Arky: You have brought me around regarding Sel-Pig. I hate him now too.
I admit to being biased in that I never liked him, but the grievances have stacked up over the years.
And in response to the neutral-site debacle last week, I'm absolutely delighted that the Brewers are now on the outs for the wild card, even if it benefits the Mets.
More importantly, more than any other time in my life as a baseball fan, as cosmic retribution for the asses their players and fans have made of themselves generally and against the Astros in particular this season, I wish to see the Cubs lose in the most humiliating, dejecting fashion possible in the NLCS.
My preference would be for the Cubs to easily go up 3-0 in the first three games.
Then, in game 4 on the road, the Cubs strand 27 runners through the ninth and go deep into extra innings, at least to the 14th or 15th. The Cubs keep taking leads in the top of the inning, only to surrender them in the bottom of the inning. The Cubs finally take a commanding three-run lead in the top of the 16th. In the bottom of the inning, with two outs, the opposing team loads the bases on an error, a hit batsmen and an infield single. On an 0-2 count, a walk-off upper-deck grand slam by the back-up shortstop with zero career home runs ends it, sending the series back to Chicago.
The Cubs lose game 5 at home. Envision your own form of trainwreck for that game.
Game 6 is similar to game 4, with the Cubs stranding a ton of runners, taking repeated leads that evaporate in extra innings and taking a three-run edge in the top of the 17th. Instead of a walk-off grand slam, however, this time the opposing team, with two outs, hits back-to-back-to-back-to-back solo shots, with the final homer being hit by a relief pitcher who has to bat for himself because no one is left on the bench. This one just barely clears the fence, aided by a bounce off Soriano's head.
For game 7, my bloodthirst will only be fully quenched if the Cubs, behind by one run in the bottom of the ninth, load the bases with no outs. A line drive into right field looks sure to score the runners on second and third and send the Cubs to the World Series. Then, while celebrating like asses on the basepaths before crossing the plate, the runner coming from second trips up the runner coming from third. They land in a pile a few feet from the plate, their faces in each other's crotches. The right fielder fires a bullet to the catcher, who tags them both out. The catcher then nails the runner coming from first at third for a triple play.
As epilogue, the batter, watching all of this, loses his footing, tripping over second and doing a face plant and taking a mouthful of infield dirt, a clump of sunflower seed shells held together by saliva and a spat-out juicy lump of tobacco.
