"He instinctively can find the shining greatness of our American culture and does a good job of highlighting it (although he also does have those rare lapses when he writes about hockey, but that is something caused by impurities in the Eastern waters or something)." Erik Keilholtz
Under the patronage of St. Tammany
Mark C. N. Sullivan is an editor at a Massachusetts university. He is married and the father of three children. Email
Poor schmuck. He turns up at Wrigley in his Cubs hat and transistor radio headphones feeling lucky to have a front row seat on history. He leaves a prime candidate for the witness protection program, his mug plastered all over the media and his life story on the Smoking Gun, with thousands of people wanting to run him out of town – or much worse – as the human incarnation of the cursed Billy Goat. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like Ferris Bueller from hell, or something out of a Seinfeld episode, only real.
Some people talk about a curse. Forget that. Curses are petty and local. The Cub thing is deeper and wider than a curse. It's a responsibility is what it is. The Cubs don't lose, the Cubs are losing itself. We define the concept so that winning has meaning. We are the yard-stick, the baseline. You get me?
And what's more, we occupy the cosmic niche. The Cubs take on frustration, disappointment and longing so that others may know deliverance, jubilation and satisfaction.
We keep things in balance. We fall on our swords. The gods damn us but they love the little children. There is turmoil in our Windy City hearts but détente between the United States and Russia, you know what I'm saying?