Goatriders of the Apocalypse

If you don't believe in curses, obviously, you've never tore your groin

I don't have to, and I'm not going to, outline yet again the reasons why the Cubs and, in extension, ourselves are fucked beyond belief. Dr. Pestilence did a fine job the other day, so why beat that dead goat again?

I assume there are others like myself out there, who, on May 6th, have already given up on the season. My purpose today is to talk specifically to you people.

You're smart. You know what dogshit tastes like, because Radio 720, Channel 9, Fox, Comcast, and now MLB.com have been feeding it to you for your whole conscious life. And you know that you have a big steaming plate of it now before you.

You realize that, yes, at times, even in the best years the Cubs get swept in Milwaukee. You know that injuries happen to everyone, that it isn't just Cubs that tend to fall off the face of the earth. Puds like John Rocker, Rick Ankiel and Albert "Joey" Belle do, too. Sure, Dusty Baker has an IQ of a bar of Ivory soap, but Bob Brenly wears a ring. So do rocket scientists Tom Kelly, Earl Weaver and Jim Frey.

You're an intelligent human being, and you think Curses are the domain of old rosary-clutching Catholic ladies and housewives who chain-smoke Little Debbies while watching Maury Povich. But good God Damn, there's the Black Cat, Mike Royko's "laidback Californians" article, the complete 1985 physical disintegration of the pitching staff, on and on and on...and the latest chapter involves a future Hall-of-Fame shortstop tearing his upper thigh tendons from their moorings while running out a weak tapper.

And you can't fight it anymore. It's a Curse. You root for a cursed team. Am I really THAT ridiculous that I believe in such Mariotti-esque sheepdip?

It's ok, there is a higher power above us all, there is room in the world for the supernatural to exist along with all types of logical science, and for some effin' reason, the cosmic tumblers are stacked AGAINST us!


It's very simple, really.

Do you REALLY believe in ALWAYS? Deep down, you know the day will come, and it will be glorious, for sure. In fact, that is a gross understatement. You are DYING to know WHAT will happen if and when the day comes! What, will Republicans hug Democrats, dogs nuzzle up to cats, Israelis and Palestinians sit down together for a nice cuppa tea? Will Oprah finally marry Steadman?

Will the Missouri faultline that runs through the middle of Illinois maw wide open, and will all matter of bad things fly into the chasm, and will beauty and sunshine reign supreme? Will the hungry be fed, the naked clothed, the lonely befriended, and the poor of faith be revived?

You're waiting for the CubPocalypse...the closest thing to the Second Coming that most of us can imagine!

Sacrilegeous? Hell, yeah, but then again, no. I'm a pathetic enough loser to admit that the plight of the Cubs is deeply woven throughout my actual spiritual faith, and I bet that's the case for some of you, too. When you and I finally get to the front of the line to hand Mr. Death our ticket, the level of Contentment we would bring with us in the end is a function with SOME dependency on the Chicago Cubs.

Yes, that's why we're fans, and any of this bullshit about following the Sox this year just holds no water.

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