This October is shaping up to be perfectly horrorshow and I’m learning to make peace with it. There’s no postseason use for my preferred laundry and my ‘W’ flags (18 of them) repose in their cardboard coffin. Perhaps it is significant that I bought a black Cubs hat this year, and curtailed the eating of Chicagoan food like Italian beefs and deep-dish pizza on game days. Perhaps not. I may have simply run out of intestinal fortitude. Perhaps there is benefit to stochasticism after all. I’ve always thought so, but then baseball, after all, is a random variable.
Cub Tracks rounds off
