And so, here we Cubs fans are yet again. Another year ... another year. To run down the litany of world events that have taken place since the Cubs last won the World Series a century ago - and, as of last night, it is officially, finally, a century - would be trite and redundant, since many a media outlet has already done that. What happened last night is better expressed in the pain of the team's many fans, myself included, who are facing both the impossible and inevitable square in the eyes.
One of my dear friends suggested to me today that it maybe was time to move on, that the Cubs were destined to break my heart every time in one way or another, and like to a mercurial lover or a parasitic chum, maybe I should cut myself off, at least somewhat, and get on with my life. (Full disclosure: This friend is a Boston Red Sox fan, which makes her heartfelt advice somewhat suspect, considering that her own pain has been more than lessened by seeing her team win two of the past four World Series.) Even if I were to attempt to implement her advice, I'm not sure if I could. In fact, the Cubs actually take up less of my time than they did during my high school or college days. Today there are other priorities in my life - like paying the rent or wondering who will win the presidential election or what will happen Wilhemina's baby on Ugly Betty. Still, I can be forgiven if I'm down in the dumps for at least the next 24 hours about what could have been, and what will be for the next six months - until spring training stars, of course.
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