I've been putting this post off for a while now, (lest I jinx myself and force the Cardinals into a 10 game skid,) but the recent rash of awesomeness definitely warrants mentioning. As a seasoned skeptic, I'm not usually convinced that Redbird success is anything other than a total fluke. However, as the month of August wears on, I'm starting to subscribe to the theory that we might actually have a skilled, well balanced and fully synchronized group of ballplayers on our hands. The Birds have won 7 of their last 10 and now sit 4.5 games in first place ahead of the shame spiraling baby bears of Chi-town. It's an intoxicating feeling, to be sure. Hell, I hardly know what to do with myself! I think I could even hug a Cubs fan, although that might be taking it a little too far. Let's not get carried away here, people.
Speaking of the Scrubbies, those poor bastards have now lost five in a row, including a sweep by the Phillies at home. YIKES, that hurts! So much so that one drunken idiot in the center field bleachers decided to express his displeasure by dousing Shane Victorino with a plastic cup full of beer on Wednesday. Oh, those silly Cubs fans! Time and time again, they continue to prove themselves the poster children of class and dignity.
Anyway, I have to admit, I find this all rather uncomfortable. It's awkward to write about the Cardinals winning, as I can't muster up the sarcasm and indignant acidity that usually craft my commentary. I struggle with my analysis when it isn't spewed venomously, peppered with swear words or reduced to volatile and violent ranting. Thank goodness I'm a cynic or else this blog would be in some serious trouble! As great as things are going, I'm obviously completely convinced this will be the happiest I'm allowed to be all season. There's no way I get to coast through the rest of the year in a blissful state of euphoria, right? In fact, I'm going to go ahead and predict that things will go horribly wrong in September. By which I mean, cataclysmically, tortuously and mind meltingly WRONG. Chris Carpenter will fall down a flight of stairs, Albert Pujols will poke his eye out with a Sharpie, Matt Holliday will choke to death on a chicken wing and Tony LaRussa will be diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of Alzheimer's that will prevent him from being able to tell the difference between a scorecard and a recipe for tater tot casserole. Despite this, the Cards will somehow take the wild card and then lose in the first round of the playoffs to the Dodgers.
Holy crap, I think I just gave myself a stroke.