It’s not. I assure you.
There’s not enough C-4 or TNT or Semtex or fertilizer on the planet.
Do you suppose that I just showed up on the FBI’s radar for that last sentence? Hiya, FBI!
Regardless, kaboom goes the bandwagon of ye olde Buccos of Suckitude AKA The Suckitude AKA The team that puts the uck in suck.
You guys, I really thought this was the year. I mean that. I felt it down in my toes, all the way up to that stubborn gray hair, which, son of a bitch, that thing is stubborn.
When this season started, you read how confident I was. It really seemed like our fortunes were going to change this year. We were hanging in there. Always just a few games from .500 ball. One little sweep away from .500 ball.
Like a train slowly leaving the station, the Buccos were running alongside it, trying their hearts out to jump on.
Then the train picked up speed and they were running just slightly behind it, but certainly it wasn’t out of the question that if someone just stood on the caboose and reached out a helping hand, they could grab hold and hop on.
Then the train was a dot on the horizon and the Pirates were left standing on the tracks, watching it disappear, leaving them in a cloud of suckitude. Familiar familiar suckitude.
Do you guys read Hyperbole and a Half? I wish I had her artistic ability to show you my emotional state as this season progressed from YES! to Maybe? to NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo.
This is the best I can do:
More later on this subject. For now, I’m just going to sit and watch the pretty fire, and drink what’s left of the margaritas until I’m too drunk to care about 18 years of losing.
Burn, baby, burn.