Divine Wrath: The Goat and the Bambino

In Greek mythology the god Pan was a half goat-half god creature noted for his simplicity and love of riot. One can only wonder if some descendant of Pan, a half goat-half man wearing a Cubs cap and earphones to cover those ears, was in the stands at Wrigley Field along the left-field line late in game 6 of the NLCS. The goat and the Greek connections to the events at Wrigley Field are certainly suggestive, and the riot of runs that followed the simple act of trying to catch a foul ball fits Pan's modus operandi.

But then curses are not real, and Dusty Baker doesn't believe in the relevance of history. Oh yeah! As Mike Wilbon of theWashington Post screamed from my radio the following morning, "Dusty just doesn't get it!" Dusty Baker didn't know it, but he was about to be launched on his way up the learning curve.

Some collapses come quickly; some are prolonged. Any Cub fan having experienced the post-black cat weeks of 1969 can attest to that. In game 6 of the NLCS at Wrigley Field the collapse came about as fast as one can come, at least within the scope of a baseball game or the limits of the time-space continuum.

When the foul ball failed to reach the glove of Moises Alou and Steve Bartman achieved eternal infamy matching or exceeding Leon Durham, I knew the Cubs were cooked. The sight of Alou banging his glove in frustration and Mark Prior standing on the mound screaming told me more than I wanted to know.

What followed now seems inevitable. I have watched several replays of those moments and still find the lightning quickness of this collapse nearly incomprehensible. I know I experienced something close to vertigo at that moment. I am also sure I saw some sign of a goat down that left-field line.

Laughing!

As a veteran of Cub pratfalls why would I have let this season sucker me into the notion that Baker, Wood, Prior, and Sosa would end the long century of Cub futility? As someone who can still hear Leo Durocher say confidently, "This is not an eighth-place ball club," only to see those Cubs finish tenth in the expanded National League, why would I think this is the year? Did I not watch those National League playoffs of 1984, when Rick Sutcliffe played the role filled by Mark Prior this year? Didn't I remember 1989?

None of this stopped me, although all of it was always there in the back of my consciousness waiting to rush forward upon the first signs of Cub reality. When the Cubs went up 3 games to 1 and were on the verge of clinching the first trip to the World Series since 1945, I began to believe. When references of events were being made to 1945 and even 1908, I was enticed by fantasy. When I read stories about Cub fans who hoped that the NLCS would return to Wrigley so the Cubs could win it there, I was amused. When Josh Beckett pitched his masterpiece in game 5, I wasn't fazed in the least. And even after the events of game 6, when Kerry Wood hit the home run to tie up game 7, and then Alou put the Cubs ahead with a home run to make it 5-3, I inexplicably allowed a glimmer of hope to creep back in, even though I knew better.

Why? Why? Why?

Because I am a Cub fan. Because I am still a believer in the face of reality. Because, despite all my cynicism, I continue to hope. Because I continue to hope when there is no hope. Because the Cubs are loveable losers and I cannot resist them. Because Wrigley Field is the womb of baseball.

So...