Spahn, Sain and Pray for Rain*

I know why weather forecasters are almost always wrong.

It isn't the doppler radar.  It isn't because they aren't able to analyze patterns of high and low pressure.  It isn't global warming and it isn't because everyone talks about such things but no one can do anything about it. 

Predicting the weather is the simple correlation between the sport schedule of the plurality of children in a given geographic area, and the level of devotion of the parents overtaxed by their kids extra curricular activities. In short, Prayer.  

Back in the fall, my daughters played softball and I overheard many a folk sigh as they glanced at the blocked up weekends.  "What can we do?" one of them said.  "Pray for rain." I joked.  That weekend, it poured.   The next week, things looked worse.  "Should we pray again?" one of the moms asked.
"Yes!" was the emphatic response. A deluge ensued.

Things got out of hand when people began hoping to get out of practices.  It became one of the wettest autumns on record.  Games got cancelled on account of hail, lightning and cold misty black skies that seemed conjure themselves at the crack of a bat.  Practice was called once when a rainstorm literally had parked itself right over all the fields for play.  Everywhere else was cloudy but no precipitation. 

I bring all this up because today was supposed to be two basketball games and a dance.  We were expecting a light dusting and got 4-6 inches.  Not my fault.  I didn't ask but given the number of things on my schedule for next week, expect blizzard conditions. 

*Slogan for the Boston Braves in 1948 given the strength of their pitching line up.  If facing a double header, the best hope for the opposition was "Spahn, Sain and pray for rain."  Tip of the hat to my husband for the title and the trivia.  

If The Cubbies Win it All, Will Baseball Still Matter to Me?

For years, ever since I went to school in Southbend, I have been a closet Cub fan. I never memorized stats or line ups although my husband shrewdly figured out I thought Mark Grace in his prime was cute, but I loved watching the team on TV.

I think the pleasure began when I opted to skip a class where the poet Denise Levetov was coming to speak in favor of an afternoon game Senior year. We had seen her the day before in a special lecture where she proceeded to insult virtually everyone including my favorite teacher. I decided I didn’t want a second helping from the lady who critiqued my poetry thusly, “I’m very surprised, I almost believed this.” So, I went to the game instead.

We left a note for Harry Carey as he had a soft spot for Notre Dame and Saint Mary’s. “Our Dates came for the Sr. Formal, but we came for the Cubs.” It didn’t matter that the four of us who signed it were each other’s dates, I knew Harry would like the sentiment. He read it and our names on the air.

That Monday, my Creative Writing teacher and head of the department, a die-hard Chicago true Cubs fan called me into his office. “Sherry…we missed you on Friday. You weren’t by any chance at a Cubs game were you?”

Now I hadn’t missed or skipped an English class in four years, even when sick or having pulled an all nighter. This was my first time ever to blow off a class. “Yes.” I answered meekly.

“Good for you. I heard your name on the radio.” He smiled. I’d forgotten he tuned into every game, and this was before IPods and downloading and TiVo were possible.

While that may have been the genesis of my interest in the perennial bottom dwelling little bears from the windy place, I realized over the years, it was more of a devotion to Greek Tragedy. Being in love with a losing team that never gets to the top is similar to loving unconditionally and requires a special willingness to pour out one’s heart. It is a state close to grace in the sports world. Being the Charlie Brown who never kicks the football and tries anyway is Sisyphean, Homeric, epic in nature. I have to consider if it’s the Cubs or the relentless yearly story of constant struggle and disappointment that I enjoy.

And thus I wonder as the Cubs continue to rank first in the NL Central, if the Cubs win it all, if the happy ending for the longest suffering fans in all of America occurs, will we then become soccerphiles like the rest of the world? Will we then only seek to sate our sports desires with winning teams and no longer derive pleasure from loving organizations that do not love us back via success? Will watching a Cubs game post a World Series Winning matter to me or anyone else?

And then I remember, Notre Dame hasn’t won a championship since 1988! I get mad at them even when they’re winning if they aren’t winning beautifully. I want no penalties and no close calls and there are always tons of both to drive me nuts.

Thank God for the Irish!

Oh and, Go Cubbies!

If you liked this post and think that maybe this blog should rise in the standings, (92nd last time I checked), click Humor-Blogs.com