Strude

I almost cried. Seriously, tears threatened to spring forth. Who could have thought that after one of their best seasons in my lifetime, winning their division and finishing with the best record in the National League, the Cubs dreams of ending their 100 year drought would come to crashing halt in the second inning of the the second game of the NLDS.

As I watched that horrendous second inning where the Cubs looked like little leaguers who couldn’t field the ball to save their lives, the first thing I thought of was the curse.  Then with each mistake and error, I was reminded of the curse.

I was screaming my guts out, pulling my hair out.  I had told people I wasn’t getting my hopes up.  Heck, I had told myself I wasn’t getting my hopes up.  However, after that second inning I realized what a big, fat lie that was.  I honestly thought this was the year.

There is a certain amount of poetry that runs through the history and numbers of baseball.  Fans know this is true.  It’s in baseball more than any other sport.  I don’t know why, but it is.  For the Cubs to win the World Series exactly 100 years after they won their last Series would have been the stuff great sports stories are made of.  It would have been full of magic and poetry.  It would have been, in a word, baseball.  After the season the Cubs had, that mojo had to be working in their favor, right?

However, part of baseball’s magic belongs to curses and superstitions.  A few years ago, I never would have thought a goat would have more power than the Babe.  Apparently it was true, and still is.  And for one inning last night you could almost hear Billy Cianis and his pet goat laugh with delight.

Some quotes from the other night we spent at our national pastime. All the quotes are from the couple sitting behind us.

As a guy walked past wearing a shirt that said, “Now holding auditions for the role of girlfriend.” The woman behind me read it aloud and then commented, “That’s just not proper baseball attire.”

After a close double play, she said, “Oh, that’s so dramatic.”

The visiting team hit a grand slam in the first inning, jumping to an early lead. Their son said something about if they score 16 runs in one inning then the game would be over.
“No, they’ll they just keep going,” he said.
She said right after, “No, they’ll just keep going”
He said, “The pro’s don’t have a 16 run rule.”
She said, “The pro’s don’t have a 16 run rule.”
Maybe she was stuck on repeat.

“What was that Casey at the Bat thing?” she asked.
“A poem.”
“Yeah, but was it Casey at the Bat or at the Dugout or what?”
Because Casey at the Dugout would be riveting.

“What’s that smoking over there?” she asked.
“Kettle corn.”
“No offense, but that sounds horrible.”
Yes, I am sure he was offended at your dislike of kettle corn.

To get why this one is funny, you have to have a proper picture of who we are dealing with. The guy was quite large. He made me look thin. He took up so much space, his chotch was practically dry-humping the back of my head.
“Oh, feel that breeze,” he said.
“There’s a breeze?”
“Yeah, feel it.”
“Well, the trees over there are moving a bit.”
Apparently the breeze couldn’t find its way around tons-of-fun to hit his wife.

“Let’s go,” he cheered. “Another line drive double, brah.”
Guys who say bro bug me, unless they are actually talking to their brother. The ones who turn bro into brah are ten times worse.

“He’s a lefty, like me,” he said.
“Really, how can you tell?” she asked.
“Lefties always catch with their right and throw with there left.”
“Always?”
“Yeah, unless they only have one arm. See number 19 right there. His glove his on his right hand and that would make him a… .”
“Catcher?”

It’s that time of year again, yep, the time when I reflect on the fact that when growing up, many factors conspired against me to make me a Cubs fan. Growing up, I wanted to choose a baseball team I would root for. Salt Lake didn’t have a Major League team (and we probably never will) so I was forced to look elsewhere for a team. I chose the Chicago Cubs.

Why?

In Little League, I was always on the Cubs and my parents’ cable subscription included WGN from Chicago that aired many a Cubs game. I became a Cubs fan at a young age watching the likes of Ryne Sandberg and Andre Dawson and listening to the slippery slurs of Harry Caray. I was hooked and doomed.

Little did I know the years of disappointment that would come from these twists of fate.