Cubs

Cubs

This is the fifth playoff series I've seen the Cubs lose in my life. And while this one doesn't have the sting of the Marlins series in 2003, or the abject personal frustration and gut-wrench of the 98 series sweep by the Braves (we had tickets to Game 4 at Wrigley), it's got its own unique nutshot: it sucks in a way that's got me waxing something philosophical.

Want to know how it sucks?

I keep thinking Charlie Brown. And I keep thinking about his faith.

I kept thinking about Charlie Brown trying to kick the football, and how he has faith that if he kept at it, faithfully, steadfast, that he'd be able to kick the football. And Lucy pulls it away every time. It happens every time. Every LegHumping time. Everybody's in on the joke. Lucy. The Audience. Even Charlie Brown, I think.

Everybody, except for that part of Charlie Brown that really wants to kick the football.

What's that called? Dramatic Irony?

That faithful part. That part that wants to believe in Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy, or the Great Pumpkin (to extend the Schulzian metaphor). For Charlie Brown, it's kicking that football. And he gets shafted, every single time.

Yet Charlie Brown keeps trying to kick the football.

Why? I dunno. It's just a football.

But he does. And every so often, he gets close.

But he never gets all the way.

And we all know that.

Watching the Cubs lose, again, make me feel like Charlie Brown.

I don't know. It passes. It always does. By and large, this is the product of a couple beers and twenty hours of sleep total in the past week. It's not a paralyzing thing. You won't see me wearing black or holed up in the palatial Big Stupid Tommy compound for the next few weeks.

But, it does sting. That's the tough part of Cubs fandom, I think, is feeling a bit like a goof. Like everybody else is in on the joke. Tonight, and every time the Cubs get anywhere close, I feel like Charlie Brown.