Talkin' trash to the garbage around me.

28 September, 2007

I want to believe

Usually by this time of year, I've lost interest in baseball. Fuck, who am I kidding - usually by mid-June, the Cubbies have been statistically eliminated yet again from contention. But tonight, Wrigleyville's alive with possibility as my beloved Northsiders punched their ticket to the post-season.

Hope springs eternal.

Am I ready for this? Will it be a merciful, we're-just-happy-to-be-here exit in the divisionals? An excruciating collapse in the championship series as cumulus clouds in the shape of a billy-goat leer over Waveland Avenue? Or do I dare to believe that we're a mere 99 innings of winning ball away from the end of a 99 year drought?

My great-grandfather was an 11 year old boy in Austria the last time the Cubs won the World Series (he'd become a Cubs fan after emigrating to Chicago following the First World War). My grandfather spent his entire life making pilgrimages to Wrigley Field, and died seeing them come close to the holy grail only once. My parents have only known the Lovable Losers. And I was bequeathed the comforting mantra, "Maybe next year, maybe next year..."

I'm 33 years old. There are three outs in each team's at bat per inning. 99 innings. 99 years.

I want to believe. I have to believe. Go Cubs.



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