Sometimes we sorta hate the ones we love ... like how I hate the Cubs right now
I don't want to be in the same room as the Cubs right now. It's not good for us. We've been having problems lately and everything just kind of came bubbling to the surface tonight. I just can't do this anymore. I give, I give and I give some more. And what do the Cubs do? Oh sure, they give ... for a while. And then it's take, take, take -- me, me, me.
I just ... I thought I knew the Cubs. I thought we had something special. Especially this year. Especially this year. I mean ... all the signs were there.
Everyone would say to me, "Kevin ... look at your team. Look at how amazing they are. Best record in the National League. You both look so happy. After 100 years of buffoonery, your guys are gonna finally make it happen."
It. I feel like I don't even know what it is anymore. Just a notion, perhaps. A foggy memory of something that never even happened in the first place.
All those signs that people held up and put in their windows around the neighborhood -- the ones that say "It's gonna happen." I hate those signs. You know what ... I'll tell you what it is. It is epic failure. It is three busted ground balls in the second inning of game 2. It is the season ending on a check swing by a guy who signed a $136 million contract to play a game that centers around a ball and a stick. A game that a handful of its best all-time players played while drunk.
Next year's signs, if Cub fans are intelligent (ha ha ha), will say "It's not gonna happen." Because it is clearly some godforsaken curse. Each one of us -- all of us Cub fans -- did something wretched in a past life to deserve this. It has nothing to do with a goat or any other myth or neighborhood legend. It has everything to do with it. That thing that you reach for that's just beyond your finger tips. Pure, concentrated punishment for some invisible crime. Punishment for something we'll never know whether we ever did.
I probably shouldn't tell the Cubs, but I've been seeing another team. The White Sox. It was -- is, was ... what's the difference -- just a fling. It was going well for a while. We had a few laughs. We even danced a little -- something the Cubs and I so seldom do anymore. Oh, what's the use? It's not going to work out with the White Sox either.
This may make me a bad fan, but tonight ... tonight was the final straw. We're breaking up. Me and the Cubs. We're over. Did I say this last October? No. Last October was different. Last October the bar was so low that all the Cubs had to do was put their uniforms on with the numbers facing back and it was considered a victory. But this was supposed to be our year. It was supposed to happen. Instead, it happened.
Could we possibly get back together, me and Cubs? I don't know. Teams can change. They can go out and sign free agents. They can better themselves. They can do the things necessary to prove to me and the rest of the world that they're ready for a commitment. A commitment to winning.
Six months is a long time. A lot can happen.
To tell the truth, I'm not looking forward to a life without baseball. I'm not looking forward to that.
But I can tell you I sure am looking forward to a life without it. At least, that is, until next year.
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