The Final Weekend

And so it is that I find myself waiting for a flight to Chicago on the second to last day of September. There are two Cubs games left, and I will attend. You might call this attrition; or perhaps completing the process of acceptance; in any case it’s some kind of coming to terms with not just this season, but the last three. The era is ending, and a new one begins when they announce on Monday not to renew Dusty Baker’s contract. You know, we’re assuming.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, I suppose. Not just with Baker, but with my thoughts on the season. After all, in a week or two I will sit down to begin my end of season essay, probably my favorite annual writing. And I should wait until after the games before I delve into the mood. I mean, I guess you never know if something will happen that will give this somber weekend a twinge of color.

My recurring thought while watching the last few weeks has been this: The Cubs aren’t that bad, the worst team in the National League, are they? But, actually, they are, I remind myself. The litany of chronic weaknesses prods me: bad baserunning, bad plate approaches, walking too many opponents... and on.

But I rest giving my full attention this weekend on a premise that many reject: Bad Cubs baseball is better than no Cubs baseball at all.

So, I check the weather forecast. Clearing up on Saturday, perfect on Sunday. I imagine myself sitting out there with old friends, in box seats. I remind myself to pause at the end of Sunday’s game, soaking it all in for the last time this year. Even if the Cubs play poorly, this will be a good weekend in a bad season -- to this I am committed.

There is not much left to say that hasn’t already been said. This season has not exactly been difficult to analyze or characterize. Bad, then worse -- that’s about it.

Hey, at least the Astros have almost caught the Cardinals. I mean, I don’t think we should feel guilty when we see footage of Tony LaRussa stewing silently in the dugout. It’s simply fantastic.

I digress. Right now I just wanted to take a moment, break myself out of the first year law student pattern of thinking, and reorient my mind fully toward baseball. Nice afternoons, long conversations, and the graceful game. And if it’s not so graceful, at least these games, I’ll turn a blind eye and pretend. I think we deserve to be allowed that much, suffering through the season as we have.

Play ball.