A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request - Steve Goodman

By the shore’s 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

And on his head they put this bright blue cap

From his all-time favorite sport

He told them, «Its late and its getting dark in here»

And I know its time to go

But before I leave the line-up

Boys, 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,

and 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 ground 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 Sluggers 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

Will bid the bleacher bums adá­eu

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 its just what I’m going to do

He said, «but you the living, you’re stuck here with the Cubs,

So its 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