In Which Being A Pirates Fan Is A Lifelong Lesson In Dealing With Disappointment 

Okay, so yesterday was the home opener for the MLB's perpetual bottom-feeder, our hometown Pittsburgh Pirates. The first pitch kicked off the official start to our 21st season since we clocked a winning record. And by "winning record", I mean a season 500 or above. We're not even talking about getting to the playoffs or world series here. Nope. At this dismal point, any final tally above 500 would solicit a fucking championship parade through the streets of downtown, replete with a shit ton of fucking ticker-tape. I'm not even kidding.

We came close last year. Hell, there was a point where we were actually like, 17 games OVER 500.

Over. Five-Fucking-Hundred.

That's HUGE for us, People. Fans filled the ballpark to capacity. Men, women and children proudly donned Pirates gear openly without shame, ridicule or humiliation. The bandwagon was bursting with new recruits chanting "yes, we can!" The Zoltan himself threw out the first pitch. Television Sports Czars actually started including the Buccos in their roundups. Cats and dogs were living together. The entire city caught the fever.

Holy Shit! Could it be? Could this actually be the year we bust out from behind the unofficial moniker of MLB farm club? Hellz yeah, it could! It was glorious.

Then September happened.

First came one loss. No biggie, right?

Then another. And another. And another. Then it pretty much went to shit.

Soon it wasn't a matter of how many games above 500 the Pirates would finish the season, but more like Dear God, PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy, let us end at 500 just this once. C'mon! Throw us a frickin' bone! We're begging you!

But, alas, the dream to burst the curse was dashed, leaving both die-hard and fair-weather fans crumpled in a depressed heap. We'd been duped yet again.

@&^$*#@%!!?!

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me 20 times, and well, pass the fucking Xanax.

Ah, but it's another year, another team, another chance. Hope springs eternal, even if this Spring seems an eternity away thanks to a cold-hearted, bi-polar, hot-cold Mother Nature. She took April Fool's Day seriously, yo. Rain, sleet, snow, wind then sunshine all in the course of six hours. Sweet Baby Jesus, that ain't right. Not one bit.

Opening Day put us in the minus column against the Cubbies, but we can take it. We've had 20 years to learn how to deal with disappointment. Who knows. Maybe this year they just might crack it... says the crazy woman who knows better, but will still get sucked into the hot mess of optimism.

I'm a hockey chick, not a baseball fanatic, but DAAAAMN, I'd like to witness one more successful season before my soul leaves this mortal coil. Is that too much to ask? Maybe, but maybe not. Pirates Baseball is one ginormous maybe.

If nothing else positive happens, at least we know Jalapeno Hanna can throw a mean purse beat down.