Cubs fans are just now beginning to know what it feels like to root for the Red Sox. Of course they have had their own agonies over the years, but there is really nothing like seventh game pain.
It began last evening as a faint queasiness underlying the euphoria as Trot Nixon crossed homeplate after his 9th inning homerun made Game Seven inevitable. The feeling gained momentum as I watched the Cubs go down - then up! - then down - then way, way down against the Marlins.
Work has all but stopped at my office. We're all drained, of course, but today everyone is staring out the window, playing out their own visions of both glorious triumph and agonizing defeat on the wide, blue screen of the sky. I'm sure the same expressions are playing across my face in the same terrible loop:
eyes shining and face turned up toward the sun ... shuddering and shivering in shadow ... blossoming flower ... crumbling knot of pain ... glowing rapture ... rictus of horror . . .
Posted by Martial