Rain. It usually ruins things. For a hundred years, Cubs fans figured if they ever got close to a title, a meteor would hit the stadium or the lake would swallow the city whole. Instead, it was just a localized shower in Ohio.
History is heavy.
When people talk about the Chicago Cubs Game 7 World Series victory in 2016, they focus on the broken curse. They talk about goats and black cats. But if you actually sat through those five hours in Cleveland, you know it wasn't about mysticism. It was about a young, terrified, brilliant baseball team nearly choking away the greatest season in franchise history and then finding a way to breathe again in a cramped weight room.
Most sports stories are linear. This one was a circle. It started with a leadoff home run and ended with a slow roller to third, but everything in between was pure, unadulterated chaos. Honestly, it shouldn't have been that hard. The Cubs were up 5-1. They had the best pitching staff in the league. They had Kris Bryant, Anthony Rizzo, and a shortstop in Addison Russell who seemed like the future of the sport back then.
Then Rajai Davis happened.
The Night the Curse Almost Won
Joe Maddon is a polarizing figure now. Back then, he was the quirky genius with the thick glasses and the "Try Not to Suck" slogans. But in Game 7, he almost managed his way into a disaster. Taking out Kyle Hendricks—who was cruising—for Jon Lester was a gamble that felt like overthinking. Lester was a legend, sure, but he couldn't throw to first base to save his life. The ball started flying around. The lead started shrinking.
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When Aroldis Chapman came in, he was running on fumes. You've gotta remember he had been used relentlessly in Games 5 and 6. His fastball, usually a 103-mph blur, was sitting at 97. That’s still fast for us mortals, but for a professional hitter like Rajai Davis, it was a beach ball.
The home run Davis hit off the right-field foul pole is arguably the loudest moment in the history of Progressive Field. It wasn't just a tie game. It was the feeling of several million people in Illinois collectively saying, "Here we go again."
Why the Rain Delay Was the Real MVP
There is no Chicago Cubs Game 7 World Series trophy without a 17-minute weather delay. That is just a fact.
Usually, when a team blows a three-run lead in the 8th inning of a championship game, they are dead. They are "The 1986 Red Sox" or "The 1951 Dodgers." The momentum wasn't just in Cleveland's dugout; it was in the air. Then the clouds opened up.
Jason Heyward gets a lot of grief for his massive contract and his lack of offensive production during his time in Chicago. But his value was paid in full during that 17-minute stretch. He called a players-only meeting in a small weight room behind the dugout. He didn't give a "Win one for the Gipper" speech. He basically just told them they were the best team in the world and to start playing like it.
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It worked.
The 10th inning was a blur of Ben Zobrist hitting a double down the left-field line and Miguel Montero tacking on an insurance run. Zobrist ended up with the MVP, which was fitting. He was the "boring" veteran who just did everything right. No flash, just professional at-bats.
The Final Out and the Aftermath
People forget how scary the bottom of the 10th was. Michael Martinez—a utility player who probably shouldn't have been in that spot—hit a slow bouncer to Kris Bryant.
Bryant’s cleats slipped.
Watch the replay. His left foot gives out as he gathers the ball. For a split second, it looks like he’s going to fall on his face and the ball is going into the dugout. Instead, he smiles. He’s actually grinning while he throws the ball to Rizzo.
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The celebration wasn't just about baseball. It was about the fact that "next year" had finally arrived. My uncle, a guy who hadn't cried since 1984, was a mess. Every Cubs fan has a story about a grandfather or a mother who didn't live to see it. That's the weight of 108 years. It’s not just a stat; it’s a generational burden.
What People Get Wrong About 2016
A lot of folks think this team was a dynasty that underachieved afterward. Maybe. But winning one World Series is incredibly hard.
- The bullpen was held together by duct tape and Chapman’s left arm.
- Kyle Schwarber coming back from a shredded knee to hit .412 in the series is still one of the most underrated medical miracles in sports history.
- Dexter Fowler’s leadoff home run was the first in Game 7 history.
The Cubs didn't "luck" into this. They won 103 games in the regular season. They were a juggernaut that almost got derailed by the sheer pressure of their own history.
If you want to understand the impact of the Chicago Cubs Game 7 World Series, look at the parade. Five million people. It was one of the largest human gatherings in the history of the Western Hemisphere. That doesn't happen for a normal championship. It happens when a fundamental law of the universe—like "the Cubs always lose"—is suddenly broken.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Historians
If you're looking to relive the magic or research the specifics of this era, don't just watch the highlights. The nuances are in the full-game broadcasts.
- Watch the "Cubs Win!" documentary produced by Major League Baseball for the best behind-the-scenes footage of the rain delay meeting.
- Analyze the pitch sequences of Kyle Hendricks in the first four innings to see a masterclass in change-of-speed pitching before the chaos started.
- Visit the Wrigley Field Marquee or the statues of Banks and Williams; the 2016 trophy is often put on display at the Gallagher Way area during the anniversary weeks in early November.
- Read "The Cubs Way" by Tom Verducci. It’s the definitive account of how Theo Epstein built the roster from a 100-loss basement dweller to a world champion in five years.
The 2016 World Series wasn't just a game. It was an exorcism. It changed the city of Chicago forever, turning a team of "lovable losers" into just another high-spending, high-expectation powerhouse. Something was lost in that transition, perhaps a bit of the soul of the old Wrigley, but I don't think you'll find a single fan who would trade that trophy back for their "identity." Success is a hell of a drug.