m not suggesting selling Vienna Beef hot dogs all around the school or covering the walls in ivy. It’s our attitude that we need to alter. A small, simple shift that can have a huge effect. For those nine innings we put aside our religious beliefs, political beliefs, and pretty much all other beliefs, other than the correct toppings for a hot dog.

We weren’t defined by our labels, we were just Cubs fans. I believe this is what we need; not to treat people a certain way just because of their affiliations or opinions, but to treat them like human beings and try to find common ground.  If you need any more proof of this, simply walk north of Parker to Clark and Addison.