CHICAGO — The chants that once defined summer afternoons at Wrigley Field — “Cubs, woo! Cubs, woo!” — have fallen silent. The man behind them, Ronnie “Woo Woo” Wickers, a living symbol of Chicago Cubs fandom for over half a century, now lies frail but unbroken, his spirit still echoing the same three letters that shaped his entire life: C-U-B-S.
At 83 years old, Ronnie is fighting pulmonary fibrosis, a cruel lung disease that has left him struggling to breathe, let alone chant. Yet, when reporters visited his modest apartment near the North Side, the walls were still covered in Cubs memorabilia — from faded autographs of Ernie Banks and Sammy Sosa to a framed photo of him standing outside Wrigley, smiling through the years.
“I lived my life for the Cubs,” Ronnie whispered, his voice raspy but firm. “They gave me family when I had none. They gave me a reason to wake up, to shout, to belong.”
For decades, Ronnie “Woo Woo” wasn’t just a fan; he was the voice of Wrigley Field’s soul. Rain or shine, winning or losing, he’d patrol the stands in his trademark Cubs jersey, rallying crowds with his contagious “woo!” and infectious energy. Generations of fans grew up knowing that if the Cubs were playing, Ronnie would be there — part cheerleader, part legend, part heart of the North Side.
His story, though, was never one of comfort. Ronnie grew up facing poverty and loneliness. He lost his parents at a young age, drifted through shelters, and for years, was homeless on the very streets that surrounded the stadium he loved most. But even then, he never missed a game. “When I had nowhere to sleep, I’d lean on Wrigley’s walls,” he once said. “It was my home, and those cheers were my lullaby.”
Now, as his health declines, the city he gave his life to hasn’t forgotten him. Fans have begun crowdfunding efforts to cover his medical expenses, and several Cubs players have reached out privately, offering messages of support. A spokesperson for the team said, “Ronnie isn’t just a fan — he’s family. His voice is woven into the fabric of Cubs history.”
Despite the struggle, Ronnie’s dream remains heartbreakingly simple — to visit Wrigley Field one last time, to sit in the bleachers, and to hear that familiar roar of the crowd that once fueled him. “Just one more game,” he said, tears pooling in his eyes. “I want to say ‘Cubs woo!’ one last time, even if it’s just a whisper.”
Those who knew him best say his optimism never faded — even as his health did. Former stadium ushers recall how Ronnie would often spend hours after games picking up trash, just to stay a little longer inside the park he loved. One of them, Jim Morales, put it best: “He didn’t cheer because it was fun. He cheered because it was survival. The Cubs kept him alive.”
As autumn settles over Chicago and the playoff lights shine once more, Wrigley feels a little quieter without him. But his spirit — that joyful, relentless “woo” — will forever echo through every crack of the bat and every cheer that rises from the stands.
Because Ronnie “Woo Woo” Wickers never needed fame, wealth, or glory. All he ever wanted was to belong to the team that gave him purpose.
And now, as his voice fades into memory, his final words linger in the hearts of fans everywhere:
“I lived my life for the Cubs.”
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