GODDAMN CUBS.
Just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in.
The Cubs just fucked up their chance at a post season by loosing 3 in a row the Cincinnati Reds.
A few select questions seem appropriate here:
Seriously? Did I just watch this abortion of a season?
Is it that hard to beat the fucking Reds? At home? Really?
This is a fucking play off race you jack-asses!
What the fuck are you doing?
Is this Little-League? Tee-Ball? ANSWER ME!
Jesus tap-dancing Christ!
Cincinnati is a sub .500 team.
They have no pitching and a closer with a ERA over 12.
Their “offensive powerhouse” broke the NL strike out record tonight.
Are you fucking kidding me?
How could you squander 9 innings of 16 strike out, 1 run ball?
You fucking douche nozzles.
How long must this pathetic spectacle of ass-clownery continue?
Will the revolving door of suckitude EVER stop spinning?
Do you bastards even care?
I want some goddamn answers!
This season was the biggest choke in the history of Cubdom. A Sox fan who normally gives me endless shit, apologized to me. Not in a sarcastic way, in a genuine, sincere “I’m sorry they did this to you, again” way. She expressed concern and sympathy despite an entire season of rivalry and trash talking between us. That’s how bad it was. People who were here in ’69 said this season was worse. ’84? ’89? ’03? Not even close.
I turned on the radio to see if Ron Santo was still on the air knowing there was at least a 5 hance the Cubs just killed him. He was alive but the dejection in his voice was crushing. I felt nauseous. That what it's like to be a Cubs Fan. I promptly got hammered with my friends and commiserated on another in a long line of disappointing finishes.
They blew it. Pure and simple. They didn’t deserve it.
No lead off guy. No closer. A team full of power hitters and nothing else (a record of 18-38 without hitting a home run)
A 17 million dollar a year prima donna who sneezed himself from the three spot and cried all the way to a .252 average with 12 more K’s then he had hits.
Endless bitching about the pressures and media scrutiny.
Alou and Merker whining about a TV announcer? Is there anyone who has less of an effect on the game? The beer vendor is closer to the field of play.
THIS JUST IN: Alou has demanded that the Beer Guy be completely silent.
Team OBP: .328
Stolen Bases: 66
Strike outs: over 1000
This was not a play-off team.
But they were supposed to be. Everyone knew it. Preseason odds on Cubs winning it all; 8:1. By comparison, Yankees 10:1. This city was electric from Opening Day. April 5, 2004 and on. This was The Year. The Cubs arduous journey would finally be over. Chicago would have its first World Series since the end of WWII. All the pain of last season washed away. Then it came crashing down harder then ever.
Looking back it started in August. The 27 to be exact. The Cubs were at home playing the standard 2:20 pm Friday afternoon game against the Astros. The Cubs were 7 games ahead of Huston in the standings with 3 more at home they could have gained a suffocating 10 games on them. But they cracked. They fell apart. Kent Merker called the booth to whine about Chip and Steve in the middle of a game. Then he taunted the umpire and netted himself a suspension. The rest of the team folded. Collapsed. They were humiliated 15-7 and lost the next 3 of 4 games. They had the chance to end it, the didn’t do it. The gave Huston the Wild Card.
Over the next 31 games the Cubs had streaks of wins and amazing games that sucked me back in. I believed once again. Then they lost to the Expos. At home. Another great streak. Another miserable failure. It was the best and worst stretch of the season. A roller coaster of dizzying highs where you knew they could pull it out and gut wrenching lows when it seemed like they were just surrendering. By the last week of the year I was exhausted. Have you ever done that let’s break up let’s get back together dance with your girlfriend for hours and at some point you don’t even care anymore, you just want it to be over? That was the last month of this season. I just wanted it to stop I was tired of being dragged through the mud, only to be cleaned up and then promptly kicked in the sac. I was done.
Remembering they way I felt after last season, years before, and now again after this abomination of a season, I ask myself; Is it worth it? Can I really rationalize all the disappointment and anguish? If the Cubs were a girl I would have broken up with her long ago. And in the end does it even matter? Why am I living and dying, with every pitch while millionaires I don’t know play a game? Can’t I just stop caring? Can’t I find something else to do with the hundreds of hours I spend every year watching and reading and thinking and talking about something I have no control over? Can’t I just let go?
But the answer I keep arriving at is always the same.
No. I can’t.
Baseball is more than that. It’s even more than Sandberg and Grace, Harry Carry and The Seventh Inning Stretch, the Ivy and the Bricks, it’s bigger then The Cubs and their 96 year drought.
It’s Americas Past Time.
It’s Reggie and Nolan, Koufax and Gibson, Willie and Mickey, Babe and Joe D, Ty and Cy. It’s Wrigley and Fenway. Teddy Ballgame and the quest for .400.
It’s 511 wins, 59 scoreless innings, 84 straight saves, 2,632 consecutive games, and a 56 game hit streak.
It’s Sammy and Mac chasing Marris. Bonds chasing Aaron. And kids chasing a dream.
It’s Terrence Mann and The Corn Field.
It’s fathers and sons.
It a collection of memories woven into the fabrics of our lives. For me, I can pin point when it started. The 1989 World Series. The Giants and The A’s. The Bay Series. The Earthquake. An 8 year old boy sat on the couch downstairs with his dad, bet a nickel on the Giants, had his first sip of beer and listened to the stories of players he didn’t know in places he’d never seen and was suddenly aware that he was now part of something bigger. No matter what he and his dad would always have this. 4 games of the best memories of my childhood. I couldn’t turn my back on the game any more than I could on my family; it’s a part of who I am.
I’m like a hopelessly addicted crack head. I’ll follow all the trade talks make mental notes of whose available and talk with my friends about what they should do and come April, it will begin again. All the past will, at least ephemerally, wash away, The Ivy will start turning green and I’ll be right back swearing that “Next Year is Here.” My name is Cameron. I am a Cubs Fan. This is my life.
Sunday 17 October 2004
Friday 15 October 2004
Cameron is a fucking moron, disaster (temporarily) averted.
As many of you know I spent the weekend in Albuquerque. I have a rather amusing account of my travel.
My flight was scheduled to depart at 7:20 pm but I left my office at around 4:00 to avoid the rush hour cluster fuck on the train. Realizing I probably didn't need the jacket I was wearing I grabbed a backpack from my under my desk, stuffed the coat in, and headed
for the Orange Line. Unfortunately, the extra hour I allotted my self, served little purpose as the el was packed tighter then a Wrigleyville bar after a Cubs game (stupid Cubs). At one of the stops a girl in a pink jacket with a barbell through her eyebrow got on
and stood next to me. She was fairly attractive. Small frame, but a nice ass, blond hair and green eyes that glinted with mischief (read: chaos). I struck up a conversation. Her name was Erin, she was a student at DePaul and was on her way somewhere to visit someone, I don't know I kind of drifted in and out of the conversation as it was rather bland and she did little to increase my interest, she was not what I would call intelligent, but whatever, it beat staring out the window for 45 minutes.
We arrived at the airport and the hordes of people leaving the train caused me to lose her in the crowd, but I didn't really care. I lugged my suitcase up the stairs, across the moving walkway and toward the ticket line. Erin ended up behind me. We began conversing briefly before I was summoned to the next available agent. I checked in, smiled at Erin and went outside to smoke. When I was finished I wandered toward the security gate and noticed a familiar pink jacket a few people in front of me. I taped her on the shoulder and asked "are you following me?" She laughed and I suggested we get a drink before our flights, she agreed and we plodded toward the metal detectors and x-ray machines like cattle into a barn.
Having been through this farce many times before I had become an expert on expediting this ridiculous process put in place to create a false sense of security. I was ready, belt off watch and wallet in the tray, keys, cigarettes, lighter and change in my bag on the
rollers. I smiled at the security guard asked how she was and walked through the detection frame without incident. I moved to the end of the conveyor belt and
awaited my bag while I chatted with Erin. There was a delay and I looked toward the x-ray operator to see what was going on.
"John, we got something interesting here. Come take a look." I rolled my eyes as the large man sauntered over toward the viewing screen and the portly woman sitting in front of it. She pointed to something and John raised his eyebrows, put on some rubber gloves
and grabbed my bag from the machine.
"My phone charger" I remarked to Erin, shaking my head "they always think it's a bomb."
"Is this yours?" The security guard asked as he approached me.
"Yes, sir"
"May I open it?"
"Of course." I find pleasantness the best method of dealing with these people. Being standoffish only delays the procedures that are already aggravatingly time consuming.
John immediately went to the front pocket and pulled out some shoe polish
"Hey I need to get some of this, thanks for reminding me"
I forced a laugh and said "I forgot that was even in there."
He moved to the other pocket, unzipped it and pulled out my red handled butterfly knife.
"Fuck."
I turned toward Erin who had been waiting patiently behind me. Her expression was one of confusion, with a touch of fear.
"I have to go catch my plane" she said as she walked briskly away from a situation she no longer wanted any part of.
I shook my head, furious with my own stupidity.
"Can I see your boarding pass and ID?"
"Sure." I responded as I handed it over.
He walked over to a desk and made a call, all the while opening and closing the knife.
I am now officially, freaking out. Butterfly knives are illegal; attempting to carry them on a plane is even more illegal. Understand, I am not worried about going to jail so much as I am terrified at the prospect of having to call my mom to say, "Hey, I won't be in town this weekend. Nope, I got arrested for possession of a deadly weapon in an airport."
Those of you who know my mom understand this.
John the security guard begins to shoot the shit with me for a while. I am careful to seem frightened but not nervous and answer his questions appropriately. Give adequate information but don't babble. Don't use 10 words when 2 will do. Be succinct and to the point. At the same provide additional information and extrapolation when necessary don't truncate responses to open-ended questions. Most importantly make it appear that none of this careful, methodical calculation is occurring.
John is actually very calming and I think I will escape with out incident. I begin to settle down, and drop my guard a bit.
The conversation continues and I decide I will most likely be allowed to proceed to my plane, but out of the corner of my eye, I see three police officers approaching. A short, fat man with the requisite mustache, a lanky guy with a buzz cut and a woman wearing all black with a visible vest. My stomach begins to cramp. I feel ill. The fat one asks that I
turn around, I comply he grasps my forearm and I feel the distantly familiar and unmistakable cold metal crescent touch my right wrist, then clamp down. Then
the left. Shit. I turn toward the now bottlenecking crowd of people and notice a sea of faces pointing, whispering and silently judging me. I hang my head in disgust. While I am escorted down the hall John walks beside me flipping open my knife then closing it
despite the fact the he is obviously not proficient with the weapon. There is now no doubt everyone knows exactly what's going on. Thanks, dick.
I was led down the hall into the Airport Police Station where I was place in an interrogation type room, and un-cuffed. I was left alone for a moment and
called J who was picking me up at the airport in ABQ the conversation went something like this
Cameron: "Hey, there is a chance I won't make it in on time"
J: "What did you do, show up late?"
Cameron: "No, I kinda got arrested, I can't really talk but I'll keep you posted"
One of the officers returned and gave me a 2 page form to fill out, it consisted of basic questions like name address phone number, date of birth place of birth, parents names, social security number, etc, etc, etc. It was long repetitive and excruciatingly boring.
When I finished another cop entered and began interrogating me. He asked essentially the same questions that I had just answered on the form while the other guy checked it. Then came the amusing questions.
Officer: "Are you know, or have you ever been under the care of a mental health professional?"
Me: "No, sir" (again I was kissing as much ass as possible.)
Officer: "Are you involved with any of the following groups" listed off 10-15 groups I for the most part hadn't heard of mixed with a few cults and terrorist organizations
This whole fiasco took about an hour at which point the gave me my ID boarding pass and said "The weapon will be confiscated and destroyed"
Luckily because of my ridiculously early arrival, I still made my plane.
Thank god I’m white.
EDIT 10-28-04
Epilogue: As it turns out I am being fined $250 dollars for this, anyone who would like to contribute to this cause I am not proud and will accept donations. It may even be tax deductible. (Probably not)
My flight was scheduled to depart at 7:20 pm but I left my office at around 4:00 to avoid the rush hour cluster fuck on the train. Realizing I probably didn't need the jacket I was wearing I grabbed a backpack from my under my desk, stuffed the coat in, and headed
for the Orange Line. Unfortunately, the extra hour I allotted my self, served little purpose as the el was packed tighter then a Wrigleyville bar after a Cubs game (stupid Cubs). At one of the stops a girl in a pink jacket with a barbell through her eyebrow got on
and stood next to me. She was fairly attractive. Small frame, but a nice ass, blond hair and green eyes that glinted with mischief (read: chaos). I struck up a conversation. Her name was Erin, she was a student at DePaul and was on her way somewhere to visit someone, I don't know I kind of drifted in and out of the conversation as it was rather bland and she did little to increase my interest, she was not what I would call intelligent, but whatever, it beat staring out the window for 45 minutes.
We arrived at the airport and the hordes of people leaving the train caused me to lose her in the crowd, but I didn't really care. I lugged my suitcase up the stairs, across the moving walkway and toward the ticket line. Erin ended up behind me. We began conversing briefly before I was summoned to the next available agent. I checked in, smiled at Erin and went outside to smoke. When I was finished I wandered toward the security gate and noticed a familiar pink jacket a few people in front of me. I taped her on the shoulder and asked "are you following me?" She laughed and I suggested we get a drink before our flights, she agreed and we plodded toward the metal detectors and x-ray machines like cattle into a barn.
Having been through this farce many times before I had become an expert on expediting this ridiculous process put in place to create a false sense of security. I was ready, belt off watch and wallet in the tray, keys, cigarettes, lighter and change in my bag on the
rollers. I smiled at the security guard asked how she was and walked through the detection frame without incident. I moved to the end of the conveyor belt and
awaited my bag while I chatted with Erin. There was a delay and I looked toward the x-ray operator to see what was going on.
"John, we got something interesting here. Come take a look." I rolled my eyes as the large man sauntered over toward the viewing screen and the portly woman sitting in front of it. She pointed to something and John raised his eyebrows, put on some rubber gloves
and grabbed my bag from the machine.
"My phone charger" I remarked to Erin, shaking my head "they always think it's a bomb."
"Is this yours?" The security guard asked as he approached me.
"Yes, sir"
"May I open it?"
"Of course." I find pleasantness the best method of dealing with these people. Being standoffish only delays the procedures that are already aggravatingly time consuming.
John immediately went to the front pocket and pulled out some shoe polish
"Hey I need to get some of this, thanks for reminding me"
I forced a laugh and said "I forgot that was even in there."
He moved to the other pocket, unzipped it and pulled out my red handled butterfly knife.
"Fuck."
I turned toward Erin who had been waiting patiently behind me. Her expression was one of confusion, with a touch of fear.
"I have to go catch my plane" she said as she walked briskly away from a situation she no longer wanted any part of.
I shook my head, furious with my own stupidity.
"Can I see your boarding pass and ID?"
"Sure." I responded as I handed it over.
He walked over to a desk and made a call, all the while opening and closing the knife.
I am now officially, freaking out. Butterfly knives are illegal; attempting to carry them on a plane is even more illegal. Understand, I am not worried about going to jail so much as I am terrified at the prospect of having to call my mom to say, "Hey, I won't be in town this weekend. Nope, I got arrested for possession of a deadly weapon in an airport."
Those of you who know my mom understand this.
John the security guard begins to shoot the shit with me for a while. I am careful to seem frightened but not nervous and answer his questions appropriately. Give adequate information but don't babble. Don't use 10 words when 2 will do. Be succinct and to the point. At the same provide additional information and extrapolation when necessary don't truncate responses to open-ended questions. Most importantly make it appear that none of this careful, methodical calculation is occurring.
John is actually very calming and I think I will escape with out incident. I begin to settle down, and drop my guard a bit.
The conversation continues and I decide I will most likely be allowed to proceed to my plane, but out of the corner of my eye, I see three police officers approaching. A short, fat man with the requisite mustache, a lanky guy with a buzz cut and a woman wearing all black with a visible vest. My stomach begins to cramp. I feel ill. The fat one asks that I
turn around, I comply he grasps my forearm and I feel the distantly familiar and unmistakable cold metal crescent touch my right wrist, then clamp down. Then
the left. Shit. I turn toward the now bottlenecking crowd of people and notice a sea of faces pointing, whispering and silently judging me. I hang my head in disgust. While I am escorted down the hall John walks beside me flipping open my knife then closing it
despite the fact the he is obviously not proficient with the weapon. There is now no doubt everyone knows exactly what's going on. Thanks, dick.
I was led down the hall into the Airport Police Station where I was place in an interrogation type room, and un-cuffed. I was left alone for a moment and
called J who was picking me up at the airport in ABQ the conversation went something like this
Cameron: "Hey, there is a chance I won't make it in on time"
J: "What did you do, show up late?"
Cameron: "No, I kinda got arrested, I can't really talk but I'll keep you posted"
One of the officers returned and gave me a 2 page form to fill out, it consisted of basic questions like name address phone number, date of birth place of birth, parents names, social security number, etc, etc, etc. It was long repetitive and excruciatingly boring.
When I finished another cop entered and began interrogating me. He asked essentially the same questions that I had just answered on the form while the other guy checked it. Then came the amusing questions.
Officer: "Are you know, or have you ever been under the care of a mental health professional?"
Me: "No, sir" (again I was kissing as much ass as possible.)
Officer: "Are you involved with any of the following groups" listed off 10-15 groups I for the most part hadn't heard of mixed with a few cults and terrorist organizations
This whole fiasco took about an hour at which point the gave me my ID boarding pass and said "The weapon will be confiscated and destroyed"
Luckily because of my ridiculously early arrival, I still made my plane.
Thank god I’m white.
EDIT 10-28-04
Epilogue: As it turns out I am being fined $250 dollars for this, anyone who would like to contribute to this cause I am not proud and will accept donations. It may even be tax deductible. (Probably not)
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