As many of you know, I am somewhat a connoisseur of hate. I sample the fruit of misanthropy as others go through flights of beer and wine. And of course, being a sports fan, many of the varietals and blends of my pure, unadulterated loathing is reserved for sports related entities.

I hate the Dodgers, because of Brett Butler and the deeply learned values of one’s first rivals. I hate the Mets because of Bobby Valentine, and the obscene belief of their fans that they were ever actually a rival. I never really hated the Phillies, though I certainly understand why the generation of fans just after mine would. I hate the Nationals because of Bryce Harper. Actually, I hate the entire Mid-Atlantic because of Bryce Harper. Man, you can never hate too much on Bryce Harper. All that said, one of my true animal level detestations is saved for the Cubs. Man; the fruggin’ Cubs.

This all comes down to an interaction with a drunken Cubs fan after the 1998 NLDS Game 2 in Atlanta. Having been thoroughly destroyed in Game 1, the Cubs had lead into the 9th of Game 2 of that series, only to have Jim Riggleman leave Kevin Tapani one inning too long. Tapani, who had been brilliant all night, gakked up the lead, and then Terry Mulholland gave up the winning run in the bottom of the 10th. It was a pretty good game all around, but with the Braves comfortably up 2-0 and Greg Maddux on the mound for Game 3, you felt pretty good heading back to Chicago. The mood was pretty celebratory in the tunnels walking out of the stadium that night. Until Drunken Cubs Fan happened.

So, look, right? If you’re a Yankees fan, you can give me shit about the Braves “choking” in the playoffs. If you’re a Cubs fan – if your team hasn’t won a World Series the Ottoman fucking Empire was a world power; if the last time your team won the World Series Orville and Wilbur Wright were *literally* still demonstrating controlled flight to a disbelieving public; if the political intrigue of the day was whether or not William H. Taft could maintain Teddy Roosevelt’s Bull Moose style – you do not get to get in my face about it. You simply do not. If you’ve never nearly come to blows in a crowded exit tunnel with a drunken Cubbies fan, you haven’t really lived.

All of which is a long winded way of saying, “Man, I really hate the fcvking Cubs.” Like, deep seated animal hatred. Like, I was thinking about doing an intro to this write-up based on how Theo Epstein’s five year plan, while being essentially the anti-Braves plan – all he’s doing is stockpiling hitting; he will go buy free agent pitching in 2016 when his 1-8, no outs available lineup is ready to compete; because he doesn’t trust pitching to develop without breaking – was well onto its way to fruition. How his most recent trade of Jeff Samardaziajjanndaadoagashundeit to Oakland was almost the final piece of a well built puzzle. And how saying such about a Cubs GM felt like talking about how Erwin Rommel and how it was so sad that such a brilliant manager was born into a circumstance that had him fighting for the Nazis. Because the Cubs are Nazis. But like, really stupid, bumbling, incompetent Nazis from a Mel Brooks movie. Until Epstein came along.

Anyway, that was the plan. But then I forgot that I had an appointment doublebooked for yesterday afternoon, and instead of watching the game as I thought I would, I ended up following on AtBat while having inkwork done instead. Sorry about that. I flake sometimes.

The way the thing went down, concisely, was three innings of “we’re getting no-hit by Jake Arrieta – wait, how the hell does Jake Arrieta have an ERA under 2?!” followed by the two lamest runs to tie in the fourth. Oh look, two RBI groundouts. Exciting! Then a brief lead followed by “Wood’s going to gak this thing up isn’t he” salvaged by a tieing run in the 9th that was then given back on a weak little dribbler through short to lose it in the bottom half.

So we lost to the Cubs, and that sucked.

The end.