Yeah, I'm not really that turned off about last night...I'm just saying that overall, Soriano is probably my least favorite player in the majors due to the irritating confluence of talent, diva-ness, sloppy play, and showboating. I'm not particularly upset about last night, and even if I was, his antics would be way down on the list of things to be upset about.
What is funny to me is that when the Cubs collapse this year in August or early September, an event as inevitable as the autumn equinox. . . hell, for all I know, tracking the Cubs' yearly descent was the real reason Stonehenge was constructed - the inner circle of huge sarsen stones represented the Cubs opponents, the wooden poles outside the circle were the Cubs, relatively weak and always on the outisde looking in. . .
Anyway, when the fall comes for the Cubs this year like every year, the reasons given will start with blaming superficial but literal culprits - management is distant, Piniella is an idiot, etc. - but will eventually devolve to the supernatural: cursed baseballs, curses by goats, and so on. The Cub fans, players, reporters and everyone else will buy just about any patently ridiculous superstitious conclusion to explain their yearly nosedive; but I'd be surprised if even one of those dumb motherfuckers mentions a real life metaphysical transgression like Soriano's the other night, even though it happened right in front of them. Hell, they probably think it is great Soriano makes an ass of himself and hops around at the other team's expense. They thought it was great when Slammy did it, too. But hey, you dumbfucks, you wanna know why your team falls apart like a Chinese swingset every Indian summer? Here's a hint: It ain't because of a fucking goat!
You know, about forty years ago around this time, in the summer of 1969, the Cubs were on a historic run, miles ahead of everyone in the NL East. They had the beloved "Mr. Cub" playing 1B for them, and a lovable 3B, Ron Santo, who fell into the habit of jumping up into the air after each Cub win that summer, and clicking the heels of his spikes. It is not recorded how opponents felt about this little celebration, but I can guess. And, even though it seems pretty innocent by today's Sorianoan standards, you can bet the BBGs noticed it, too. Don't think so? If you want to study a classic collapse, go back and research how the Cubs suddenly fell apart and fell before the onrushing upstart "Amazing" Mets that fall. It was a drama of Shakespearean breadth and depth. Still don't believe? OK. Next time you see Ron Santo, ask him to jump up into the air and click his heels for you.
You don't fuck with the karma, baby, and you don't fuck with the BBGs. The Cubs will never learn that, which is just as well.
