A season is composed of the third you're gonna win, the third you're gonna lose and the other third. Wednesday's game had a real shot at being an avatar of where this season was going, stealing victory from defeat, sending the flight home via a higher strata of clouds. It was gonna be from the other third.
Instead it was just one of those things that couldn't be helped, one of the Fated 54 that wasn't going to go our way no matter what we did. We were gonna lose it anyway, so tip your cap and try not to think about it too much.
Try not to think about the one inning when Zambrano was insufferable and think happy thoughts over the five in which he didn't give up anything.
Try not to think about leaving runners on second and third in the top of that inning and instead be glad that Diaz lived up to his dreams of driving in runs in sweet home Chicago.
Try not to think about Diaz not getting the big hit in the ninth, but be overjoyed that Eric Valent came out of dry dock to deliver it. Good for E.V.! I missed him.
Try not to think about DeJean not quite getting the job done and Koo immensely not getting the job done. Think about how Heath Bell (Heathie! as he's become known from the couch) wriggled out of the ninth.
And try not to think about that eleventh pitch to Derrek Lee or the fact that he found a way to sync up with the prevailing winds or that every blow Mike struck blew back in that breeze. Forget that Bell vs. Lee wasn't a whole lot different from all those Franco vs. Sosa situations. Remember that there's almost always a game like this in every series we play at Wrigley.
If it helps, remember this one…
It happens. It's Wrigley. It's part of the third of the season that's condemned to L. You're gonna lose one third of your games, and one of them was this one. Tip your cap and try not to dwell on a loss like this for years and years and years, let alone 23 hours.
That 1996 game against Paul Wilson still makes my heart sink when I think about it. If I remember correctly, the Sosa HR in the 9th broke a window. He crushed that sucker. It was brutal. And Paul Wilson, to my memory, was never quite the same again. What a soul-destroying day that was. G-D-M-F'ing Cubs…
Thanks for the perspective.
Oh, and from that day forward, I utterly despised Sammy Sosa. For that HR alone. I still hold it against him to this day.
I'll never forget that game. I was listening to it on the radio on little headphones a couple of states away (where I took up residence at the time). I remember feeling so good for Paul Wilson…and I remember the way Murph and Cohen, along with all of us, believed we were seeing a gorgeous hint of the potential of what was to come. I remember not being able to believe what I was hearing when Sosa unleashed the bomb. I remember just feeling crushed for Wilson…every bit as crushed as that ball. I remember associating Sosa forever with that game…with (figuratively) murdering our kid, Paul Wilson…until he hit 66, when I began just associating him with homers and '1998'. Now I associate him with cork and steroids. It's been a wild ride, Sammy…and you suck.