If you’re one of those people who reads my stuff here but doesn’t click over to read my stuff at the magazine … WHY?
Do you think I don’t bring my snark over there? I do. The only thing I don’t bring over there is my foul mouth.
I wrote about the Pirates clinching a playoff spot.
The word clinching and the word Pirates and it’s not about them clinching a losing season.
As I was saying, I wrote about the clinch. I wrote about how I felt and how I acted and what it meant and what it means and I even did some amazing math using Roberto’s numbers and Neil Walker’s numbers to predict that Neil Walker is going to do something epic in October.
MATH DOESN’T LIE, YOU GUYS.
So if there’s anything I’ve ever written over at the magazine, this is the one I want you to go read, because I’ve been writing it in my head for two decades.
I believed the curse. I did.
It took me about 17 years of futility, but I started to believe it. It went beyond poor management and the constant swapping of good working parts for cheap replacements in the ironic name of “rebuilding.” Something bigger was at work here, I told myself. It had to be.
So when my husband came to me a few weeks ago and said he had received the postseason ticket-order form and that he was getting ready to send our money in, I said, “Wait.”
WAIT JUST ONE SECOND, YOU BEAUTIFUL MEXICAN SON OF A —
I put my hand on his shoulder and said quite seriously — and if I’m making this up, may a pigeon snuggle with me every night for the rest of my days — “If you send that money in, we won’t make the postseason. BUT! … ”
My eyes were wide and maniacal now.
“… If you DON’T send that money in, we’ll probably win the World Series!”
I arched my eyebrows and flashed a maniacal, toothy smile like Lady Elaine Fairchilde after botched botox. I had become more superstitious than Sidney Crosby at 8:07 on Aug. 7.
He looked at me like I had just asked him to adopt a gaggle of baby pigeons. (So fluffy, honey!)
And then he sent the money in.
I not only believed in the curse, but I also believed a savior would come to save us from it.
Read about how I feel about Mark Appel [patooie!] and whether or not the Bucs should have celebrated the way they did last night (spoiler alert: HELL YES).
And most importantly … go see the math.
Now, let’s go, Bucs!
P.S. At some point this week, I’m going to mine my eight years of archives and pull up my favorite Pirates posts so we can relive all the drama. It will be legendary to revisit lines like this:
Apparently what happened, you guys, is that Nate McLouth started sucking upon his departure from the Pirates, which is unusual because when players leave the Pirates, they often start playing their Best Baseball Ever. “I’m HEALED!” That’s Satan.
Granted we got Charlie Morton in the McLouth trade, and depending on the month, that makes you either say, “Best trade ever!” or “God. Charlie Morton is a black hole of suck that is sucking more suck into its gaping abyss-like hole of suck.”
More soon. For now, go read.