As a St. Louis Cardinals baseball fan living in Chicagoland, where Cub fans are still looking for some little green man to jump out of their box of Lucky Charms to lead them to that pot o’gold called the World Series, I have taken an almost sick pleasure out of taunting my potless friends. I am used to my team winning, my team proving time and again why St. Louis is indeed the best organization in professional sports. Each time my team wins I employ the assistance of my little crimson friend, Redbird, to taunt the Cub fans around the office I semi-work in. He is a little plush bird who chirps loudly each time he is squeezed, announcing loudly to everyone that the Cardinals have once again won a game. If it happens to be a series sweep of the Cubs, he chirps all day.
Redbird has been a fixture around the office for more than a decade, perched at the corner of my desk amongst all the World Series trinkets there — the Chris Carpenter Wheaties box from the 2006 Series championship, the Pepsi 2006 WS championship can, my Bob Gibson baseball card, and an 8.5 x 11 picture of Yadi Molina congratulating Jason Motte after the final strike out of the 2011 WS championship.
Redbird carefully avoids the yellow container of “Anti Monkey Butt Powder” a friend of mine gifted me for my birthday a few years ago.
A few weeks ago, Redbird disappeared. Vanished. Flew the coop. I was worried sick, knowing that jealous coworkers had abducted him, not knowing what cruel torture he was being subjected to. Then the pictures started rolling in.
REDBIRD WAS TAKING A TRIP.
His clever abductors were careful to make it appear like Redbird was enjoying himself. See the fake smile on his beak as he holds his suitcase?
Your Redbird is enjoying himself with us so much that he says he never wants to come back.
He was being brainwashed, a result of the countless video of Harry Caray and the Cubs he was subjected to, no doubt. I know my bird. I can see the dazed look in his eyes.