I Lived My Life for the Cubs Woo Woo”: Ronnie Wickers’ Tearful Final Chant Amid Pulmonary Fibrosis Battle – A Superfan’s Unyielding Heartbeat.vc
Chicago, October 27, 2025 – The gravelly roar that once ignited Wrigley Field—“Cubs, woo! Cubs, woo!”—now emerges as a whisper, fragile yet fierce. At 83, Ronnie “Woo Woo” Wickers, the Cubs’ eternal superfan whose voice has been the stadium’s soul for seven decades, is waging a quiet war against pulmonary fibrosis, a relentless lung disease scarring his iron lungs and stealing his breath. But in a sun-dappled September return to Wrigley—his first game of 2025, surrounded by nurses and fans chanting his name—Wickers delivered a confession that reduced the bleachers to sobs: “I lived my life for the Cubs Woo Woo.” Not a plea for pity, but a vow of devotion, this heartfelt admission has Cubs Nation weeping, celebrating the man who turned fandom into folklore while confronting a foe fiercer than any curse.
The Chant That Echoed Eternity: Woo Woo’s Wrigley Odyssey
Wickers’ legend began in the 1950s, a South Side kid sneaking into Wrigley’s bleachers, where the ivy whispered dreams of glory. By the 1980s, his signature call—“[Player], woo!”—became the soundtrack of Cubs baseball, a joyful eruption after every hit, homer, or hustle play. Loved by some for his infectious zeal, loathed by others as bleacher noise, Woo Woo was unapologetic: “It’s my way of saying, ‘We believe!’” he’d bellow, microphone in hand during broadcasts or player intros.
Over 70 years, he crossed paths with immortals: Ernie Banks slipping him a signed ball, Sammy Sosa high-fiving mid-chant, even a 2016 World Series parade float where he wooed from a convertible. His room at The Pearl of Evanston nursing home—now his reluctant home since January 2025 pneumonia led to his fibrosis diagnosis—brims with Cubs relics: autographed photos, a faded 1984 pennant, letters from fans worldwide. “I miss the crack of the bat, the hot dogs, the roar,” Wickers told ABC7 in August, oxygen tube in nose, eyes sparkling. “But the Cubs? They’re my oxygen.”
Pulmonary fibrosis, an incurable scourge scarring lung tissue and robbing breath, struck after a brutal winter illness. Oxygen-dependent and wheelchair-bound, Wickers skipped the 2025 Cubs Convention—his first absence in decades—opting instead for Roku-streamed games, wooing softly from his bed. “God’s been good,” he’d say, faith his anchor. Yet, the disease’s progression—shortness of breath, fatigue—tested even Woo Woo’s unbreakable cheer.
The Tearful Return: A Chant, a Confession, and Cubs Catharsis
On September 7, 2025, The Pearl orchestrated magic: A luxury suite, tickets for Wickers and his nursing team, a police-escorted caravan from Evanston. As he rolled into Wrigley—first game since April 2024—fans mobbed him at the Clark Street entrance, signs aloft: “Woo Woo Forever!” and “Breathe Easy, Legend.”
Wickers, frail but beaming, gripped the suite railing during a Pete Crow-Armstrong homer, mustering a raspy “Cubs, woo!” that rippled through the broadcast. Postgame, microphone thrust before him by Marquee Sports Network, came the confession: “I lived my life for the Cubs Woo Woo,” he rasped, voice breaking as tears traced his cheeks. “From the bleachers as a boy to this… it’s been my joy, my family. Even when the breath’s gone, the woo will echo.”
The moment went viral, 2 million views in hours. On X, #WooWooStrong trended: “Ronnie’s confession wrecked me—70 years of woo for the North Side. Legend eternal.” Players rallied: Crow-Armstrong dedicated his next steal to “the voice that calls us home,” while manager Craig Counsell visited his bedside, sharing stories of Woo Woo’s 2016 parade antics.
A Spirit Unscathed: Faith, Fans, and the Fight Ahead
Wickers’ battle isn’t solitary. At The Pearl, staff like nurse Heidi Zieger—treating him since April—organize “Woo Woo Wednesdays,” streaming games with signed baseballs from fans. His daughter Yolanda Linneman, ever by his side, reads letters aloud: “You taught me to cheer through storms,” one penned. Faith fuels him—“God’s got the final inning,” he quips—and physical therapy at Northwestern Medicine aims for more returns, perhaps the 2026 home opener.
The Cubs, fresh off a 2025 NLDS run, honor him with a “Woo Woo Bobblehead Night” slated for July 2026, proceeds to pulmonary research. “Ronnie’s the original superfan,” Jed Hoyer said. “His woo? It’s Wrigley’s wind.”
Conclusion
Ronnie “Woo Woo” Wickers’ final confession—“I lived my life for the Cubs Woo Woo”—isn’t a farewell; it’s a defiant encore, a lifetime chant against the fibrosis fog. At 83, with breath fleeting but spirit soaring, he reminds us: Fandom isn’t seats or stats—it’s the soul-stirring woo that binds us. Cubs Nation, tip your caps: The Hawk of the bleachers endures, voice faint but forever fierce. Woo Woo, Ronnie—woo forever.
