A Sea of Humanity

Meanwhile, outside the Wrigleyville cathedral, the congregants of Cubdom thronged in the streets, creating a jostling sea of humanity along Addison and Clark that was fed constantly by streams cascading down from the elevated trains above. The fans — short for “fanatics” — wore their boastful Cubs regalia, sang their secular hymns and held aloft hopeful signs saying, “Looking for Tickets.”

The signs of others reflected alternate states of desperation. “I’m Just Hungry,” said the placard of a woman apparently seeking sustenance from something other than victory in a sporting endeavor. Another, held by a man as thin as his pen’s scrawl, said, “Help the homeless, please, I’m a Cubs fan.”

The ceremonies leading up to the main event fueled the ardor of the hometown enthusiasts. The former Cubs twirler Rick Sutcliffe, known as the Red Baron for his fiery tonsorial hue, who toiled on these grounds for eight years, threw out the first pitch. And singing the national anthem was a long-haired duo who go by the sobriquet “Stolen Silver” — an appropriate choice, given the last-ditch larceny on the minds of Maddon’s determined men.

Enthusiasm Soon Tempered

By game time, ivy-festooned Wrigley was loaded to the gunnels, more than 42,000 strong, their spasms of joy and anticipation such that a detonated stick of dynamite would not have been heard. Fans laughed and cheered like college undergraduates.

But Chicago’s starting twirler, the right-hander Jason Hammel, soon tempered the enthusiasm of the home-towners with his lackluster showing. Curtis Granderson, the pesky right fielder who bats first for the Metropolitans, poked a one-bagger into left field, and so it began.

David Wright, New York’s valiant third baseman who has come back from chronic woes of his broad back, perished on a third twirl, and the multitudes celebrated. Following him was the second baseman Daniel Murphy, whose sudden habit of walloping home runs has earned national attention. He foul-popped, to the loud relief of locals.