This entry-every-eight-days-or-so crap is gotta change.
Bruno update: he's gone. I think it was last Friday when I noticed that the web was tattered and he was nowhere in sight. I have been on DefCon 36 ever since, but I don't think he is inside the house. I've never seen a spider of that size indoors, unless it was in a cage. Oh man, I'm hyperventilating just thinking about this. It's been pretty warm here lately (last night, October 3, I came thisclose to sleeping with the AC on. Yeah, global warming is all just a myth) so I'm thinking Bruno either shuffled off to Buffalo or a lion happened to creep onto our deck and got him. If that was the case, I'm sure he put up a hell of a fight. Somehow, I get the feeling that I haven't seen the last of him.
Speaking of shuffling off, Dusty Baker is done. I have been very quiet about baseball this summer, pretty much because I realized that I was obsessing about the sordid state of the Cubs, and it was going to kill me unless I let it go. I can't remember a more depressing summer than this one, and I've seen a lot of depressing baseball in my life. They were absolutely terrible this year, and Baker did a terrible job as manager this season. I'm amused by all the press coverage these last few days, especially those expressing sympathy for Baker. Yeah, the guy made about sixteen million dollars in four years and gets to leave with his reputation still somewhat intact. It's crazy to think that he is done managing.
Don't cry for Dusty, Argentina. Cry for the mopes like me instead. We get nothing, except another winter full of angst as we all crawl closer to the 100th anniversary of the last Cubs World Series Championship team. Next year will be year 99. Might as well bury a time capsule. I'd like nothing more than to reach the point with the Cubs that I did with the Chicago Blackhawks, where I just had enough and realized that the people who own that team don't care about winning, so why should I? But it's never going to happen. I don't have hockey in my blood. I don't have almost thirty-five years of blind allegiance to the Blackhawks like I do the Cubs, a team that hooked me when I was in kindergarten, for God's sake, and hasn't let me go since. Do youthink I enjoy this? Not anymore. I did something this summerthat I have not done since 1984: I did not go to one single game at Wrigley Field this year. I couldn't. I can't go there knowing that I'm just going to have to wait. People die everyday that spent almost their entire lives waiting, waiting, waiting for the Cubs to win a World Series. And I am well on that track. It doesn't matter if I think they will win (which I do, obviously, or I would have rationally given this up a while ago); I've been thinking that they would win since 1974. That's the problem. I'm delusional. In a month or so, when the front office starts shaping up the roster for next season, I'll get into it. By the time April gets here, I'll be in it like I was a kid again. It's pathetic. It's who I am.
There's a documentary on HBO this month about the Cubs. It's the most depressing sixty minutes of television I have watched since the wrap up of the 2004 election. It's nothing more than an account of the ridiculous events that have befallen this franchise since it's last World Series peppered with commentary from a slew of fans, some well-known, some not. There are some stunningly idiotic people featured on this show. And I'm sitting there watching this thinking that I'm just like all of them. If there was a pill I could take that would make me violently ill every time I thought about the Cubs, I'd take it in a heartbeat in the hopes that I would finally realize how toxic they (the Cubs) can be.
So enough of that. I'm sure that anyone who doesn't follow sports thinks I am nuts, but I'd wager a lot of people out there know exactly what I am talking about.
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