The above title is my tagline in a Cleveland sports forum in which I spend an almost embarrassing amount of time. When I first came up with it, I chuckled for a minute realizing that it was absurdly true. Having been a Cleveland sports fan since I was eight years old, I have suffered through The Drive, The Fumble, The Shot, The Move, The Blown Save, etc. These events have burned an unimaginable black spot on the back of my consciousness, one which I am certain leads to dramatically manic anger and bitterness when discussing anyone else's sport successes (the same goes for other people's successful relationships but I dissolve this hatred into a chipper "Oh, I sooo happy for you...") One such example was Detroit Tiger's run to the World Series last year. Everyone was so fucking excited about it, and loved to discuss the details of every game the next morning at the office. I would chime in with a sudden "Yeah, that Joel Zumaya...Wow, Love that guy!!!" when really I secretly watched each game, bitterly sipping bourbon with the evil desire of watching his right arm literally tear off his body and fly toward the backstop, and watching Jim Leland have to disgustedly snub out his victory cigarette and scramble to find a quick replacement. Meanwhile the Indians were suffering through an 78-84 season, after nearly unanimous predictions that they would win the AL Central. I only mention this to illustrate the following example.
In 2005, I decided to rejoin the "passionate sports (dating) crowd." Due to numerous disappointments through the years (read: failed relationships), I realized that at least being actually involved in some sort of an ongoing passion was just a good thing; it gave me something to do while throwing back numerous alcoholic beverages on a Tuesday night, and I could say that I was at least doing something while I was boozing, right? Well, 2005 was the year I decided to start watching and caring (e.g. pimping) again. The Indians had a surprisingly good season going, the young players were performing well beyond expectations, and goddamn it, I bought into it (in love???). They entered the final series of the season with a great opportunity to make the playoffs, and I'll be damned if I wasn't gonna be there for it. So me and my buddy Todd went up to the city, bought some tickets from a very honest scalper (whore), and placed our collective asses near the right field bullpen, bought a couple Budweisers, and impatiently watched our boys take us to the promised land. Well, to make a long story short, they lost that game. And the next. And the next. They didn't make the playoffs. At all. They went home. No playoffs, no drama, (no action). The bottom line of the season (read: last couple relationships) is that I got my hopes up, and was massively disappointed due to my own expectations. However, you know what???
Sometimes just being in the game again is more than worth it.
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2 comments:
Lovely metaphorical meandering.
You should've been there last night. Metaphorically, it was like getting a "blowjob" (really good seats for free... courtesy of Craig) from a "girl with a mouthful of sand and gravel" (Carmona's worst performance since his days as "closer.").
And then getting a "golden shower" (when it began to poor in the sixth) while we walked shamefully home (to the car).
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