Okay, maybe the Indians are not so much in chaos. But to me, the world is crumbling. My beloved Casey Blake is about to sign a three-year contract with the Dodgers (he crossed to the Natinoal League–what betrayal!!) and C.C. Sabathia is about to sign a deal with mortal enemy, the Yankees. Of course, we are interested in another closer (we’re always taking on closers) named Kerry Wood. I don’t know much about this guy, but I hope he’s better than the closers we currently have. Now, I wish we could score a few really good pitchers and some sluggers. Let’s trade Haffner–he’s been stinking for the last two years.
I don’t know. After last season, my disposition is pessimistic. I wonder, sometimes, why I continue to love this downtrodden team who never seems to deliver the enchanted dream I have of them. Just one World Series would tickle me pink. I’d never ask for another Cleveland team to win anything again.
It’s just depressing that good players never want to stay in Cleveland because we can’t deliver on the dreams of the players for the World Series and we don’t have the money to keep players interested. We’re a great rookie team every few years. We take on the new up-and-comings, we ween them into the Major League, and when they become really, really good, they take off for more money and bigger fame elsewhere. Who can blame them, really? We’re just a po-dunk city with a depressing economy and the bad reputation we can’t shake of the “mistake by the lake.”
It’s no wonder I always say the name of my hometown to out-of-staters with a little bit of guilt mixed in with defensiveness.
“Yeah, I’m from Cleveland,” I say a little depressedly, already anticipating the grunts and groans and snickers. Some joke always follows. Unless the people I’m talking about live in a more oppressed and less metropolitian area.
Yep. We Clevelanders are a pessimistic lot.