The Cubs were swept this weekend by the Los Angeles Dodgers. What was supposed to be our year, ending before it even began.
To sum up my feelings about the Chicago Cubs:
I feel like I’m 17 years year old, at the prom, and my date passed out drunk before we got to have sex. And she promised me this was going to be the time. Finally.
She’s passed out and I’m just sitting in the room, overdressed and lonely. I pull out the unused condom in my pocket, look at it, and the reality that I will not be using it starts to fully sink in.
I look at my date, covered in sequins and vomit, knowing she’s going to come to and ask me what happened. And I’ll want to tell her she ruined my life. That I can never believe another thing she says ever again, she’s an embarrassment to everyone who knows her, and I can’t believe that so much of my life has been wasted on her.
But I know deep in my heart, when she does open those pathetic little eyes, and asks me if I hate her, I’ll just say “No. We’ll wait until next year.”
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