Each year, mid-March to be more precise, hope springs eternal. I’m not talking about warmer weather or even a extra hour of daylight. No, I’m talking about my life-long (and some say unhealthy) obsession with the Chicago Cubs. As a 55-year-old who grew up in the windy city, I’ve been living and dying with the Cubbies for many years. My “glory years” featured Ernie Banks, Biilly Williams, Fergie Jenkins, and Ron Santo. As capable as they were, they couldn’t quite make it happen.
“Wait ’til next year” has become a comforting mantra and I understand that the odds are not in my favor for a Cubs World Series in my lifetime. But still I believe that, maybe, just maybe, an extra homer or two, or several more wins from the bullpen will do the trick.
Several years ago — it seems like a lifetime now — when the Cubs were just a few outs away from a berth in the world series, only to have it snatched away by an over eager fan, I was devastated. I believe that clinical depression gripped me for a day or two until I licked my wounds and snapped out of it.
Sure, the Cubs are generally a winning team lately and have not suffered the fate of the Pittsburgh Pirates who have suffered 15 straight seasons of losing more than winning, but that only teases me and whets my appetite for the big payoff.
When I see the Boston Red Sox breaking its long dry spell … I have to ask why not the Cubs? So each spring, I believe that my dearly beloved Cubies will find the magic touch to take the big step.
You can call me a hopeless romantic, a dreamer, a cock-eyed optimist as well, but I believe the Cubs will make it to that promised land someday … I just may have to watch from a different venue.
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