CHAPTER 17

WRIGLEY

6 A.M.

When we landed in O’Hare and the flight taxied to a hangar, the city of Chicago was ready to welcome the World Series champion Cubs home!

Around two hundred airport employees cheered, clapped, and gave us a standing ovation as we deplaned and climbed aboard the buses that would drive us the fourteen miles to Wrigley Field. And as we got ready to exit the airport, Chicago Fire Department trucks saluted us with sprays of water from their hoses that cascaded over the buses. It was so cool. The buses headed down the Kennedy Expressway and people in their vehicles waved and honked their horns. The magic number to the World Series title was finally zero. It seemed so surreal. We understood how much this victory meant to Cubs fans. The excitement had seemed to build and build over the course of the season, and we were so happy for them.

Many fans who watched Game Seven from the bars and restaurants in Wrigleyville, near the field, had never gone home and so lined the streets as we arrived before sunrise. The stadium marquee at Wrigley Field was lit up with the words WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS. Anthony Rizzo lifted the Commissioner’s Trophy above his head when he got off the bus.

By the time we retrieved our luggage and found the Uber driver, all Hyla and I wanted to do was sleep. But not before we smiled over a funny ending to such a wonderful journey.

The Ross family piled into an Uber that actually was reserved for Theo Epstein. Then we took off.

Sorry, Theo.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

10/3/16

“Don’t be sad that it’s over, smile because it happened.”—Vin Scully

The party that was 108 years in the making lived up to its billing.

Chicago officials estimated about five million people—nearly twice the city’s population, to make it the seventh-largest gathering in human history, according to media reports—attended the World Series celebration that featured a six-mile parade and rally from Wrigley Field to Grant Park on Friday, November 4, 2016, two days after we won Game Seven.

Friday was a scheduled day off for Chicago Public Schools, so the crowd seemed to be dominated by families and kids as we traveled the parade route on double-decker buses. Illinois governor Bruce Rauner declared “Word Champion Chicago Cubs Day” statewide. The Chicago River was dyed Cubs blue.

It was a beautiful, 60-degree sunny morning and it couldn’t have been any better—even if I sliced the top of my nose on a wire that held a partition between us and the fans as we boarded the buses at Wrigley Field. I wasn’t the only player wounded. John Lackey was cut across the neck and Travis Wood and Jon Lester were nicked atop their heads. While my flesh wound may have been the worst out of the bunch, I wasn’t going to let a bloody cut ruin my day.

When we arrived at Hutchinson Field in Grant Park for the rally, Wayne Messmer, the longtime public address announcer for the Cubs sang the national anthem. Pat Hughes, the play-by-play voice of the Cubs Radio Network, introduced the brass—Cubs chairman Tom Ricketts and presidents Crane Kenney and Theo Epstein—as everyone gathered on the stage. After they all said a few words, including manager Joe Maddon, players had their turns.

I was fine emotionally until Rizzo started to talk about me. “He taught me how to become a real winner,” Anthony said to the crowd as he got choked up. “He is like a brother to me. He has taught me a lot in life, on the field and off, how to be a better person. I am forever grateful for him. He’s going out a champion forever. The last game he played in, he’s a world champion.”

I was next to speak, and I had all these things I planned to say about each one of my teammates. It was going to be quick, just something about each guy and how they made me better. I couldn’t get any of it out because Rizz started tearing up and I choked up. I wanted to mention my wife and my kids, my mom and dad, and thank the boys for the trophy. Instead, basically all I had in me was, “I love these guys and I am out.”

I was overcome by a wave of emotion. That’s one of my problems. When I am passionate about something, I get emotional. (Thanks, Mom!) It’s hard for me to get my feelings across in words because I tend to choke up. I really wanted each of the guys to understand what they meant to me. In my mind, they don’t get it. They had no idea how they affected me—and how incredibly grateful I was that they treated me the way they did.

I was the backup catcher and the whole journey still blows my mind. I get carried off the field after Game Seven? I mean, really? I was the lowest-paid veteran on the roster, I played once a week, and they treated me like an MVP. Everyone said it was because I meant so much to them. But I was just being me. That made me wonder exactly who they were talking about. I am a guy who has flaws, but I always worked to be honest with myself. We all have flaws. I don’t know what I am but I do know it was so cool when all those things happened to a guy like me.

Even though I was often described by the Chicago media as a “personal catcher” to Jon Lester, it really never bothered me. Reporters always asked me why I worked so well together with Jon, and that was something I never had an answer for. I felt like I worked well with every pitcher I caught once I was given the opportunity to learn his strengths and weaknesses. You do that when you catch them regularly. But I wasn’t a good enough hitter or a good enough player to play every day to have that opportunity with every pitcher on a staff. I felt like the manager decided, “Okay, you are really good at this and you give us a good chance to win when you’re paired with this guy.” That was the goal: to win every game when I was behind the plate.

Theo Epstein has often said that when he was a staff member with the San Diego Padres in the mid-1990s he learned a lesson on the importance of being honest, from former player Craig Shipley. Shipley said, “Theo, don’t you get it? Every single player in every clubhouse in the big leagues has either been lied to by management or expects to be.” It shocked Theo and he never forgot it as he started to gain more responsibility in the game.

He believed that if an organization could create a culture where players knew they were being told the truth, it would be a big competitive advantage and would help nurture great relationships and a great environment where players could relax and be confident and be themselves around management. Put building trust and acting with integrity on the same level as winning. If you can find that equilibrium and that environment, really good things follow.

When Theo moved to the Red Sox in 2002, he incorporated that mindset and blueprint. Then, six years later, as I was packing my bags after that short 2008 stint in Boston, Theo used the lesson he had learned from Craig Shipley to change my career. He spoke honestly with me about what he had heard about my departure from Cincinnati. That level of candor, which he promised to bring to any team he led, changed my career and was part of what brought us back together in Chicago.

The rest is history!

The November weekend after Game Seven was a blur. Following the parade and rally on Friday, Anthony Rizzo, Dexter Fowler, and I joined actor Bill Murray, a die-hard Cubs fan, on Saturday Night Live in New York City. It all was in good fun, but I am not sure people (including my family!) were prepared to see me as a male stripper, which was the skit they handed us. And I didn’t want to embarrass my daughter with my dance moves. Rizz, Dexter, and I strip-teased for a grandmother, who, in the skit, had possibly died due to a heart attack. Naturally, we were dressed in Cubs-themed stripper attire.

“Don’t worry, Grandma, Grandpa Rossy is here to take care of you,” was my infamous line before I climbed on the back of the chair for our “triple-header,” as Rizz told the audience. Near the end of the show we, along with Murray, crashed SNL’s “Weekend Update” disguised as winners of the mock news show’s The Voice–type contest. We sang a rendition of the Cubs’ unofficial anthem, “Go Cubs, Go.” It was fun but kind of a blur.

From there we flew back to Chicago, where I joined Jason Heyward, Kyle Schwarber, and Mike Montgomery at the Chicago Blackhawks’ hockey game at the United Center Sunday night. At intermission, I played “Shoot the Puck” but missed on all three of my attempts. On Monday I flew to Los Angeles and appeared on The Ellen DeGeneres Show with Kris Bryant. I was presented with a Grandpa Rossy walker, which I needed when I caught the red-eye back to Chicago because we had to pack and be out of our apartment by midweek.

It was time to get home to Tallahassee.

Hyla and I had a plan for when I retired. Or so we thought. Everything that had happened over the course of the 2016 season, culminating in the World Series victory, had turned our lives upside down. Everything happened so quickly we barely had time to wrap our heads and hands around all that was coming at us.

Hyla felt like we crossed the finish line, as we had planned—that was our goal for so many years—but I know it suddenly felt like Hyla crossed it alone. She looked around and I was gone, back on an airplane and traveling the country. We actually sat down and revamped our future plans a bit, mainly because all these good things had happened to us. I could have never envisioned it. My itinerary, for instance, in the first three months following our Series title included an event at a Dick’s Sporting Goods store in Chicago where I signed 1,256 autographs; I partnered with Duracell to deliver batteries to Toys for Tots Chicago for Christmas; my son, Cole, and I participated in a father-son competition (“Big Star, Little Star”) that was taped in Los Angeles and will be televised by the USA Network; Public Label Brands Inc. featured me on a limited edition collector’s box for a cereal called “Grandpa Rossy” Crunch; I was the keynote speaker at the University of St. Francis’s annual fund-raiser in Joliet, Illinois, and my Florida High basketball coach, Al Blizzard, attended as a guest of the university. My 2017 calendar may feature more road dates than a baseball season!

Children, of course, have a way to put everything in perspective.

In late November 2016, I headed to Maclay School and picked up Cole and Landri. On the way home, Landri, who is in the fourth grade, innocently asked from the backseat, “Dad, now that you don’t have a job anymore, do you think you could coach PE at Maclay?”

That’s the line everyone fears, right? “Dad, now that you don’t have a job anymore.” I smiled inside and probably even laughed.

David Ross, PE coach.

I told Landri she probably didn’t want me around her school every day.