In this complex world of “static kills” and aerial wolf hunting politicians with potential brother in laws named Levi, there is one refreshing constant, the Chicago Cubs losing record.
The heartbreak of psoriasis seems like a full body massage in relation to watching them squander a 5 run eighth inning lead. It’s a thing of tragic beauty.
If you ever have an identity crisis “Who am I?” Then catch the Cub score.
“Oh yeah now I remember”
If you feel you’ve accomplished nothing in life, that you are just killing time eating sandwiches waiting for a terminal illness, granted with the comfort of multiple movie channels, you can’t help but to feel considerably better about your lack of life when you consider the hundred year plus drought of the Chicago cubs not winning a World Series.
It’s the sports equivalent of the 1930’s dust bowl. A blue pin stripe dust bowl with young men called up from Iowa and fly balls lost in ivy walls.
If misery loves company then the North Siders are like the guest that never leaves.
I don’t think of myself as unemployed my job is to watch them walk in the winning run.
My job is to witness the joyful side of the loveable losers.
No accident their web site is littered with ads for the lottery. You and I both know where the odds are better.
They are currently 15 games under 500. This is the emotional equivalent of crying during an anti depression commercial.
Maybe those commercials should really say, you don’t need drugs if you are feeling bad just turn to channel 9 around 1 in the afternoon.
Yet the team changed hands last year for nearly a billion dollars.
I wonder if would they be worth less if they won.
If they are sacrificial lambs on the field to make us feel better about ourselves off the field, well they do a fine job. The Chicago Cubs “the feel bad hence feel good hit of the year"