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“Perhaps F*** off might be too kind.” — The Arctic Monkeys
Sunday was one of those terribly symbolic days that I have from time to time. On these days, everything in my immediate surroundings symbolizes a greater turmoil in my life. And on these days, the greater turmoil is always due to one of my teams. And on these days, my original attitude toward the turmoil in question is never the same. I figured I’d tell all of you about it.

I drove into Cleveland Sunday after the Yankees finished feeding the Indians a 3-game turd sandwich. Everything about the drive felt sad. The weather was muggy and overcast; main roads were under construction with no end in sight; and my ipod was doing that thing where it picked songs solely to match my inner depression (this time it was the Arctic Monkey’s “Do Me a Favour”)

Here’s the thing: Downtown Cleveland has been under construction all year. Northeast Ohio is always muggy. I’ve listened to “Do Me a Favor” dozens of times. No doubt all of these things have collided at least two other times this summer. But these elements never collided after I lost faith in the Tribe, which is the key difference.

One could argue that it’s highly likely that all of the same things would have happened even if the Indians treated the Yankees like Dylan Spears, but the thing is, at the moment, I irrationally find that situation implausible.

I find it implausible because the Indians could NOT have treated the Yankees like a bed at the Edge-O-Town motel. This is something that my Sunday drive made me realize.

How could I lose faith in a team that is tied for first place? Is it the offensive slump? Is it the lack of energy? Is it the ineptitude versus Boston and New York (1-11 this season)? Well, it’s sort of all those… but it’s mostly because all of those things combined with the road construction, the muggy day and the Arctic Monkeys.

The Indians could have been swept by the Yanks, and if I stayed home, maybe I would have shaken it off and calmly explained to myself that we are still tied for first, we just need a few hits to fall in and then we will capitalize on our good pitching and overtake the Tigers. Or, it’s entirely possible that if I stayed home I would have heard a conversation on Big Brother that made me think of Hafner’s knee, and then maybe the batteries in my remote die, and then maybe I get a foot cramp. And because I’m a lunatic, I probably end up with the same conclusion: The Indians do not have it this year.

But it wasn’t a foot cramp, or a dead remote, or some dolt on Big Brother (probably Amber). It was road construction, muggy weather, and most importantly, the Arctic Monkey’s tune “Do Me a Favour.” Here are the lyrics that really sealed the deal (and nothing ever quite seals the deal on a terribly symbolic day like a song you’ve heard a million times.)

It’s the beginning of the end, the car went up the hill,
And disappeared around the bend, ask anyone they’ll tell you that.
It’s these times that it tends,
The start to breaking up, to start to fall apart
Oh! hold on to your heart.

Do me a favour, break my nose!
Do me a favour, tell me to go away!
Do me a favour, stop asking questions!

That’s when I fully realized the Indians were toast. Those lyrics, whomever they were originally intended, smacked me square in the jaw. The Arctic Monkeys were trying to save me, and all of you, from the inevitable.

I suddenly realized that this Indians team was just like all the rest. It is a good team that I fell in love with, believed in, argued the merits of, and in the end, they will break my heart. As I type this, the wheels are officially in motion for an absolute car-wreck. Hell, they’ve probably been in motion, but I hadn’t been depressed enough for road construction to tell me that our path to the playoffs was irreparably damaged for this year, or for a muggy day to tell me that these losses are going to constantly make me feel like I’m suffocating, or for the Arctic Monkeys to tell me to cut ties before it is too late.

The Indians need to break my nose. They need to push my mom down a flight of stairs. They need to pour sugar in my gas tank. They need to tell me to GO AWAY.

Yes I know. The team is tied for first. The Tigers are in town this week. We can turn it around and win it. And hey, stranger things have happened. But Sunday was the moment where the Indians hurt me the most, and left me believing that it’s over.

Every season has one of these moments. For instance, the Browns moment last year was the first snap of minicamp when LeCharles Bentley went down. My heart goes on autopilot from that moment on, whenever it is. This happens partially to stop some of the pain when the season does go down the toilet, partially because I’m a very weak human being with a sour disposition, and partially because I can never heed the Arctic Monkeys advice. I can’t go away. Not from my team. Not even when I already believe it’s over. To make sure I don’t start doing shots of Drain-O as a team limps to the finish, I simply turn my heart on auto-pilot and watch everything happen. I try to be devoid of emotion. I try to detach myself as much as I can. When I watch games, I look like Tony Montana after he snorted a pile of coke - glazed over, depressed, on edge, yet oddly subdued. Some times it works, some times it doesn’t, but it’s better than fully believing all the way to the end (at least if I plan on living until I’m 50).

So, I’ll be there Wednesday, cheering and eating hotdogs, and I’ll be hoping against hope, but once again that’s all I have. Belief is already in the off-season playing with its kids.

I don’t mean to be a downer, everyone, but I’m telling you, right now…. break your nose. When the season turns into a giant bowl of poop, don’t say the road construction, muggy days and the Arctic Monkeys didn’t warn you. Because they did.

(But hey, Go Tribe!!)

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