At least one more game remains to be played. But it is over. Over in the same sense that a body has expired by the time it is interred.
They have surrendered in everything but fact.
All the right words were said. This was a generation either ignorant or immune to history.
But like a diver descending to uncharted depths, the further it goes the greater the pressure. It is paralyzing. It crushes interlopers.
What team could shoulder the weight of generational expectations? Could ignore the foreboding and all-too-familiar signs of imminent collapse? Could resist facts as insistent as they are abundant that this cannot happen?
Must not happen.
Will not happen.
The cult lives on. Baseball's take on Deadheads have been hardened by another layer of failure. Rain will not douse the candle of their faith. Contrary to popular belief, hope is not a poison.
Cub fans celebrate New Year's Day in Autumn.
Have a happy 2017.