I have been punched in the back of the head. I have been called a f^g. I have been kicked in the legs while relieving myself in the men’s room in between innings.
I have been told my mother will rot in hell. I have had beer thrown on me. I have been spit on.
So it is certainly no surprise to me that a bunch of Wrigleyville yahoos placed a severed goat head atop the infamously scary Harry Caray statue on the corner of Sheffield and Addison yesterday.
The curse of the billy goat — still haunting the not-so-friendly-if-you-wear-Cardinal-red confines — lives on, dear readers; and apparently, people still take it seriously. Very seriously.
They take it so seriously that they are willing to act like bigger a-holes than they are already perceived to be.
But such is life as a “lovable loser”, I suppose.
Impressed was I last year, before the National League Division Series, when the Cubs went for a more subtle approach to ending their poor luck: praying to God. After the Greek Orthodox Reverend Father spread holy water throughout the clubhouse, Ryan Dempster responded by quickly walking seven batters; and the Cubs went on to lose three straight lackluster games to the Los Angeles (perhaps Holy) Dodgers.
Guess God don’t like no posers, ya’ll.
I was just thinking, Cub fans: perhaps ye should combine thy wasted efforts into one successful go-for-all. Call on Bishop Tom Burns and his iconic regimental mascot (a goat no less) to bless thy dump of a field in that oh-so-vigilante neighborhood and ask him to pray for your forgiveness — for all thy slander-slinging, grudge-grovelling and curse-coveting.
Couldn’t hurt, right?
Well… nah… I just realized, when your fan base is more known for this…
…than winning baseball games, you really don’t have a prayer, do you?
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.