Since 1969, the Triple-A team now known as the Iowa Cubs has called this city home. They weren’t always Cubs—the team began as the Iowa Oaks, a White Sox affiliate. But since 1981, they’ve been tied to Wrigley Field and the Chicago Cubs, serving as the final proving ground for future legends and the longshots who hang on just long enough to surprise you. For every Kris Bryant or Javier Báez who passed through town on their way to the majors, there are dozens more whose stories ended here—but not without beauty.
And that's what makes the Iowa Cubs special.
This isn’t just a team. It’s a threshold. Players arrive with hopes stitched into every seam of their uniforms—one call away, one hot streak from making it. They play with urgency, not entitlement. On any given summer night at Principal Park, you might watch a future All-Star hit a walk-off, or see a career end quietly with a pop fly to short. Either way, the crowd still stands.
The connection to the Chicago Cubs runs deep. Families in Des Moines grow up watching the I-Cubs, then follow “their” players all the way to the Friendly Confines. It’s a pipeline of loyalty that makes every Iowa Cubs game feel like both a local event and a national whisper. You can say, “I saw him before he was famous,” and know it means something.
But the Iowa Cubs aren’t just a farm team—they’re a community team. From the "cubbie bear" kids zone to the local promotions and fireworks shows, the organization doesn’t just sell baseball. It sells summer. It sells the ritual of sitting with your father or daughter in the fading light and passing down the rhythm of the game.
In the dugout, the stakes are real. Players know what’s on the line. The travel, the wear, the endless road cities—it’s all endured for the chance to move up. But there’s dignity in playing well here, too. Because Triple-A isn’t a waiting room. It’s a chapter. It’s where players hone what matters most: consistency, resilience, the ability to rise when it would be easier to quit.
I’ve always found minor league baseball to be more honest than the show above it. In Des Moines, you can see the work behind the wonder. And the Iowa Cubs, like the city itself, don’t need flash to matter. They just keep showing up—night after night, pitch after pitch—carrying the hopes of players, parents, and fans who believe that someday can still be earned.