Post-Season Ponderings - WS Game 4
The 2005 season died tonight at 11:01, on an Orlando Palmeiro dribbler, when Juan Uribe thew to Paul Konerko for the final out of the World Series. After 88 years of misery for the South Side of Chicago, Ozzie's Boys made a lot of people feel happier than they have been maybe in their entire lives. I don't happen to be one of them, but I just cracked a beer to salute their achievement anyhow.
In light of my appreciation for baseball history, I consider tonight to be quite a big deal, in spite of my Cubbie allegiences. Better than anyone else, I can appreciate what this means to Sox fans, even if they insist on acting like bellicose meatheads to me and mine. The feelings of relief and joy coursing through their veins must be beyond description--that is, if they're sober enough to sense anything at all.
It is not difficult to weigh the historical importance of this championship. They Sox were in first place from the first day of the season on, and they only lost one game in the post-season. They didn't rely on powerful superheroes; they were surgical in their approach, making the most of small breaks. This team never actually peaked, because they never got down in the first place. Though Cleveland made it interesting in September, it's clear to me now that the stutter was due more to Cleveland's great play than to a Sox break-down. They were completely dominating, from March to October.
Something is definitely happening with the baseball gods, as I mentioned in yesterday's post. I cannot see how the Cubs could pull it together this off-season to finish off the long-suffering trifecta, given the vast uncertainties swirling around the team at the end of the year. But I tell myself that that we're dealing with the baseball gods here, and they have an odd sense of humor.
Seamus called me as soon as the game ended. He was at a bar in Lincoln Park, and went outside before the last out. The game was being aired on the L platform at Armitage. He said the skies opened up when the last out was recorded, covering the North Side in sheets of rain. He was quite disturbed when describing it, but I said there was a very simple explanation. I told him that it was the baseball gods pissing on us, because the Cubs were supposed to get the curse-breaking started in 2003.
Before entering Wrigley for Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS, I bought a bootleg shirt from a guy behind the right field wall. It had the Cubs logo and a World Series logo, and I figured it was a safe buy because everyone thought the Cubs were going to the World Series. But a couple of hours later, Gonzalez kicked an easy grounder, the Bartman incident threw Prior for a loop, the Marlins unleased a torrent of hits, and the baseball gods abandonded Cubdom. I hid the shirt in my closet after that game.
Last winter, my parents visited my littlest sister in Boston, and returned with a Red Sox World Series t-shirt for me. I don't wear it all that often, because it's a deep maroon, and I prefer either grey or white shirts. I was very pleased to see them win it last year, even though that moment brought back painful memories of the previous October. It was then that I first had the feeling that something strange was happening.
Several years ago, during a Cubs-Sox series at Wrigley, I bought a grey shirt with a little Sox logo altered to say Sux and says "They Gone!--Since 1917." The back says "SOX SUCK" in huge black letters. The shirt simply isn't true any longer, and I would look like an idiot if I ever wore it again.
In light of the fact that all three shirts are faulty in their own way, I'm going to put them in a plastic bag and stuff it in the way back of my closet. I'll take them out in a few years when I tell my kids the tale of the the 2003, 2004 and 2005 World Series, centering the story on how the two Sox got the job done, but the Cubs fell short. My guys failed to begin a chapter of sports history that would have ranked among the greatest sports legends ever told. Now the Cubs have been left behind--again.
Rogers Hornsby once said, "People ask me what I do in the winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring."
Let the staring begin.
In light of my appreciation for baseball history, I consider tonight to be quite a big deal, in spite of my Cubbie allegiences. Better than anyone else, I can appreciate what this means to Sox fans, even if they insist on acting like bellicose meatheads to me and mine. The feelings of relief and joy coursing through their veins must be beyond description--that is, if they're sober enough to sense anything at all.
It is not difficult to weigh the historical importance of this championship. They Sox were in first place from the first day of the season on, and they only lost one game in the post-season. They didn't rely on powerful superheroes; they were surgical in their approach, making the most of small breaks. This team never actually peaked, because they never got down in the first place. Though Cleveland made it interesting in September, it's clear to me now that the stutter was due more to Cleveland's great play than to a Sox break-down. They were completely dominating, from March to October.
Something is definitely happening with the baseball gods, as I mentioned in yesterday's post. I cannot see how the Cubs could pull it together this off-season to finish off the long-suffering trifecta, given the vast uncertainties swirling around the team at the end of the year. But I tell myself that that we're dealing with the baseball gods here, and they have an odd sense of humor.
Seamus called me as soon as the game ended. He was at a bar in Lincoln Park, and went outside before the last out. The game was being aired on the L platform at Armitage. He said the skies opened up when the last out was recorded, covering the North Side in sheets of rain. He was quite disturbed when describing it, but I said there was a very simple explanation. I told him that it was the baseball gods pissing on us, because the Cubs were supposed to get the curse-breaking started in 2003.
Before entering Wrigley for Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS, I bought a bootleg shirt from a guy behind the right field wall. It had the Cubs logo and a World Series logo, and I figured it was a safe buy because everyone thought the Cubs were going to the World Series. But a couple of hours later, Gonzalez kicked an easy grounder, the Bartman incident threw Prior for a loop, the Marlins unleased a torrent of hits, and the baseball gods abandonded Cubdom. I hid the shirt in my closet after that game.
Last winter, my parents visited my littlest sister in Boston, and returned with a Red Sox World Series t-shirt for me. I don't wear it all that often, because it's a deep maroon, and I prefer either grey or white shirts. I was very pleased to see them win it last year, even though that moment brought back painful memories of the previous October. It was then that I first had the feeling that something strange was happening.
Several years ago, during a Cubs-Sox series at Wrigley, I bought a grey shirt with a little Sox logo altered to say Sux and says "They Gone!--Since 1917." The back says "SOX SUCK" in huge black letters. The shirt simply isn't true any longer, and I would look like an idiot if I ever wore it again.
In light of the fact that all three shirts are faulty in their own way, I'm going to put them in a plastic bag and stuff it in the way back of my closet. I'll take them out in a few years when I tell my kids the tale of the the 2003, 2004 and 2005 World Series, centering the story on how the two Sox got the job done, but the Cubs fell short. My guys failed to begin a chapter of sports history that would have ranked among the greatest sports legends ever told. Now the Cubs have been left behind--again.
Rogers Hornsby once said, "People ask me what I do in the winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring."
Let the staring begin.
posted by Pat at 11:03 PM
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