Karl Klockars

Now that I’ve gotten my necessary skeptical anti-curse position out into the world, we can start discussing the ways that we can really get rid of this so-called Curse of Eternal Sucking.  All of this stems from this morning’s news that some unoriginal jackhole put a goat’s carcass outside of Wrigley Field sometime last night.

"Baaaa. Damn."

For those of you that have been paying attention, someone did this a couple years ago, but at least had the followthrough and the balls to hang an entire dressed goat off the statue of Harry Caray.  This year they’ve done the same damn thing, which means that even something as strange and disturbing as animal-corpse-placement can be made trite and boring by Wrigleyville denizens.  Either that, or someone just has too many goats hanging around their apartment.

So, that being said:  now that two people (I’m assuming it’s two people – it could very well be a Lone Goater) have decided to take up the mantle of goat delivery to Wrigley Field, it can’t be that long until the team jumps on the bandwagon of good ol’ fashioned American goat-curse-removal.  Completely forgetting, by the way, that they’ve “removed the curse” about a billion times by now.  Does anyone seriously think that multiple goats will have the restorative power that one live restauranteur’s goat once had?

The thing is:  The people bringing the dead goats are on the right track.  For years the Cubs brought live goats to try to offset the Curse of Eternal Suckitude brought on by the original live goat.  Why would you try to fight Live Goat with Live Goat?  Everyone in the curse-lifting business (and you can buy my forthcoming tapes for just $49.95) knows full well that you have to counter a Live Goat with a Dead Goat.

"A-one! A-two! A...goat?"

So with this in mind, why can’t we combine the processes that the team and the fans have come up with to rid themselves of this Curse of God We’ve Sucked For A Hundred Years?  You’ll remember when the fine people over at Harry Caray’s restaurant took the Bartman Ball and blew the damn thing up?  They took this stupid baseball, blew it into a million little strings and then cooked it into a spaghetti sauce.  Well, now that fans are leaving honest to god food products* at the ballpark, how long is it going to be until the place gets smart and starts serving goat on the menu?

But that’s not what I’m getting at here.  Here’s my plan.  Many people aren’t going to find this very appealing, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  If there was any time to do this, it was probably last year, but what’s 101 years between friends and baseball fandom?  Okay:  Here’s what I’m thinking.

The Cubs need to blow up a live goat.

Put it in shallow center or right on 2nd base, pack it with a little C4, and blast that baa-ing bastard right into the netherregions of reality.  Obviously nothing they’ve done thus far has done the trick so it’s time to break out the big guns.  There is no more room for messing around here, ladies and gents.  (And I use those terms loosely when referring to Cubs fans.)

Boom!

I want a spray of goat all over the field.  The only way to show the afterlife that you mean business is to send a perfectly good goat into the Great Ballgame in the Sky.  “Is this heaven?  No, it’s Iowa.“  And then, Boom! Goat all over the Field of Dreams.

If you don’t want that kind of spectacle, they’ve got to still have that cabinet they used to blow up the Bartman ball.  Pack the goat into there, press the button, and kaboom, goat puree.  That’s got to taste better than baseball in your sauce.  I’m not pasta sauce expert, but goat meat must be a little better than string.  Just a thought.

After baptising the field in goat, perhaps we can put the whole thing to bed.  Then Cubs fans can contemplate exactly how much they’ve sucked for the last 100 years, without the worry of that pesky supernatural mumbo jumbo and flim-flam hanging over their heads.  It’s a win-win!  (Except for the goat.  Sorry, kid.)

*Note to cops:  If you want to figure out who did this, just check out the asian markets north of the field.  Ask if they had any customers this weekend wearing backwards hats, pucca-shell necklaces, and cargo shorts.  Were they giggling when they ordered a full goat?  Did they express any curiousity about the cooking process of a full goat?  Did they get into a girlfriend’s Jetta and cruise off down Broadway, out of Uptown as fast as they could?  Elementary, my dear Watson!