On a tour on the Cubs' Playoff Range...
| 5
|
by Tstelnicki03
Home, home on the Cubs' Playoff Range. Where the billygoats, and the black cats play, Where seldom is heard, an encouraging word, And the skies have been dark since '08.
...If you look closely, coming ahead on our left, you will be able to feast your eyes on the barren wasteland that is the Chicago Cubs Playoff Range. Yes, that's right, the one from the song. If we're lucky enough, we may spot a few disheartened fans may who have yet to wander off after their annual October Let-Down, which, right on-time, occurred last night.
On occasion, one of these helpless creatures might come close enough to communicate with us, but be warned, do not touch. Their utter depression and numbness has been known to spread to otherwise happy baseball fans, and, feel free to trust me on this, a Cubs fan's misery following the October Let-Down is an emotion one will be lucky enough to escape life without experiencing.
Yes, the Cubs Playoff Range, a desolate place, full of the fading aspirations, the heaps and piles of dying hopes, and crushed dreams and spirits of the millions of Chicago Cub fans who have passed through here in their time. To fill in the few uninformed amongst you, this place has been around since the late 1800's, and the sun has not graced the burnt pastures with it's presence ever since the fall of 1908. The otherwise blackened sky has, in fact, lightened to gray on few occasions, namely the autumns of 1945 and 2003, and in those fleeting, happy moments, it looked as though the light could return once again, but while the saying tells us that hope may spring eternal, here, as all Cubs fans know, that spring has been bone-dry longer than the longest time.
The hundreds of thousands who gather here every October always seem to bring with them a bit of cheer. Perhaps a smile may cross one of their faces, perchance a glimmer of hope may flash across their wishful thoughts, if only for a second. But without fail, every October, for the past 99 Octobers, these fans have left this desolate ground crestfallen, the sky, just as dark as it has always been.
It's well known that these ever-gullible folk have convinced themselves into thinking that every year could be the year the light will return. "Forget history," they say, "history means nothing, this team has it all. I've got a funny feeling about them!" But oh, how often that "funny feeling" turns out to be nausea.
They have a saying, which, when heard by common ears, will sound a bit like, "Wait till next year!" But if one were to experience the torture, the suffering, the everlasting roller coaster of hope and expectations, "Wait till next year!" will begin to sound more like, "Dear God, why..why?"
No matter how hopeful these gathering fans may seem in September, every October ends the same way, with a mass exodus from the Playoff Range. They can never seem to believe that they allowed their expectations to get so high, they can never seem to accept the fact that they actually believed their team could do it. They feel this way every year, it never ceases. But, after witnessing it all, I can tell you, their hopes will rise in unison next September too.
The Cubs playoff range is a haunting place..
A place where solid starting pitching over the course of a season withers away into 3 inning outings, full of walks and mistakes reminiscent of Spring Training.
A place where 1,2,3 innings come to die, and opposing teams' crooked numbers flourish.
A place where the powerful hitting of September falters and disappears in October.
A place where nerves and anxiety get the better of skill and common sense.
A place where managers, no matter how experienced or wizened, lose their heads and get ahead of themselves.
A place where the heart of a power-hitting lineup can pull a 6/38 over the course of three games and singlehandedly murder every potential rally to come their way.
A place where a home-field advantage in a win-or-go-home Game 3 is WASTED as fast as is possible, on the first pitch of a ballgame.
A place where double plays are more common than RBIs.
A place where taking walks is simply out of the question.
A place where you'll never see a rally die quicker.
A place where the ghost of Steve Bartman now resides.
It is a place where Cubs fans can be seen, every October, rain or shi.... make that more rain, hoping, wishing, praying, dreaming, wanting more than anything just to see that sun shine just once.
A place where billy goats and black cats roam free, feeding off the dying hopes of the fans who continually believe, continually hope, continually dream, no matter how many years pass since the sun has shone on the Cubs and their barren wasteland known as the Playoff Range.
Oh yes, I see some of you trying to repress that laughter, and it's truly understandable. If I were one of you, I'd chuckle a bit too. I'm not going to blame you. The Cubs fans are a sorry group of people. What kind of fans continually allow their emotions to go through the up and down, the torture, the numbing of the October Let-Down? What other kinds of fans would gather here, every October, only to see their beloved team fail, and fail again?
Well, Cubs fans. That's who.
And whether or not these billy goats and black cats ever stop roaming here, whether or not the sun ever shines again, these fans will be here every October, without fail, hoping, wishing, and praying. Because after all.. Home, home on the Range...
