ugh

Today I'm wearing the Wrigley Field sweatshirt I bought for myself when we went to see the Cubbies play in August. It's chilly out.

Today I guess I'm begining to understand better what it feels like to be a Cubs fan. God, I love those boys, but what on earth were they DOING these last three games? Where was my Rammy the clutch hitter? Where was Soto's Rookie-of-the-year performance? Where was the PITCHING?

Being the optimist that I am (as if), I tell myself that now I can schedule my days around other things and I can bond with other Cubs fans who feel the same pain I do. Okay, really, they feel it so much worse.

And then we take the girls for a walk.

late start

While watching the Cubs lose to the Orioles on Tuesday night:

Me: Honey, I want to be a big league baseball player.

He: You don't hear much about 35-year-old women breaking into the big leagues.

Me: Why not? It's not faaaaaaaaaair.

Pause.

Me: Well, what about 36-year-old women?

He agreed that, yes, I'll have a much better chance in October.

I look at Sweet Lou so differently now

Oh. My. God. Those Chicago-area Chevy commercials featuring Lou Piniella and Ozzie Guillen jumping rope and playing chess and jumping on a trampoline together kill me. I wish I had taped one because I can't find it online. The one where they're rapping together is online, but it's not as good as seeing these two jumping rope together, Lou with his hands in his back pockets. Lou kicking the dirt after a move in their chess game--it's too much.

Makes me like Lou so so much because I love to think about the taping of these commercials. Hell, I love to think about his agreeing to do the commercials in the first place. And over this incredibly beautiful winning weekend, we actually saw Lou smile a few times. I think it's because of the jumping rope. It'll make anyone smile.

Kills me, I tell you. Kills me.

Damn, them Cubbies are good.

why I love the Cubs so much

One, it's fun to watch them win. I feel like I somehow had a part in their winning, what with all my cheering (and sometimes swearing) at the TV.

S. is a bit worried that my love for the Cubbies is getting out of hand. For instance, on Friday night they weren't on until 9:40, and I was moping around the house whining about not wanting to wait any longer. I wanted my Cubbies NOW!

See, many of you might not know this about me, but I'm an all-or-nothing kinda girl. And what the Cubbies allow me to do, number two, is focus completely on them and--drum roll, please--not think about work or what I should be doing.

Three, I have a crush on, in no particular order, Ryan Dempster, Aramis Ramirez, and Mark DeRosa. And now that Geovany Soto has shaved his face, I realize that he's quite a cutie, too. S. finally admitted last night that he has a man-crush on Ryan Theriot. Next time we go up to Wrigley, he's gonna get himself a Theriot shirt. I wear my DeRosa shirt with pride.

One thing I would like to do for the Cubs is send them a team razor. The FACIAL HAIR on some of these guys is enough to make me fall out of my couch. Kerry Wood, PLEASE do something about that wild buffalo growing on your chin, and Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, is Scott Eyre planning to NAME the cat on his chin? And Reed Johnson, you highlight-reel-center-fielder, you, just go all the way and do one more swipe with the razor. Your team will thank you for it.

I've never experienced this kind of team love before. I kinda like it, peeps.

what it means to be a Cubs fan

I'm learning very quickly that it involves a lot of pain.

FIFTEEN. INNINGS. last night. I stayed up until after 10:00 (S. had already gone to bed at around 9:15ish) to watch as inning after inning passed with no change in the score. Then Ramirez hits a two-run homer, and I'm so happy I yelp, which wakes S. up. Sorry. Then of course the Pirates match that two-run homer with one of their own and I'm feeling dejected again. Then happy again with Pie's two RBIs.

Happy. Dejected. Ecstatic. Morose. Happy.

I stayed up through the whole game because I knew I could sleep in this morning. And I did. Until 9:00.

And tonight we shall do it all over again. That's what so great about this sport. It's on EVERY. DAY.

Me, to S. last night: Do you think that when Ryan Dempster was growing up all the kids called him Ryan Dumpster?

S.: Probably, but he's Canadian so he could take it.

Go Cubbies!

Entering season two of fandom, I'm sorry to say I won't be home planted in front of the TV at 1:20 this afternoon. Alas, I'll be at school getting last-minute stuff ready for C's. S. wants a souvenir from the Marie Laveau store. Until Friday I had no idea who she was.

Ah, the things S. is teaching me. The things the Cubbies are teaching me: how to relax, that it's a lot of fun to root for the underdog, that a TV on the deck is not such a bad idea, that there's nothing like being there in the stands. Except you can't pause it like you can at home.

One of my dog park friends, in response to something I said about the season opener, said that's the biggest change she's seen in me since I met S. And S. doesn't even mind that I have crushes on a whole bunch of the players.

Century Schmentury.

this new hobby of mine's getting in the way

Yesterday I was at S.'s place in the afternoon because a) he was home sick with a nasty sinus infection and needed to be taken care of; and b) my air conditioning was on the fritz on a 90+ degree day. I brought over all the stuff I'd need to begin crafting my syllabus for the Intro to Grad Studies course, spread it all out on the dining room table and proceeded to watch the Cubbies lose 10-6. I had it on mute at first. I'd read a sentence, look up. Read a sentence, look up. Um, this is no way to concentrate. Didn't get much of that syllabus written. And this is a new course for me, and I've got ideas. Perhaps the whole class could take a field trip to Wrigley. Or something.

They're on at 1:20 today, and I'm gonna allow myself to watch only if I've gotten a whole bunch of that dang thing done.

How'm I gonna get through September and October?