The History Boys

The Cubs are likely to start ace Carlos Zambrano, who threw a no-hitter last week, in Game 1 of the Division Series -- which they will open at home -- and Dempster could be the choice for Game 2, owing to his 14-3 record this year at Wrigley.

Dempster is "the difference between last year," said Santo, referring to the flawed Cubs team of 2007, which won 85 games, then was swept by Arizona in the first round of the playoffs, "and this year."

As he walked home after a recent game -- a thrilling, extra-inning win for the Cubbies two days before they clinched the division -- Dempster blended seamlessly with the crowd of 20- and 30-somethings divided into those who were already inebriated and those who were on their way.

"No one ever gives me any trouble, even if I lost that day," he says. "If someone says 'hi,' I say 'hi' back."

In June, after Dempster threw a four-hit, 11-strikeout complete game against Atlanta, his walk home was interrupted by a standing ovation from the crowd gathered outside of Bernie's Tap and Grill, just across Waveland from the stadium.

Earlier this year, teammate Mark DeRosa called the affable right-hander "the most important person in this clubhouse" because of his "charisma and character" -- not to mention the Harry Caray impersonation that, even the 100th time you hear it, will have you in stitches. But the affection for Dempster extends beyond the clubhouse walls. He is a proud, visible citizen of the Wrigleyville community, known on a first-name basis by everyone in the local Starbucks, the dry cleaners and the grocery store.

When the mood (and the smell) strikes him, Dempster has been known to sidle up to a group of folks grilling on their lawn and help himself to a burger, a beer and some conversation.

"Sometimes I'll join them, sure," he said. "I don't think I've lost touch with reality. I like to think I still get it."

Wrigley Field is perhaps unique among all major league ballparks in its neighborhood feel and the number of players who live within walking distance. (You don't, for example, see many Yankees living in the South Bronx.) At least four Cubs live within a 10-block radius of the stadium, including heralded rookie reliever Jeff Samardzija, a former football star at Notre Dame.

"The atmospheres are pretty similar," Samardzija said of college football Saturdays in South Bend and any given afternoon at Wrigley, "except the tailgating here seems to [happen] after the game instead of before."

Michael Wuertz, a reliever fighting to earn a spot on the postseason roster, rents an apartment a few blocks away off Addison Street. Each day as he approaches Wrigley, the first thing he sees of the stadium is the famous marquee out front, saying, "WRIGLEY FIELD -- HOME OF CHICAGO CUBS."

"After all this time, it still gives me goose bumps," says Wuertz, who is in his fifth season with the team. "It's just a cool atmosphere to be around -- not only as a player, but as a fan of the game."

As Dempster walks toward home, he points to a palatial brownstone that consumes nearly a block of Waveland Avenue. "That's where [Cubs lefty Ted] Lilly lives," Dempster says of his rotation-mate, who is in the second year of a four-year, $40 million contract. "I don't have a palace like he does."

Dempster walks on, sneaking a glance into the wide-open front window of Lilly's next-door neighbor, whose TV is tuned to the Cubs' postgame show, it being roughly 45 minutes after the game. At the intersection of Waveland and Lakewood, a crossing guard directs what sparse traffic there is. On the sidewalk, a father pitches Wiffle ball BP to his two kids.

Dempster is thinking about houses a lot these days, because he just found out that his wife, Jenny, is pregnant with their second child -- "We need a bigger yard," he says -- and because his contract expires at the end of the season. The Dempsters have already looked at some bigger houses -- still in Wrigleyville, but on the other side of the stadium.

"I'd love to stay here. It's a top priority for me after the season," he said. His footsteps stop in front of his house, a gut-and-rebuild job they bought in 2005. There's a rooftop deck with a hot tub and a grill, where he just might go in a little while to watch the sun set over Wrigleyville, with October not even two weeks away and the Cubbies on the verge.

"Why would anyone want to play anywhere else?" he asks.

There is no suitable answer. Dempster smiles and disappears through his front door.