I like to wear a blue hat with a red "C" printed on it. The "C" represents my affinity for the Chicago Cubs baseball squadron. Because of the team’s hundred-year championship drought and knack for faltering in the presence of greatness, many people who follow sports consider Cubs fans pathetic and masochistic. But I don’t see it that way. I prefer to think we are dauntless optimists who never lose hope but occasionally lose self-respect. Being a Cubs fan has taught me that hope can’t be killed by oodles upon oodles of disappointment, frustration, and failure. Thanks to a revolving cast of jocks that wear matching hats and uniforms, I have learned a lot about hope. Hope is like a cockroach in the nuclear winter.
Of course, this column wouldn’t be very funny if I didn’t segue into the disappointment/ frustration/ failure realm of loving the Cubs. My darkest day as a Cubs fan should come as no surprise: October 14th, 2003. On this date, the Cubs squandered a three-run lead in the eighth inning and wound up losing game six of the National League Championship Series to the Florida Marlins. A few days later, the Marlins eliminated the Cubs in game seven and went on to win the World Series. A crucial play in this dreadful eighth inning occurred when Marlin Luis Castillo sliced a foul ball toward the left field stands—right in the area of seat 113 in aisle 4, row 8. The fan who claimed seat 113—a bespectacled geek named Steve Bartman— lunged for the airborne souvenir, oblivious or indifferent to the fact that Cubs leftfielder Moises Alou was tracking the ball, poised to make the catch. Alou didn’t catch the ball, however, because Bartman knocked it down. Thus began a gut-wrenching plummet down an emotional black-hole. Thanks a lot, Bartman. I mean...What the fuck?!
I realize there were many other factors in that eighth inning debacle (including but not limited to starter Mark Prior’s abrupt loss of composure, Alex Gonzalez’s error at shortstop, the relievers floated the ball to the plate in under-handed, softball fashion), but for the sake of this column, let’s just assume a fan with busy hands deserves 100% of the blame. Steve Bartman could discover the cure for cancer and he still wouldn’t redeem himself. Don’t get me wrong: I hate cancer as much as the next guy. I’m anti-cancer all the way, but on the other hand, I can’t overlook the fact that Steve Bartman deserves at least a dozen vengeance wedgies.
I have a request for any scientists that are reading this column: Invent a time machine. I’ve never asked you for anything before; PLEASE scientists, invent a time machine so that I can travel back to October 14th 2003 and restrain Steve Bartman in a full-nelson hold for a mere three seconds while that infamous foul ball is in flight. I want to go "Quantum Leap" on that chump!
Some of you may be wondering, "Aren’t there more important historical events to rectify through time travel? Genuinely tragic events that we could set straight if only the damn scientists would get off their duffs and invent a damn time machine?" It’s an interesting argument that I’m willing to counter. So with no further ado, here is a brief list of some other catastrophes that do not, in my opinion, merit time travel intervention.
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You can read the rest of this essay, and 39 other doozies, by ordering a copy of my book, "There Will be Blog."
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