(You Cub fans know why that goat is there.)
Hear that sound? It's my heart breaking. BREAKING!
I knew, knew, knew better.
I knew better to let them in just a wee little bit.
I knew better to peek through one eye and think that this might be the year.
It's like an alcoholic thinking, "it's only one beer. What can it hurt?"
Stinkin' thinkin, that's what that is. Next thing you know, you're drunk on the floor wondering what just happened.
Cubs are that way. "Maybe I'll watch this game and get a little excited about the playoffs. What can it hurt?"
And now? They can't even win a game at home in the first round. See? They are right on schedule. And, I was foolish enough to think ever so slightly that maybe....I could have that can of beer.
Hello? Cubs? There's this thing called hitting. You are supposed to HIT the little white ball.
The wife and I live in the House of Blues right now, as "her" Brewers have also dropped two games. The pain, oh the pain!
Now, I know it's best three of five, but I can't go on. I'm breaking up with you, Cubbies. I am going to give up Baseball for Lent. I am putting you on the shelf with Jillian, that gain-weight rat bastard. I'm giving you up and I'm going to focus on how crazy Al Davis is. I'm more likely to sleep with Sarah Palin than I am to watch another Cubs game. I'm going to go find some hot pokers and poke my eyes out.
But, I won't start cheering for the White Sox. That would be over the line. I may hate you, but I won't become traitorous because of you. No, I'm going to work and I'm going to pretend you don't exist. I am taking my "W" sign down off my door. I'm going to hope the Brewers win one game so the wife can have a moment of glory.
Folding like a lawn chair in the House of Blues, House of Pain. I gotta go find She Who Must Not be Named and see if she wants to go out for dinner.....
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