This should be easy. As a card-carrying member of the ACLU
(American Cub Loyalists United), my hatred of the St. Louis
Cardinals is matched only by affinity for ivy and afternoon
baseball.
This should be easy. As a card-carrying member of the ACLU (American Cub Loyalists United), my hatred of the St. Louis Cardinals is matched only by affinity for ivy and afternoon baseball.
My hometown of Memphis is Cardinal Country. I grew up around these people. Worked with them. Befriended them. Loathed them.
Whenever my Cubbies were officially eliminated – usually sometime around June – I could always count on a Cards’ fan to be there for me, usually with a helpful snicker or a comforting taunt.
Even in my state of post-choke mourning last fall, one of my Cardinal-loving college buddies dressed up as Steve Bartman for Halloween – just for me.
So the thought of rooting for the Redbirds in the Fall Classic should be as numbing to me as the thought of Mark Prior’s arm disappearing in an unfortunate shark accident.
For some reason, though, it’s not. When the Series starts tonight, I’ll be somewhat of a conflicted man.
It has nothing to do with the Cardinals. It has everything to do with their opponent.
For the record, I did join my fellow countrymen in cheering for the Red Sox in the ALCS. If there’s anything more despicable than the Cardinals, it’s surely those damn Yankees.
Beside that, those of us in the ACLU have always felt somewhat connected to the Boston fans. They haven’t won a World Series since 1918. We haven’t won one since 1908.
Through all these years, we’ve suffered together. We’ve been cursed by the Babe, the Billy Goat and the Buckner.
But that, my friends, is why I am a conflicted man.
Misery loves company. Misery needs company.
What happens if the Sox finally do win the big one? My dearly beloveds become the lone laughingstock of baseball.
Yeah, so the White Sox haven’t won one since 1919. So what. Nobody cares about the White Sox. People will only laugh at the Cubs.
I don’t want that.
If I’m going to suffer, they are going to suffer. Even my buddy Jeff, one of my very best friends.
A native of Boston, he grew up worshipping the Sox. Nothing changed when he came down to Tennessee for college.
As passionate as I am for my Cubs, he’s just as passionate for his Red Sox. While I was working Tuesday, I got 10 text messages from him during Game 7.
When Boston got out of a jam, message No. 6 was sent: “praise Jesus. just opened another beer. got to make sure dad is still breathing. francona sucks.”
A Red Sox fan if there ever was one.
Fellow sports enthusiasts, you know my pain, though. If your buddy’s team is on the brink of winning it all, there’s a part of you that wants him or her to be overcome with joy.
But there’s also a part of you that doesn’t want to hear about it for the next three decades.
I’ve known Jeff for four years. In that time, his Patriots have won two Super Bowls.
Enough already.
Combine that with the earlier argument about misery loving company and you have my quandary.
Do I cheer for the Cardinals? Do I cheer for the Red Sox?
Do I just close my eyes for awhile and tell myself it was all just a bad dream? I did that last week when the Cardinals took on the equally unlikable Houston Astros.
Or maybe this will just be like last year’s World Series, when I refused to cheer for either team – the Yankees because they were the Yankees, the Marlins because they had just ripped my heart out and served it to their ridiculous bandwagon fans.
As it turned out, I voiced my disgust by simply not watching all that much of the Series. But that’s not possible this year.
It’s too good a matchup. There’s too much history there. Too much drama.
So I’ll watch. I’ll suffer. And no matter what happens, I’ll lose either way.
I know, I know …
As a Cubs’ fan, I really should be used to this by now.
Brett Edgerton is a columnist/therapist for South Valley Newspapers. He can be reached at
be*******@gi************.com
.
