Soon to be upon us is the fateful day the prophecy has foretold.
For it is written: In the tenth month of the sixteenth year of the third millennium, when the wrathful punitive goat-kind have finally forgiven the people of northeastern Illinois their sins, the Chicago Cubs will win the World Series, and thus the divine prophecy shall be fulfilled.
The poor and naïve who fail to heed this warning and observe the signs, contented in their ever-affirmed denial, shall be the first to crumble with the city when the Cubbies take it all.
For in the many moons leading up to the day, the bandwagon overfloweth, and the prophecy states that the Cubs’ steadfast supporters, barely subdued for 108 years by perpetual loss, shall rise up in victory to overtake the city when the series is won. Freed at last from their purgatory of unrewarded fandom, they shall unleash upon the city a hell-on-earth yet to be witnessed.
And on the day they shall fill the streets, spreading violently from their wretched Wrigleyville epicenter like a thick splotch of red and blue ink oozing across the page, destroying everything in its path. And they shall claim the city.
For weeks the unsuspecting metropolis will be ravaged by the thick-necked, soft-handed followers cloaked in their red and vomit-stained royal blue, the streets awash with urine and Natty Light from Rogers Park to Chinatown.
Together in arms, these supporters shall make public transportation a thing of the past as thousands of innocents attempt to flee too late. The devastation of any ill-maintained structures in the way of their victorious rampage shall exceed hundreds of landlords’ abilities to get it taken care of.
Whispers of 2003 shall be brutally stifled. And it is foretold that TV programming will be hijacked for lands away, and requests for “Go Cubs Go” shall drown out all the rest. No visible window shall stand free of a hanging ‘W’ pennant, as no ‘W’ shall stand for anything but long-awaited victory. Not anything but.
And the city shall burn to the ground as a new era is violently ushered in.
All this has been foretold. All this is what shall come to pass this tenth month of the sixteenth year of the third millennium.
But twenty percent shall be taken off the bill of any soul who displays a Chicago Cubs ticket at participating Chicagoland Red Robins, for the prophecy also states that it is not all bad.
This is the Cubbies’ year. So it is written.