I'm Out ... of the Tribe.

I preface this post by saying ... I'm a baseball fan.

Always have been ... always will be ... it's far and away my favorite sport.

And the Cleveland Indians are my favorite team.

But, I'm staging an intervention for myself, because I can't take this anymore.

You see, my favorite team is staggering out of the gates yet again, starting this season at 0-5.

While the hitting is strong, the pitching looks horrible, and the fundamentals are ... well, fundamentally missing.

So it pains me to write the following words.

The Cleveland Indians are dead to me. At least until changes are made.

This off-season began with me fighting a ticket salesman with the team, a saga that I outlined here and here.

Then, the team's GM, whose name I shall no longer speak, swung some deals. However, in doing so he ignored the squad's weak starting pitching ... and a number of bargains on the free agent market.

Then, to top it off, that very weakness caused the Indians' horrible start to the season.

And this isn't the first time the Tribe has stumbled out of the gates. It seems to be a trademark of the skipper, whose name I shall also no longer speak.

I've decided I can't do this anymore. I can't wear the gear. I can't live and die with every pitch.

So, until the the aforementioned nameless GM and Manager are dismissed, I'm done.

Sure, I'll still watch. I'll even go to the ballpark (maybe when they cut ticket prices in half once the team is out of contention and they're desperate for fans).

But, I can't bring myself to root, root, root for the home team anymore. Not like I used to.

Now, some of you may call me a fair-weather fan ... someone who will jump back on the bandwagon when the team succeeds again.

That's not going to happen. I've lost faith in the stewards of this team. And I don't believe a playoff berth is in the Indians 2009 plans.

Now, we both know I'll never be able to say goodbye completely, after all, I'm a baseball fan and they're the team I rooted for since I was a little kid with a big plastic bat in my hands.

But somehow, the joy is gone.

I'll root like I did in the 70's and 80's ... more casually, and no longer expecting greatness.

So, Mr. Dolan, do us long-time supporters a favor, and sacrifice your geniuses to the baseball gods.

Maybe then, I can once again hope to reach the top of the mountain.