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Cubs, Go!”
    Outside the park, thousands of fans from nearby neighborhoods poured into the streets.
    â€œWe’ll never be able to get out of Chicago!” my dad shouted amid the noise.
    As it turned out, we didn’t need to. The National League Division Series would start on Wednesday, and the Cubs invited us to attend Game 1. In fact, they treated us like heroes. They paid for Dad, Kevin, and me to stay in the world-famous Drake Hotel. They got ahold of the Ovozis and flew them in for the game.
    We were in the Drake’s lobby when Omar and his parents arrived. Omar walked through the front door wearing a Cubs cap. When he saw us, he threw his arms up in the air and broke into a huge smile.
    â€œDudes!” he shouted
    We ran up to him, slapping high-fives.
    â€œMan, I don’t know how to thank you guys,” Omar said.
    â€œEh, it was nothin’,” I said, as my dad rolled his eyes.
    â€œSo what happened to you?” Kevin asked. “Did they throw you in the nut house?”
    They didn’t throw him in the nut house, Omar explained. But he did have to undergo psychological counseling. The “cure” was Blake Utley’s admission of guilt—coupled with the Cubs’ victory.
    Omar was sky-high prior to Game 1. The Cubs let him throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Amid chants of “O-Mar! O-Mar! O-Mar,” our fellow Baseball Geek fired a perfect strike to the catcher. Omar threw his hands in the air as if he had just won the World Series. Fans waved signs, including “Chicago Loves the Cleveland Kids!”
    Afterward, we took our seats behind the left-field fence. And in the seventh inning, guess who got to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game?” Bob Murphy led us to the WGN broadcast booth to lead the crowd in that familiar song. I was scared and just kind of mumbled the lyrics in the background. But Kevin and Omar are a couple of hams. Like Harry Caray of old, they leaned out of the booth, swayed back and forth, and boomed the words into their microphones.
    It’s root, root, root for the
    Cub-bies, (we didn’t dare say Indians!)
    If they don’t win it’s a shame,
    For it’s one! Two! Three strikes you’re out
    At the ollllld balllll gaaaame!
    And then Omar added the tack-on line that Harry used to say: “Let’s get some runs!”
    The fans went crazy, and many of them stared up at us and beamed big smiles. The three of us were elated.
    â€œYou deserve this,” Kev said to Omar, “after all you’ve been through.”
    To top it off, the Cubs were routing the Phillies 6–2 thanks to four RBI from Andres Cabrera. We returned to our left-field seats, where we planned to enjoy the rest of the game.
    But for some reason, the baseball gods can never just leave us alone.
    In the top of the ninth, Phillies slugger Ryan Howard blasted a towering fly ball to left. It sailed over the fence for a home run, bounced high off a concrete step, and landed right in Kevin’s hands.
    â€œThrow it back!” the fans chanted. “Throw it back!”
    â€œWhat are they saying?” my dad asked.
    â€œIt’s a Cubs tradition,” I told him. “When an opposing player hits a home run, the fans are supposed to throw it back onto the field. It’s kinda like, ‘We don’t want your stinkin’ home run.’”
    Not wanting to disappoint the fans, Kev reared back and chucked the ball onto the field.
    There was only one problem. Left fielder Cabrera had his back turned to us, and Kevin’s throw hit him right in the noggin! The Cubs’ superstar dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes!
    The crowd gasped, and then went stone-silent. All eyes turned to Cabrera, who was kneeling on the grass with his head down, and then to Kevin, whose expression said “uh-oh. . . .” Finally, after a moment that seemed like an eternity, Cabrera jumped to his feet and waved his cap to the