Eulogy of a Season.

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.