Hetero-CUB-ual

Watching Bud Selig hand over the championship trophy to a teary-eyed Jerry Reinsdorf on behalf of the White Sox, I began to feel a little confused about my own soxual identity. Sure, it was great to see a phenomenal group of guys win the World Series, but there was also a strange hollowness inside my outer shell of appreciation, and that hollowness is spelled C-U-B-S.

Growing up as a kid, there was no question which team I connected with more: the Cubs. They were livelier, more fun, more spirited, and best of all, they had Harry Caray and Steve Stone charming the broadcast waves. Sammy Sosa, Mark Grace, Andre Dawson, Ryne Sandberg, and Shawon Dunston were ALWAYS so much cooler to me than Frank Thomas, Robin Ventura, Lance Johnson, and Harold Baines. “Holy cow!” was ALWAYS so much cooler to me than “You can put it on the board... yyyes!” And of course, the ultimate tie-breaker in terms of my affection for the two teams was always the beautiful, irreplaceable Wrigley Field.

If I've been bisoxual for the past two weeks, then tonight’s experience was me — a soxually confused Cubs fan — french kissing a dude and then realizing that it's pretty damn fuckin’ disgusting.

Tonight I watched as Ozzie ran out onto the field to hug Podsednik who hugged Konerko who hugged Dye who hugged Rowand who hugged Crede who hugged Jenks and then realized that I couldn’t have felt more indifferent in my entire life.