I hate the Cubs.
I should clarify that. I hate what the Cubs represent, the personification of the culture that celebrates losing. You can see the result anytime you scan the stands of a Cub home game – the men, bald, flabby, weak, most of them drunk and boorishly stupid; their women are ugly, demihuman breeding stock for a legion of ineffectual fools whose purpose in life is to throw all their available money at a towering god who eternally mewls and coughs for more sacrifice with no hope of reward.
I hate the Cubs, and their insipid fans. The people who aren’t strong enough to want to win, who have abandoned all hope and entered the domain of Suck for Suck’s sake. Those who applaud at the barest hint of mediocrity, who celebrate the nearness of victory but would spit out its sweetness at first taste for the familiar bitterness of Loss and the comforting blanket of darkness it provides.
Projected Starters:
Monday: Norris (4-1, 3.58) vs. Matt who the hell cares.
I mean, who really cares? If Cub fans don’t care about winning, then why care about the rest of it? What does it matter?
“Oh, the Lovable Losers.” Ridiculous.
“Wait ’til next year!” Nauseating. It’s a vile poison to celebrate loss, to cultivate this acceptance of unwillingness to Fight Back, to attempt to Gain Control of something and then use that Control to build on with some Goal in mind. Cub fans would rather switch than fight, would welcome Castro into Havana, wish that Kennedy had backed down in October 1962.
It’s so very…French.
“Oh, Gaston, nous sommes les adorables perdants!”
“Mais oui, Jacques! Mais oui!”
I hate the Cubs. A belief system like theirs reduces them to culls, in the hope that the infectious weakness they carry can be removed from the herd before it spreads even further. They are garbage, animatronic garbage with excement jammed into crevices for hearts and souls.
I hate the Cubs.