The GroupSwim Diving Board

For any Chicago Cubs fan, this post-season this year was painfully brief. I felt compelled to write a little poem about it, to help me process it all. Please to enjoy…

–

They still sing the blues in Chicago.
by Luke Ball

It began with potential—a nice place to begin—
A team with top talent, and a desire to win.
A decision, it seemed, had been made at the top:
It was time the Cubs’ losing streak came to a stop.

The season, it started, but not quite as planned.
The Brewers seemed to have us out-gunned and out-manned.
And Lou’s style must have been quite a shock after Dusty,
For our playing looked rough, inconsistent, and rusty.

But then June came around, and a sea-change took place,
The Cubs, they got hot! We were back in the race!
Holy cow, they were good! Do cynics dare dream?
The North side, it seemed, had one hell of a team!

Through fistfights and tirades, and trades and derision,
Our boys came around and they won their division!
The time, it was now, our fortunes, reversing;
Let be damned all these murmurs of losing and cursing!

But woe to October! How we loathe that postseason!
“Why is that?” you might ask? This team showed us the reason.
Wrigely’s champagne-soaked champions quick came up lame;
They went to the playoffs, but they lost in three games!

It was hard to see players who had all been so clutch,
Fail when they were just on the brink of so much.
There was no Steve Bartman, no black cat, no goat.
This was a good team that, quite simply, choked.

I don’t blame Sweet Lou for pulling Big Z,
Strong bullpen, plus rest; it all made sense to me.
And I had marveled at Marmol all season long…
What a poor moment for it to all go so wrong.

But the dinger off Carlos was just the beginning:
Eight runs in game two left us slim chance of winning.
Back in friendly confines, we’re sure to win now,
But without our top hitters, it’s not really clear how.

They were pressing too hard as they swung from their heels,
Overtrying to prove all their high-profile deals.
We spent 400 million to get the job done
but when ‘should’ turned ‘must’, we couldn’t walk in a run.

I go to the doctor, he asks me “What hurts?”
I say “Lilly and Hill, Eyre, Marmol and Wuertz.”
But he still needs more symptoms to make his decree,
So I hand him Soriano, Ramirez, and Lee.

It’s not that they stunk (though they’re justly maligned),
It’s those streaks in this season when they all truly shined.
They broke down our walls, made us once more believe.
We handed them hope, and oh! what we received.

A failure of hitting, a failure of pitching,
A collapse so abrupt that it left the fans twitching.
Three heartbreaking games in four heartbreaking days
Ending heartbreakingly with four double plays.

The Cubs so efficiently failed when it mattered.
For the ninety-ninth time, a summer’s dreams shattered.
Now the season’s all over, the clubhouse all packed,
Is it a good thing or bad that they’re almost all coming back?

God help me, I love ‘em, and I won’t give up hope,
(Though I may need through April to properly mope).
And it pains me to to say it, these two words we all fear,
But I truly believe we’ve got a great shot Next Year.