“On the first part of the journey,
I was looking at all the life.
There were plants and birds and rocks and things.
There was sand and hills and rings.
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds.
The heat was hot and the ground was dry,
But the air was full of sound.”  

I can’t even begin writing without laying down the absolute law that “the first thing I met was a fly with a buzz” is perhaps the greatest accomplishment in the long history of human communication the world has ever known. “A rose by any other name…?” Nah. “Four score and seven years ago…?” Eh, kinda. “It was a dark and stormy night…?” That’s getting closer to this linguistic brilliance, but you have to remember it was a fly, with a buzz, on his journey. If you don’t agree, well, I don’t like you, either.

How’s it going, Denizens? It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

Like nearly all of you, I’ve been in lockdown. I’ve been protecting my own and helping those that are less fortunate. I hope you and your loved ones are safe, and that we all can get back to arguing about baseball soon enough. I didn’t even plan on writing this, but like most of you, I suddenly realized I haven’t even checked on baseball news or visited any of my favorite baseball sites since, well, ?. It’s hard to follow baseball, or write about baseball, when there is no baseball. Our favorite game isn’t of the upmost importance, but I’m also worried about the loss of community. So many of us have lost their routine. I thought about us here, and I miss you.

Dewey Bunnell wrote of a journey through an unknown dessert, aided by a lot of uncertainty and much optimism, real or otherwise. Some (or most) of it had come from questionable sources. And here we are.

Remember arguing about who should start at 2B for the Cubs coming out of camp? My money was on Nico “Suave”, though most of the prospect “experts” insisted he wasn’t ready because of his limited MiPB AB’s and other inane issues.

Recall the luxury tax conundrum? Who knows what’s going to happen, but we’re still over, while our entire organizational focus for the offseason was to get below. I won’t go any further, because we are all already too depressed.

In keeping with the first verse of this classic piece of Americana, I’ll try to stay upbeat. Chatwood was going to establish himself, Heyward was putting up his best season yet on the North Side, and El Mago was about to lay waste to anything we previously thought to be even possible by a human being playing the sport of baseball. Ya know, just the upcoming 2020 season. I was ready, but…

“After two days in the desert sun
My skin began to turn red.
After three days in the desert fun
I was looking at a river bed.
And the story it told of a river that flowed
Made me sad to think it was dead.“

We were gonna win it all, weren’t we? I had my hopes high, I always do. Between keeping Bryant and the Javy maturity and the simple continuation of the core from what we accomplished in 2016, it’s given.

Then this weird bug came. I was going to prove everyone wrong who said Cincy would win the NL Central because they won the offseason and the Cubs couldn’t compete because they lost the offseason and because the DirtyBirds suck and so does Milwaukee but we’re better because of Hendricks and Javy and Rizzo and because my source in Milwaukee says they aren’t ready and neither are those dudes in any of the other towns of whoever. Period.

I imagined a season where we could win. It was tough, but I really could envision it, if everything went just right. Then this happened. Doubt began to override my optimism, and reality set in.

My skin began to turn red.

Hey, man, I’m all full of Cubbie Blue and green ivy, so let’s go! It can’t be that bad, I said to myself. There will be baseball because there always has been, and because I said so.

But then reality reared it’s ugly head, this time for real. Javy’s HR total on the 2020 season went from 136 to 74 to possibly *bleeping* 0. No Gold Gloves for Rizzo or J-Hey or Cy Young consideration for the ultimate showman Kyle Hendricks. We even had a movement on twitter to have scantily-clad cheerleaders introduce our emotionally-charged “Professor” to get him engaged in the mundane aspects of the game, but alas…

“After nine days I let the horse run free
‘Cause the desert had turned to sea.
There were plants and birds and rocks and things.
There was sand and hills and rings.
The ocean is a desert with it’s life underground,
And a perfect disguise above.
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love.”

I’m not even sure I want to go here, but is it avoidable? I’m not ready to let my horse run free, let alone to chase a mirage on the horizon, but what? We can’t give up, yet we can’t stand up. This is such an awkward situation, one we’ve never encountered before, and I’m not even talking about our love of baseball.

There have been mentions of partial seasons and schedules, quarantined players and sites. I love baseball as much as any of you, but I just don’t see the powers that be endangering their multi-billion $ industry simply for our entertainment. I also can’t expect the players to abandon their lives and accept a life of solitude to play a farce of a game so we can indulge.

I see that utopia, but I’m too pragmatic to release my vehicle. I hope to ride it again, soon.

Stay safe, my fellow Denizens. I miss you, and I miss baseball.