This is Desmond.
Yes, I know that I'm only nine months old and that I should be in bed, but I've been sleeping all day today, and it's boring. Baby stuff gets boring sometimes. There's only so many times I can pretend to be amazed by "Brahms' Lullaby" and watch a mobile spin above my head.
So when I wake up in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep? I'm so out of that crib. I gotta do my own thing. You'll understand if I don't describe my activities. I don't want to jeopardize my independence.
Of course, I realize that hijacking Dad's blog isn't exactly the way to remain anonymous, but odds are he'll never read this anyway, or if he does, he'll forget that he didn't write it. He's always thinking about writing in my perspective, but that "Yeah I'm a baby but I'm sooo intelligent" bit has been overdone.
By the way, should anyone be curious, I look like this.
Amazingly, Dad seems to be over the demise of the Cubs. It's weird; we spent all summer watching games and getting excited about how well they were doing. Dad spent a good deal of time telling me about baseball, and while I did the best I could, I still don't get everything about it.
One thing I did get (man, did I get it) though was how much Dad likes the Cubs. It's more than just entertainment. He's devoted. Dad is 41. He's been watching the Cubs since he was five. He can name 99% of the men who have played for the team since 1972. He remembers just about every single one of the hundred or so games he has been to in person.
When I sneeze, this strange gooey stuff comes out of my nose and they use a white cloth to wipe it away. I hate it. Hate, hate, hate it! But I digress. When Dad sneezes, baseballs with Cubs logos on them come flying out of his nose, and we have to make sure that we duck.
You get the idea. My Dad is a little excessive when it comes to the Cubs. (HA! I just sneezed but no one else is awake to wipe my nose! VICTORY IS MINE!) So imagine my surprise when I have noticed that he isn't moping around the house since the Cubs so brilliantly flamed out of the playoffs. I give him credit. I barely know anything about the Cubs and how the playoffs work and I wanted to pound my head against the side of my crib for a while after those two games at Wrigley Field last week. How can a team that played so well all season long suddenly channel their inner t-ball player? They were awful-walks, errors, a total lack of hitting. What the heck happened?
Can you give me a sec? I just noticed a small decorative pillow on the couch next to me, and it has a tag, so I must play with it immediately. Talk amongst yourselves...OK, I'm done.
History is an amazing thing. History tells us that anyone who is a Cubs fan should know better than to get excited in October. I think Dad had this idea that now that I was here that the Cubs would win, that I was the thing missing since 1908 (yeah, no pressure there pops, thanks). I may only be 293 days old but I already know that no one person can fix what ails the Cubs in the post-season.
I did some research for a few minutes before starting to write this, and it's no wonder that Dad is half-insane. He was born in 1967 and suffered through some truly awful Cubs teams until 1984, when they finally went to the playoffs. They've been to the playoffs five times since then: 1989, 1998, 2003, 2007 and 2008. They've never made it to the World Series any of those years.
What's amazing about that is how they've accomplished it: in all six playoff appearances they have lost the final three games. In '84 they needed to only win one of three possible games in San Diego after winning the first two at home; they lost all three and the best-of-five series 3-2. In '89 they went to San Francisco at one game apiece and lost three straight (and the series 4-1). In '98, '07 and '08 they lost the only three games they played.
And then there is 2003. This is the only time in my Dad's lifetime that the Cubs won a playoff series. The beat Atlanta in a best of five 3-2. They won the first, third and fifth games. Next was Florida, a best-of seven for the right to go to the World Series, and after losing the first game, they won the next three. Up 3-1 in a best of seven, they had three chances to win one game. They lost all three. You might remember what happened in one of them.
Geez, I'm sorry I put that picture in there. That poor guy. Ihad to look up "scapegoat" to make sure I understood how to use it properly. That guy is the ultimate scapegoat. He is as much to blame for the Cubs demise in 2003 as I was, and in 2003 I was cruising the Andromeda Galaxy (I will deny that if you tell anyone). I can only imagine what he feels each year when the Cubs season ends, and he continues to be a man without a country.
It's uncanny: when the Cubs lose a second game in a row in the playoffs, it's over. Why did the bother going to LA after game 2 last week? You could see the forks sticking out of them as they walked off the field.
I'd like to think that maybe I'm the reason Dad isn't taking this year's demise as badly as we thought he would. After all, there is more to life than baseball now. There are things like pacifiers and teething rings and strained carrots (and TAGS!), etc. The sun has come up five days in a row now. He sits there and says that he's not going to get caught up in the hype anymore, that from now on he will get excited about them winning during the regular season but ignore the playoffs, and I know he is full of 100% USDA Grade A BS. I know two things for sure in my young life: one, that there is nothing like a warm bottle just as one reaches the point of exhaustion, and two, you don't spend 7/8ths of your life in utter devotion to something and just punt it away in frustration. Dad will let go of his devotion to the Cubs just as soon as he saws off all his limbs.
I do believe him when he says that he is done thinking and talking about them until April though. Good thing. It scares me when I see those giant veins sticking out of his forehead.