I know you are tired of the Cubs, but listen! I’ve been a yuuuuge Chicago Cubs fan for 32+ years. I don’t know how it happened. Some people play video games (lots and lots of video games) some become hardcore cyclists, some become sommeliers. Yeah, we kinda fuck up anything that’s fun through becoming experts.
I shall extract ultimate pleasure through my own control!!
We’re deliciously sick control freaks. Anyway, I use sports to emotionally connect with the ghost of my father. As a result, baseball has become such a compulsion that I often find myself studying it like some half-assed scientist. I read 10 articles a day about statistical baseball analysis. WTF? Luckily, this hasn’t totally ruined my enjoyment of baseball. I can still get moderately inebriated and yell at the TV with good friends and strangers alike. I can put a ballgame on in the background while the summer explodes all around me. I can take naps while Vin Skully wraps his tongue around my nostalgic lizard brain.
So, what I find interesting in this Cubs World Series win is the shift in identity. Ya see the Cubs were lovable losers. They were cursed. And who wouldn’t root for them? The poor bastards have lived and died and fathers never got to embrace their sons and vice versa. The poor Cubs! Losing became a kind of identity. Pain a kind of currency. The currency of poor fucking us. My pain makes me special. Boo-Hoo.
Ya see, I too was a loveable loser. I was cursed. I was a foster kid, ward of the state, homeless, and blah blah blah. And sure, that’s sad shit to happen to a kid, but I got help. People saw I got a raw deal and they reached out and loved me. People helped me. And I got better. Their love helped me grow. And I was wildly fucked up and broken, and hell we’re all fucked up and broken, but that’s life.
Anyway, my sad fucking story became a kind of mask. It got in the way. I wielded it like a crappy superpower. When the going got tough, I retreated. I used my pain and past as an excuse. Of course, I found you can’t accept the true nature of reality/fall in love and be in control. Sucks, I know. So, the painful “poor me” story got in the way. It never bought me what I wanted anyway. Or if it did, I was too fucked up. I couldn’t let myself be loved. I was dead. It’s simply the truth. I was a half-assed extortionist. A half-assed monster. Stealing life and love and dumbfounded when I ended up alone.
Eventually, I stumbled into some good therapy and I’m now just a regular quivering mass of humanity. It’s Alive! (I still harbor delusions of grandeur of course or I’d never get laid).
So the Cubs lost their identity as cursed loveable losers. Many fans had a lot wrapped up in this identity and obviously they’ll go through some sort nervous breakdown/spiritual awakening over the following weeks. Plus, Trump won the election so it’s all a little apocalyptic.
The end is nigh.
Do that weird wild fucking thing you want because we are running out of time. Do the hard thing you need to do! Get busy fucking shit up and stop being a loser. Being alive is winning. This kooky boring shithouse is on fire. Make love to as much of it as you can while you can.
And Go Cubs Go!
Your infinite pal & Secretary-Treasurer of The Hammocks Home Owners Association,