If I cared about the Buccos of Suckitude, which I don’t — not since a few months ago when I gave up my position as driver of the bandwagon, abandoned ship so to speak, lit that bitch up and rolled it into the Mon without a thought of the drunk, deluded fans still aboard all, “Wooo! We’ll get ’em next time! This is our year! Where’s that water coming from? Woo!”– but if I did still care, I would look at this picture of Andrew McCutchen leaping with joy into the arms of his teammates after a walkoff homer last night and I would talk about how awesome it is to see them caring that much about winning.
If I cared, I would write an entire post about the beauty that is the poetry in motion of Andrew McCutchen rounding first base, then second on his way toward a triple.
If I cared, I would point out this letter from former Pirate Jack Wilson that surprisingly doesn’t include any of the following words or phrases: effin’ Nuttings, trade-happy rodents, hell on earth, misery, shoot myself in the face or dying alive (tm Jaromir Jagr), but instead focuses on the fans — the die-hard fans who despite what will likely be 17 years of losing, continue to show up, root for the team, and Hope for Change (tm Barack Obama).
If I cared, I would write a post about how my seven-year-old nephew, who can name every player and their position, wakes up every morning, runs to the newspaper to see if the Pirates managed to pull their losing butts out of last place, only to throw the paper down in disgust, stalk into the kitchen and mutter “stupidheads” under his breath. And how much I want to sit him down and tell him it’s time to let go.
If I cared, I’d tell you all to shut up about your love for McCutchen, to stop caring so much about him, to not pin your hopes for the future on his ever-growing talent because it is only going to anger you that much more when the team sells his butt in a few years calling it “rebuilding,” or “prospect-acquisition,” or “MONEYMONEYMONEYWEWANTMONEYNOMNOMNOM,” after which they’ll hold a press conference announcing they’re signing two fifty-year-old Eskimos from the Yukon who showed great promise as athletes when they won their local reality show Akkorpok Talleriktok Uyakterpok!*
But I don’t. Care. Not even a little bit.
*Literally “lifting self up on tip toes and using strong arms to catch flying ball-type object”