Desking the "W"

I fell off my desk today.

Yes, I was standing on my desk at work. You may be wondering WHY I was standing on my desk at work. Or, perhaps you question nothing that goes on in the Addiverse, as nothing is too weird, too bizarre, too unusual, too....well, not too thought out.

In celebration of the Cubs winning the World Series, I decided to make a great big blue "W" out of poster board and hang it in my window at work. Now, this is against all the workly rules, but I like to live on the edge. (We're not even supposed to use scotch tape to hang anything anywhere, so putting a scotch-taped sign in my window is dangerous on many accounts.) Hey, I'm the only one on the lower level with a window, so I say why not fly the "W?" My window is technically at ground level, so you would think flying the "W" would be easy... but, when standing in my office, the window is near the ceiling.

Hence, I was standing on my desk.

Now, it might have been that I was so tired from last night's ball game that I had a momentary lapse of balance... or, more likely judgment. Or, perhaps I usually demonstrate momentary lapses of balance or judgment. Whatever the case, I took a wrong step and a-tumbling I went.

No worries. The giant bruise on my shin will eventually fade. Nothing is broken. My glasses are bent and my keys fell behind my desk (of which is not movable, making that an interesting problem), but otherwise, I am no worse for the wear.

All this because of the Cubs winning the World Series.

I did not enjoy Game 7. I was a ball of angst. Some people hoot and holler and high five. I sit on the couch, frozen in anxiety, wearing headphones, watching music videos on my tablet, internalizing all the feelings that go with an event like this. The more stressed I become, the less I have to say; in fact, I was totally silent for the majority of the event...

...except, it seems that at one point I was growling. I had head phones in, volume up to eardrum-crushing levels. I had no idea I was doing this. The wife wondered what I was doing. I didn't know what she was talking about. "Why are you growling?" she asked. I turned off the volume and realized that I was indeed growling from the bottom of my throat. Huh.

The lead slipped away. The score was tied. Things were crumbling.  My heart was pounding in my ears. I could no longer watch the game. I stood up and exclaimed,

"I CANNOT DO THIS!"

I got up and left the room.

The wife does not understand my way of watching sports. She hoots and hollers and high fives. It is the one time she externalizes and the one time I am internalize things. I am a novel concept in her sporting world. She does not understand my superstitions, my silence, why I am wearing headphones, my why I cannot "do" this. As she pondered my way of being, she made the mistake of all mistakes. As I was walking away, muttering of how I could not take any more, she said that no matter the outcome, team is very young and....

"....there's always next year."

ARE YOU FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME?

YOU.DO.NOT.SAY.THAT.TO.A.CUBS FAN! That's all we've said for the past 108 years. We've lived for that "next year" for all those next years. Well, there is no next year. There is HERE AND NOW.

HERE. NOW. GAME SEVEN. NOT. NEXT. YEAR!

I was so distraught at this point that I went upstairs to bed. Now, I didn't go to bed to sleep. I went there to be far away from the TV and so I could lay down and let the blood flow back through my body (instead of pooling in my brain). I went there to lower my blood pressure. I went there to get a grip and to block out any thoughts of a potential loss.

It is then I learn: OH MY GOD, NOW THEY ARE IN EXTRA INNINGS. Nope, nope, nope. Can't do this. If I were a drinker, I would have been so drunk by this point I would not have been able to walk for a week. I would be drinking out of the bottle. Not the first bottle. Probably out of the third bottle.

The wife came to bed when the rain delay came to town. I was still drowning in my angst, more silent than ever. I muttered something and laid there, stewing. I wanted to throw up. I said that we'd know the outcome if we heard fireworks. That probably sounds like a weird thing to say but it's true. A World Series championship would certainly result in neighborhood celebratory fireworks.

The relief I felt when I heard those fireworks was beyond compare. 

I know this is a game of which has no bearing on my "real" life. I usually make fun of people who are so serious about a team, about a game. I usually can't wrap my head around the zeal, the inconceivable passion for a sporting event. But, there I was, allowing a game rule my life, my very being. How I didn't implode, I do not know.

Today, I am very tired. I struggled to stay awake during a most boring training. It was difficult, to say the least. My saving grace was that everyone else was just as tired. Some people didn't have voices, as they had spent the night screaming at the television. My voice was just fine. I had knots in my back and shoulder blades and neck, I had a headache to beat the band, I had eyeballs that felt like they were on fire, but my voice was perfectly nasal as usual. Of course, I have a bruise on my shin and a sore arm and a set of lost keys, but I have a voice.

I'm here to say that the blue "W" is proudly waving in my window. It is illegally scotch-taped to the window (take that, powers that be!) and it is staying in that window for as long as I deem appropriate or, until they write me up for using scotch tape. 

I proudly embrace that big ol' bruise on my leg, my crooked glasses, my sore muscles, my weary bones. I fully embrace my illegal scotch tape. I gladly embrace my guttural growling. I accept my internalized ball of distress-ness. I own all of my weird superstitions. I admit that I fell off my desk. Most importantly, I embrace the fact that the Cubs won the World Series last night. THAT is something of which I thank the baby Jesus, of which I celebrate in my own quiet way.

For once, this was not "there is always next year." This is this year, THE year. Cub fans, alive and dead, near and far, young and old: that poster board "W" in my window is for all of us. Every.Single.One.of.Us. I'm waving the "W" with you, for you, in honor of you.

We look good in Cubbie Blue.

If I can survive this, I can survive the nonsense of the upcoming presidential election. If the Cubs can win the world series, a woman can become the president. A woman who, by the way, was raised in Cubs territory. No kidding. She's from Park Ridge, a decidedly very Cubbie Blue place to be. This makes me very happy.

I will be pretty quiet on election night. My goal is to not get caught growling and to keep the faith through the duration. I will go to bed when things get too tense. I will wear headphones and watch music videos.  If the Cubs can do it, we can do it. One week, people. One more week.

May the force, Harry Carey and Ernie Banks be with all of us.
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P.S. Cleveland, you are a class act. Seriously. Thank you.