Dear Chicago Cubs:
I'm having a hard time crafting the words I wish to say to you.We've had a great relationship over the years, and I'll alwaysremember the good times. But I think it's time we call it quits. Ifeel like you are abusing me as a fan, and I'm sick of you breakingyour promises.
What promises, you say? Well, season after season you claim,"This is the year." And I blindly believe you. Every spring, Ithink, "The starting pitching is great. The hitting is suburb. Thehot dogs won't cause indigestion." Yet, you always break my heart.You always get me all hot and bothered, and then leave mehanging.
Well, no more. I'm moving on. You hear me? You probably thinkI'll be running back to you. Think again, Cubbies. I have newpursuers: football and basketball. The Atlanta Falcons, forexample, are off to a great start -- they could use my fullattention. And what about another team in your city, the Bulls?They are bound to win another title before you do. In fact, perhapsI'll flirt with your cursed "cousins," the Boston Red Sox, or myfamily's favorite team, the Atlanta Braves. How would that make youfeel?
Don't cry over me, you cursed club, you. You'll find another fanto replace me, and he or she will make you happy. I just hope youdon't make promises of World Series glory to your new follower.
Don't tell me you will change -- you won't. I've heard it allbefore. After winning the Wild Card in 1998, you promised to becompetitive again in 1999. Instead, you stunk like the goat youmoronically ushered out of your stadium in 1945. In 2001, youflirted with a postseason appearance, only to fold down thestretch. And of course, the biggest hurt came last October, whenyou blamed a fan, blamed fatigue, and pinned the fault on anyoneelse you selected as a target. And it was a long time ago, butdon't think I was unaware of your failure to deliver happiness in1989, when you were swept in the playoffs. It also wasn't hard tolearn that you broke other fans' hearts in 1984, 1969 and countlessother times before your last World Series appearance, which was theyear we dropped the bomb on Japan.
Don't tell me you will bring in new players next season; itnever seems to matter. You will still find a way to break my heartinto pieces smaller than Sammy Sosa's September 2004 battingaverage.
Staying in this relationship will no doubt send me down a pathof binge drinking, gambling and pursuit of loose women. I cannotallow more baseball heartache to destroy my moral fiber. If Iwished for my conscience to be destroyed, I would watch the FOXnetwork more often.
It is now time to say goodbye. I will try to remember the fondmoments, but sadly, it will be easier to remember the failures ofBrant Brown, Fred McGriff, Sammy Sosa and Corey Patterson. Goodluck in future seasons, but don't even think about dragging me backinto your web of deceit and madness...
But give me a call if you sign a closer.
Wrote to Gerry at gappel@bsu.edu
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