Fifty years ago this month I became a Chicago Cubs' fan. I was a lad confined to my house because I had scarlet fever. An orange sign reading "Quarantine" was placed on the front of our house, and I was sent to bed. I remember my mother bringing a radio to my bedside to keep me occupied, and I soon found a broadcast of a Cubs' game. I was hooked.

A half-century later, I'm still a follower, groping along in blind loyalty to a team which hasn't won the World Series since 1907, or even appeared in it since 1945. While pondering this sorry situation the other day, I concluded that being a fan of the Cubs is a lot like being an Episcopalian. I realize that's stretching matters, but bear with me, folks. Baseball and the Episcopal Church. What a wonderful combination! When you stay involved with both, this is what you get:

You meet lots of nice people. Have you ever noticed how interested Episcopalians are in each other? Meet one in a social setting and the questions fly. What's your parish? Who's your priest? Do you know so-and-so? It's like that with Cub fans. To paraphrase Will Rogers, I never met a Cub fan I didn't like. While on vacation in the Virgin Islands, I was wearing a Cub cap. Seven complete strangers came up to me one day and mentioned the Cubs. Nice people.

You get to belong to a worldwide fellowship. Even though most Episcopalians don't realize it, we belong to the worldwide Anglican Communion. We can feel at home in a church in Tanzania, Tasmania or Titusville. There is a worldwide network of Cub fans, too. Because of cable television and the Internet, Cubbie followers can be found everywhere. During a radio broadcast the other day, Cub announcers were reading e-mail messages from folks in Korea, Saudi Arabia, Israel and England who were listening to the game.

Sometimes it can be embarrassing. I have to admit that I get embarrassed when a friend or acquaintance says something like, "What's the matter with your church anyway?" to me when they read in their newspaper an account of a same-sex blessing or some off-the-wall pronouncement from a heretical bishop. It feels like those times when the Cubs lose nine or 10 games in a row (14 during 1997) and people feel obliged to tell me how terrible my team is.

Sometimes it's exhilarating. Participating in a well-done, joyful liturgy with lots of kids, newcomers and visitors present, hearing a thoughtful, even expository, sermon, and enjoying fellowship afterward with other Christians can be a tremendous lift. Thankfully, it's not as raucous as an afternoon in the bleachers at Wrigley Field, although I've been to places where the passing of the Peace comes close. Watching a Sammy Sosa home run sail out of the ball park to win a game in the final at bat is, well, there's nothing like it.

There can be loyalty even to a fault. Too many of my friends have left the Episcopal Church. I miss many of them and am greatly saddened when I think about them. And next year, following General Convention, I'll be tempted to leave as well. But I'm not going anywhere. They'll have to throw me out. And "they" wouldn't do that. Would they? On several occasions, after the Cubs have broken my heart for the umpteenth time, I've been tempted to leave. It was the old Milwaukee Braves who tempted me once. Later the Yankees. And even the hated St. Louis Cardinals were under consideration. But I still wear my Cubbie cap. They'll have to rip it off my head.

Baseball is a game of numbers. Statistics are posted, digested, argued. Numbers are important to Episcopalians too. Maybe overly so. Our parallels between Cub fans and Episcopalians don't work with numbers. There are far more Cub fans. I wish it weren't so.

David Kalvelage, executive editor