Killer Kool-Aid?

Before the beginning of this Cardinals' season, a lot of fans were in a bit of a panic mode. Adam Wainwright went down for the season, we signed an aging veteran to a one year deal to attempt to shore up our outfield, and the Reds just seemed like some sort of Red Machine Redux in the eyes of the media and the citizens of Cincinnati. Honestly, I can say I wasn't overly worried about them competing. The baseball season is 162 games long. Anything can, and will, happen in that time span. I can't say I picked the Cardinals to win the Central but I thought they would be competitive as ever. My initial prediction was a close three-team race between the Brewers, Cardinals, and Reds, with the Brewers winning at the end of the season. The main point is, sometime between when I knew enough about sports to make semi-educated predictions and becoming an "adult" (graduating college) I stopped guzzling my teams' Kool-Aid with reckless abandon.

When I was younger, you could ask me who would win the National League's Central Division. "Cardinals," I would say, before you could even finish the sentence. Same for the Blues winning the Central Division in the Western Conference. Or the Rams winning the NFC West (at least after the 1999 season occurred because I wasn't THAT big of a homer). Even against all logic, I thought my team would at least make the playoffs and be competitive with the teams in the upper echelon. And for a while that was true.

From 2000 to about 2006, when I would say I began to understand all the nuances of sports and logical thoughts were being produced from my brain concerning predictions, my teams were wildly successful. The Cardinals, Blues, and Rams made the playoffs 5, 5, and 4, respectively, out of those 7 years. This pattern of winning heavily influenced my assumption that my teams would always be a part of great success. But as they all fell on hard times (in 2007, none of them made the playoffs) and I got a little older and wiser (I turned 18, graduated high school, and went to college), I slowly stopped downing the Kool-Aid. The sugar was getting a bit too sweet. The hallucinations from LSD-laced punch a bit too strong. And dehydration was setting in (my dad would scoff at my predictions and call me a homer when we discussed sports). So, sadly, yet logically, I became more realistic.

I accepted that teams go through tough stretches of little to no success. I accepted that they would not always win the division and began to alter my predictions accordingly. I was still a homer, but much less so. I became more seasoned in my approach towards the beginning of a new season. I looked on with optimism, but not drunk on Kool-Aid. Though not sober, I'd say I was only slightly buzzed. Probably comparable to the old grandpa at the family gatherings who always has a beer in hand, but never shows signs of intoxication.

Enter my new team, the Minnesota Golden Gophers. Perennial losers in the Big Ten, constantly irrelevant in football and basketball, but bringing in two new head coaches full of promise and the possibility of winning in the fall of 2007. So while I had stashed the red, blue, and blue and gold Kool-Aid away, the maroon Kool-Aid began to tempt and tease me. So I just had to get a taste. My friends who were actually from the state of Minnesota warned me to prepare for disappointment and I learned fast. The football team went 1-11. The basketball team lost in the first round of the NIT, and I was doubled over from drinking way too much maroon and gold Kool-Aid like a college freshman after their first few shoots of tequila on their first Cinco de Mayo.

So I went cold turkey when it came to Kool-Aid in 2008. I was trying to be as sober as a priest on a Sunday morning. I had a realistic approach to all of my teams. However, my definition of realism was accompanied by a heavy dose of optimism. Not quite drinking any Kool-Aid but picture this. I probably looked like the recovering alcoholic in the movies or on TV after his wife leaves him, and he's just starring at that bottle of Jack Daniel's. That was me with my Kool-Aid. I would stare from across the room at the sweet nectar. I was quietly optimistic about my teams' chances, and believed they would win even when the Rams were the worst team in the NFL and the Blues were missing the playoffs consistently. Probably because I was more able to remember the good times than the bad, like the LSD flashbacks returning from the spiked Kool-Aid of the early 2000s.

Attempting to stay away from the Kool-Aid especially applied to Gopher sports. I had, unfortunately, accepted a small part of the misery of Minnesota sports' fandom. I didn't have any affinity towards their professional teams but I saw the pain in my friends' faces daily from their near two decades of champion drought. With six major teams in the Twin Cities area (all 4 major professional sports, and Gopher football and basketball), none had won a championship since 1991 (the Twins), and the two college teams hadn't won a conference championship in nearly 30 years(1982 for basketball and 1967 for football). This tundra of humiliation and despair was probably the best place to sober up, knocking any thoughts of drinking Gopher Kool-Aid out of my head. Even though the basketball team was respectable, optimism for my teams was at an all-time low. My perspective became more realistic, as did my expectations. Disappointment was a lot easier to handle thanks to the contagious disease known as the Minnesota Misery.

And so here I am with a reasonably balanced perspective on my teams now. I didn't lose perspective when Waino went down because I knew the Central wasn't a very deep division and that the Cardinals could compete with LaRussa pulling the strings and our solid offense. I never predicted Kyle Loshe's success or Berkman's rejuvenation, but I thought the team as a whole would be fully capable of competing for the divisional title. I believe, lockout pending, the Rams have a chance to win the division, merely because of its overall pathetic track record and the fact that the Rams have built a solid foundation at the skills positions (pending our WR situation). The Blues are a youthful team, full of promise and energized by a great fan base, which struggled with injuries and being in a strong division. I think they'll have some small amounts of success but there is no Stanley Cup in the immediate future.

Which brings us to the Gophers. The reason I decided to write about Kool-Aid is that my favorite Gopher blog (which is full of people actually paid to write about Gopher sports who are incredibly knowledgeable) is gushing over our new head coach, Jerry Kill. It's ridiculous. Imagine how I talk about Christopher Nolan and multiply it by a thousand. Imagine that one big dude at a party, who weighs roughly 250 pounds, is 6'4", and can do a minute-long keg stand. That's what the guys on this blog are like when it comes to drinking "Kill-Aid." They are pounding that stuff like it's their job. They keep saying how great Kill is with fundamentals, how much he stresses hustling in practices, his no nonsense attitude, his ability to bring down-trodden programs to a respectable level of success, how awesome his coaching staff is, etc, etc, etc. I mean, I want him to be the next Nick Saban, but my skepticism when it comes to Gopher football is at an all-time high. I don't really have any faith after a 3-9 season. So you can see my dilemma.

It is a dilemma any sports fan faces. I give you this lengthy personal example to paint the picture millions have seen before and millions will see again. When a team's season approaches, do you tackle it with unbridled enthusiasm with no room for sane, logical thought? Do you become optimistic when all the talking heads say your team doesn't have a chance but in the back of your mind you're thinking, "Man this team has a chance!" Do you make a rational decision, study the stats, the division, the schedule, and arrival at seemingly reasonable conclusions? It is a process of pain. People will tell you that you're crazy. People will say you're being a homer or the homers will say you're abandoning you team. There is really no winning in this situation until your team starts to play and they actually win.

And so it goes with me and the Golden Gopher football team. You can see me struggling in that living room on the worn down chair, glass in my hand, ice in the glass holding it against my forehead, starring at that big, delicious, smiley-face marked pitcher of Kool-Aid. I want a drink so badly. The habit just can't be kicked. The past pain is just a distant memory, a faded scar I can no longer recall. So distant I don't believe it really ever existed. All I can think about is how good that Kool-Aid can and will taste. So the question is do I abstain from indulgence, be realistic, and write off the Gophers for this season, or do I cave to the cravings pour myself a heaping glass on the rocks, and throw a few back? Yes or No?

As the Kool-Aid Man always said, "OHHHH YEEEAAAH!!!!!"