DISPATCHES FROM A SAFE HOUSE

Sunday night.

I am safely enclosed on the top floor of a typical Chicago two-flat.

My friends, life-long White Sox backers,, welcome me, quickly leading me up the stairs, away from prying eyes.  They are Cleveland fans because they love me, and because they love a gritty underdog with faithful fans.

They love Chicago, but hate the Cubs. I feel at home here more than I ever do drinking beer in a sea of frat boys and tube tops, heels and blowouts in the bleachers of Wrigley.

I biked from my home in Andersonville, avoiding Clark street and the Wrigley mess, and sneaking down Ravenswood to a home that has welcomed this Northern Ohio life-long Cleveland fan in the most unfriendly of territories.

We are spending Game 5, Sunday, with the windows closed, within spitting distance of Wrigley field, as the pitchers grind it out, run by run.

Saturday night was victorious, and we were graceful in our words "That was a GREAT baseball game! For both teams" we declared, as we swigged our beers, munched on our cheese and meat, and high-fived each other.

The littlest Sox fan converted the Cubs song to an Ohio song, "Go Tribe Go, Go tribe Go, hey Ohio what do you know, Cleveland's going to win today".  I want to gift her with diamonds, hug her to death and thank god that someone else on the northside is on my side.

There are more of us, though we are leery to show ourselves.  At a friend's brunch on Saturday, I showed up in my "Believeland" t-shirt, and was happy to find the 2 other native Clevelanders inside.

We immediately swapped tales of home, watching the games growing up, who's our favorite player and the mutual agreement that Chief Wahoo is pretty awful to bear.  I breathed a sigh of relief in to my coffee as I felt myself able to express myself freely with my people.  My, dare i say it, Northern Ohio tribe?

The particulars of Ohio geography don't really matter to anyone until they travel through, or there's a federal election.  But, simply put, of the "C" cities of Ohio, Cleveland is to the North, the grittiest, the most like the South Side of Chicago, Cincinnati in the South, it truly the most like the South, with a heritage torn between the gentility and kindness of the south, and the racism and narrow-mindedness of some of the more traditional areas of our country (ie, Klan marched on their main square in recent memory, this is the city that banned Mapplethorpe) and then Columbus, up-and-comer with banking, college students and a lot of shopping malls along with a burgeoning downtown scene.

Within our fair state, just like the fair city of Chicago, there are clearly drawn north/south rivalries (Browns v Bengals, Cleveland v Cincinnati), but we all come together for OSU football.

Tonight, however, the taunts start to fly.  Chief among them is my pal, who yells things like "You don't even care about baseball", or "Shit shit shit!" when the Tribe fumbles a catch.  We each ask each other who our favorite pro athlete is and when I respond "Kyrie Irving" the boys of the crew cheer.

I feel at home, able to cheer for my tribe, in a way I haven't felt in the last week.

Last Wednesday, when I watched the game at Fat Cat, a northside pub I frequent, among the blue and red, my Cleveland shirt tucked under my jacket, and my cheers stifled under the table as Cleveland brought

On Friday, I was on the El and taking a picture of the Addison stop, and overheard 2 ladies discussing the Indians "I just hope they stop it with all this Cleveland nonsense.  You are in Chicago now!".

On Saturday, I wear my "Believeland" shirt on a bike ride, and people stop and stare on the bike path, wearing their Cubby red and blue.

For me, it came to a fever pitch, Saturday afternoon, I sat outside at Moody's, one of the best watering holes on the northside, and a dude glares at my shirt, and points it out to his friend. I zip up my coat.

After that, I knew I needed a safehouse.  I did not want to taunt these fans anymore, nor did I want to hide my feelings of joy.  That's when I decided to find a place to hideout.

After the Indians lost on Sunday, the little Sox fan turned to me and said "Becky, what would you do if the Sox played the Indians?"  We tried to explain to her that would be impossible, but she wanted an answer.  I paused, and thought about how welcoming Chicago has been, even on days when Chicago Cubs fans believe they are the only ones who had grandfathers who loved their team, or that they have the exclusive right to win because of their long drought, and ignore the fact that the Sox won the Series a few years ago, and the Bears have won the Super Bowl, and the Hawks are KILLING it in hockey, and the Bulls were unstoppable and produced a player the likes of which we haven't seen until, well, Kyrie's pal, LeBron James.  I paused, and said "I'd have to cheer for both, and cheer for baseball."

I'm not quite there with this series, as I cuss out the umps, high-five for sluggers like Santana and Napoli, but I am glad we modified the song to keep a little bit of the Chicago spirit alive.

Go Tribe Go!