It's been awhile since I've done one of these, so here we are. Fans of a certain baseball team in the Mid-West might want to kill me for this.
10:05 AM. At home gettin’ ready. Big day ahead. Big day! Our boys are playin’ those rotten Cardinals tonight, and for once, we’re not at the bottom of the standings. Sure, we’re quite a few games back, and the season isn’t gettin’ any shorter, but hey, if we win every single game from here on out, we’re a sure thing to win the World Series. This year, baby! The World Series is comin’ back to Chicago! Yeah!
10:21 AM. Puttin’ on my Cubs jersey. Joe and Harry are comin’ over before the game and we’re goin’ out to Wrigley. Might stop in at the bar beforehand and have a round or three. Then more after the game. I mean, hey, if there’s one thing Chicago fans can do, we can hold our liquor. Unlike those fans in New York or Boston or St. Louis. Am I right or am I right? Of course I’m right!
10:51 AM. Puttin’ in a lunch order over the phone. Chicago boys gotta have their energy before a big game. Then time to settle in, look over the Tribune, see what the columnists gotta say about the game today. Yeah, baby, we’re gonna win. Nothin’ can stop those Cubs now! Even if they’re playing the top team in baseball.
11:01 AM. ****in’ columnist, suggestin’ those Cards might be trouble for our boys. You know what that is? That’s ****in’ treason! Treason, I tell you!
11:48 AM. Lunch shows up before the boys do. Deep dish Chicago style pizza! Just the way it’s supposed to be. There’s a whole ****in’ ritual to this whole thing, am I right or am I right? Of course I’m right! The delivery guy looks at me like there’s somethin’ wrong with me. Maybe the stupid ****er is a White Sox fan. Hey! Cubs forever, buddy!
11:56 AM. Joe and Harry turn up. About time, boys! I was gonna get started on this pizza myself!
12:15 PM. Me and Joe and Harry eat and talk about the league standings and the games left to play. Hey, come on boys, we’re in August, our boys have been playin’ good lately, and unlike those Reds and Brewers, we’re just a few games outta first, not over twenty! This is our year, boys! What Cubs fans have been waitin’ generations for! The World Series is comin’ home to Chicago! Yeah!
1:36 PM. Cab comes to pick us up to head down to Wrigley. I mean, hey, we gotta be responsible, and odds are what with all the drinkin’ we’re gonna do, we can’t be trusted to drive, am I right or am I right? Of course I’m right. And of course all the drinkin’ we’re gonna do is gonna be in celebration of a big victory over those rotten Cardinals.
2:16 PM. Down around Wrigley Field. Lots of time before the game, boys. Hey, why don’t we go get a beer? Maybe pick up some ladies. Any woman in her right mind would want guys like us. I mean, we’re all winners, right boys? Just like the Cubs.
3:05 PM. Hey, boys, see her? That babe over there with the come hither look? Yeah, that’s the one for me. Wish me luck, boys. Of course, I don’t really need luck. I’m a Cubs fan.
3:06 PM. Just got shot down by that babe. Says she doesn’t date Cubs fans. Thinks we’re all losers. Hey! We’re doin’ better than those White Sox this year! Or are you some kinda Cardinals fan? Because that’s a betrayal of the great city of Chicago, lady!
3:07 PM. Return to the boys. Hey, what can I say? She’s a White Sox fan, must be, can’t stand true greatness or somethin’. Never mind that, boys. We’ll be laughin’ it all off tonight after the game when our boys win and we get lucky with three ladies who love the Cubs. I mean, this is our year! Those Back To The Future movies said the Cubs win the 2015 World Series, so if it happens in a movie, it's gotta be real!
5:35 PM. Okay, boys, listen, it's near time to get movin’. The game’s gonna start sometime soon, and we’re a bit tipsy. Lou! Some coffee for the road, somethin’ to sober us up before the game.
6:03 PM. Steppin’ into hallowed ground. Back into the stands at Wrigley Field. This is where baseball fans come to die... I mean, dream! Dream! Not die!
7:03 PM. National anthem bein’ sung. Thousands of Chicago fans sing along. Chicago fans singin'... this must be what heaven is like.
7:06 PM. Thousands of Cubs fans take out their Steve Bartman voodoo dolls and whack them over the tops of the chairs in front of us. It’s not like we can take knives into the ballpark anymore and stab the stand-in Bartman, right?
7:10 PM. First inning just about to start. Okay! Let’s play ball! Go Cubs! Kill those rotten Cardinals!
7:21 PM. Boys? Somebody tell me how we can already be six home runs down and the first innin’ ain’t even over yet.
9:36 PM. Humiliatin’. This is just ****in’ humiliatin’. How the **** could we be losin’ twenty four to zero in the eighth? Look at that ****in’ bastard Martinez. He’s lookin’ at pitchin’ a perfect game, boys! A perfect ****in’ game! Hey, it’s not over til it’s over, right? Maybe our boys can still score twenty five runs in the ninth, right?
9:51 PM. We’re done. Done! Those ****in’ Cardinals not only beat us with a perfect game for their ****in’ pitcher, they broke a record for a lopsided win. ****in’ thirty four to zero. This is humiliatin’ boys! Humiliatin’!
10:03 PM. Filin’ outta Wrigley with thousands of other downcast fans. Foul moods, grumbling, lots of grown men cryin’. This is a travesty. A travesty, boys! I don’t know about you, but I gotta get myself totally wasted.
10:21 PM. Back into the bar with Joe and Harry. Lou! Beer here!
11:48 PM. Havin’ another round. I’ve lost track of how many we’ve had. Harry and Joe and me, we’re grousin’ over the ****in’ game, wonderin’ how the ****in’ hell this coulda happened. You know what I think, boys? I think there’s a conspiracy. A big ****in’ conspiracy to keep the Cubs from ever winnin’ the ****in’ World Series again. And it’s been goin’ on for a century, boys. Well you know what? That’s not ****in’ acceptable. I say we go down to Cooperstown and burn the Baseball Hall of Fame to the ground in protest.
2:45 AM. Stumblin’ in the front door. Managed to get outta the cab without throwin’ up in the ****in’ backseat. Of course, I threw up on the neighbour’s ****in’ front lawn instead. Man, am I gonna have a bad ****in’ hangover tomorrow. Oh well, the only cure for that is the hair of the ****in’ dog that ****in’ bit you.
Maybe when I’m awake I won’t remember how ****in’ bad our boys lost tonight. At least until I see the mornin’ ****in’ sports page headline, that is.