It may surprise you to note that I did not watch the Bears game last night. Oh, I watched the first quarter or so, but then when Tivobot wanted to change to Studio 60, I let Tivobot do that. And after I watched Studio 60, I went to bed.
See, I'm a Chicago (Cubs) sports fan, and we are different from all other sports fans in that at the first sign of trouble, we fatalistically decide that it's all over. Faster than you can say "Super Bowl Shuffle", we're predicting a 5-12 season or somehow expecting the league to take wins away from us. So when the Bears started playing like Pops Warner players on a bad day, I couldn't take it anymore. It's like torture to me, pure torture. I scream at the TV, I swear profusely, and yes, I even curse the opposing players with my pinkie and forefinger (like making the rock on symbol, but turning your hand down and pointing it a the player you want to fail. Miserably.). That behavior I learned from my paternal grandmother, who is sort of Italian (by which I mean not 100%, but some unknown-to-me percentage), and who I assume got that from the Italian symbol for being made a cuckold. I'm not sure how that curses an opposing player, but it seemed to work last night.
I knew that the Bears won before this morning, though, because S was kind enough (or stupid enough, depending on how you look at his pre-six am wake-up time) to stay awake and watch. the. game. (Now, if you don't know S, you don't know that if it's possible, he is the least interested person in Chicago in the Bears. Seriously. I'm pretty sure that he couldn't name the Bears defensive line, whereas I'm pretty good on that note. He probably doesn't even really get quite how football works. I'm not sure, because we've sincerely never had a conversation about football. Ever. I've also never been quite this into it, but that's because when we're losing, it's too excrutiatingly hard to watch. And that goes for all sports teams in the city, save the Sox. [I'm not, predictably, a Sox fan.] I don't think this can be construed as fair-weather fandom, because I always love my teams. It just hurts me too much to watch them lose. Hence, now that the Bears are okay, I can watch. Sort of.) Anyway, the point is, S watched the game, and at 11 pm, he came and woke me from my uneasy slumber (I had gone to sleep with a stomach-ache) and said (and this is only an approximation, as I was sort-of asleep) "The Bears are going to win, 24-23."
I can't remember how I responded, but my first thought must have been, "Leave me alone." Because I know my second thought was, "Well, shit. I should have stayed up and watched." And then my third thought was, "No, it's too late, and I don't regret getting my eight hours in." I think I lost conscious thought after that. When I woke up this morning, S was up and around, getting ready for work, and so I asked for some confirmation of the facts, because maybe it was a dream. I mean, when I went to bed at 10:15, it seemed impossible. S told me that they did indeed win, and explained how, and that's when all those good feelings turned to bad, because the Bears won BAD. They won like they won last year, with the D scoring all the points. That ain't going to cut it, and because I'm a Chicago fan, I'm bound and determined to expect the worst. We were riding high there for a while (and, you know, we are 6-0. But it's a BAD 6-0.), talking big, talking undefeated, talking Super Bowl. But it's patently clear now that all that joy was misplaced.
Maybe it was a blip. Maybe Grossman was having an off night. Either way, I'm going to go on the record and say that I'm not hoping for anything, because I'm a Chicago (Cubs) fan, after all, and high hopes only lead to bad things (like Bartman, for instance). Nobody will be happier than me if the Bears win lots and lots of games. I'm just not going to expect them to win from now on. (If I was in a football pool of some sort, I'd always pick the Bears to lose from now on, and make that my 1-point game for the week. You see what I'm saying?)
I love how into sports you are. You will always beat me in trivial pursuit because of your horse-racing phase. hee.
Seriously, though, leave Bartman alone. Moises Alou would NOT have caught that ball and not catching that ball did not give the Marlins eight more runs and it didn't lose the NEXT game for the Cubs. ESPN did a whole show on how it wasn't Bartman's fault. I shouldn't even comment, because I'm a Sox fan, but that is just one of those things....
Posted by: Rita | October 17, 2006 at 10:48 AM