Chicago Cubs: 18 Games In...I'm Out.
Call me irrational. Call me a quitter. Call me a typical "the sky is falling" Cubs' fan. I don't care.
After 18 games of mostly lousy baseball, I'm done. I can't stand watching this team. Every time I turn them on, I get sick to my stomach. I should have known better too.
Hendry never really gave them a shot to be successful. Gone are the veteran bats that could get the big hit in the clutch (Read: DeRosa and Edmonds). In their place are an always injured basket case who's hitting 20 (not 200...TWENTY) and Aaron Miles (Sucks). Good god. Throw in Soto's sophomore slump along with D-Lee's rotting corpse and I am actually shocked that they have won two games, let alone nine.
And then there is the pitching. Ignoring the starters for a moment (who have been at least serviceable), this team's pen is filled with one mind-boggling question after another.
Why does Neal Cotts even get to suit up for games?
Does he have some nude photos of Lou and a 13-year-old Guatemalan boy?
Why was throwing away $5 million on everyone's favorite Frenchman and Vizcaino a good idea?
Why stretch out Smarj only to use him out of the pen when he gets the call?
Why did anyone think giving the ball to a kid who hadn't pitched above Double-A would work?
Why sign a closer with a gimp knee?
Why continue to mess with the already paper-thin psyche of your closer-in-waiting by yo-yoing him between holding and saving?
Why is it so impossible for this collection of stiffs to find the strike zone? I could go on and on.
Throw in the typical Cubs base running gaffes and their continued refusal to make the easy play in the outfield and this team may well be on its way to a worse under-achieving performance than...2004. That's right, I said it.
So I am done. I'm out. F this team. I've washed my hands of them...at least until around 8:40 CT tonight.
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