I like Ryan Dempster. I like him a lot.
Dempster is the Wal-Mart greeter of Major League Baseball players. He gives you the impression he’s more concerned with the health of your Aunt Bessie than throwing a bullpen session.
He’s also so confident in his baseball team that he predicted they will win the World Series this year. Bold, considering they haven’t won the title in 100 years. And that’s where I have a problem.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see Dempster win a ring; I’d love to see him win ten rings. My problem is this: How much fun will it be to have the Chicago Cubs around if the Chicago Cubs are the champions of baseball?
Four short years ago, there were several teams known for their historical short-comings. But then the Red Sox unveiled a miracle against the Yankees, and followed by tramping all over St. Louis in the World Series. Before the magnitude of this event had taken hold, along came the White Sox -– Chicago’s horribly under-appreciated team –- who wiped away the ghosts of failures-past a year after Boston. In twelve months, a combined 174 years of misery had been exorcised.
Brooklyn Dodger fans of old coined the phrase "Wait till next year" until ‘next year’ arrived in ’55. Before then, the Dodgers were proof that baseball’s engine is fueled by hope, but hope isn’t all that necessary when you win most of the time. The Cubs have managed to keep the word vital for a century.
Now along comes Dempster insisting the 2008 Cubs are about to erase 100 years of lousy teams and lousy fortune. No more tales of the Billy goat curse; no more 8-millimeter film of the black cat at Shea in ’69; no more Bartman jokes.
For almost twenty years, Bill Buckner lived in near-exile for making one mistake. But thanks to a pair of recent championships, he’s treated like a returning war-hero whenever he sets foot in Fenway Park. So if the Cubs win the World Series, "Steve Bartman Day" at Wrigley Field will surely follow.
Listen Ryan, if what you’re saying actually comes true, think of the consequences: The Cubs will become ultra-cool, instantly transformed from Potsie Weber to Arthur Fonzarelli. Tickets, already scarce, will only be available if willed. The White Sox will go from passively-observed to down-right irrelevant. And the title of Loveable Loser will be transferred to Cleveland.
Seriously, how much fun can that be?
