I am a sports fan, in fact, if you ever had the misfortune of meeting me, 90% of the conversation would probably be centered on sports. It is not that I do not have opinions on other subjects, nor do I lack the ability to communicate on an intellectual level on other subjects. It is just that for me sports are just more intriguing and fun. As a young sports fan, there are few days I can truly say are memorable. I do not have the luxury of older sports fans for them, certain moments remain with them for an eternity. They can all tell you where they were, whom they were with, the feelings they felt, and in general just how crushing some of those moments were.
On October 4th 2008, that moment arrived. Don’t get me wrong, this moment was not like most eternal moments were I can pinpoint the very existential atoms of my universal experience. In fact, I could say that my universal experience was rather mundane. It was one of monitoring the patients in a psychological facility. I was not even watching the said sport event, which as I reflect back on now might have been a stroke of fate; in essence, a deux ex machina which was necessary to rip out all my love and despair for m favorite baseball team the Chicago Cubs.
For those who do not know the Chicago Cubs have been the bane of futility, a century’s shrine to the idea that abject failure can be sustained, and you just pray that it is only momentary. In the Cubs case, failure has become synonymous with this team. In baseball, you ask anybody about a Cubs fan, they tell it is a fan that spends his time at the Wrigley field, drunk, hung over, chasing girls, and not interested in the said sporting event that had brought him to this park. In fact one could argue; if not for failure Cubs fandom probably would have been lessened. As been a Cubs fan has become a community exercise in catharsis. This is the cross I and many serious Cubs fans have borne. We have come to understand that we share affiliations with many fans who are not fans, and many other who are fans for the sake of this shared experience of a catharsis.
Then I witnessed the 2008 version of the Chicago cubs, a hitting pitching 97 games winning best team in the national league. They thrilled us with unimaginable comebacks, and they won their division, and had home field throughout the national league playoffs. For once, we could enjoy the ride, and this was the team that would make bearing the suffering of all those years, and that duplicitous moniker of lovable losers. We were going to win the national league. We were the best team. A hundred years of losing would end. But, I should have seen it coming, this was not new, they had done it before, but not this team, the curses, the goats, Wrigley field, and all that stupid nonsensical things would end. We would dance the jig, be merry, and many babies would be born on the night of celebration, to commemorate our redemption.
But it was not to be, the 2008 Chicago Cubs went down quietly, they did not even have the audacity to win a game, or even lose with class. As they did to the pipes in the Dodgers stadium dressing room what they failed to do to Dodger pitching. I fear I must leave my brethren to their cross. For I have reached an unimaginable place as a fan. I have reached a dark place where I see no light, and there is no hope. For me, I have begun to question why I do bear my cross, and how long I will bare this cross. This for me is difficult. For I am a very loyal fan, I support, and follow my teams through hell and back. But, with the Cubs, I see there is only the cold icing frosting of hell fire, and the devil has shut the gate so I cannot return. So I must pronounce myself a Baseball widower. I shall never watch not acknowledge the existence of the sport. For me, it is over, and my summers shall be spent doing what I should have always done with the hours I spent watching the Cubs, read, and actually gain some intellect and insight in the human condition.
