Baseball, like love, is something that requires unwavering belief and hope. You have to open yourself up to being hurt and accept that most of the time you're not with "the one." You have to enjoy everyday of the journey, remembering that there are going to be highs and lows, but overall, you'll end things having been better for the experience, even if your heart is crushed into a million little pieces.
As I do every year, I opened my heart up to the Cubs early in the season, felt my love swell as the season progressed, and was so over the moon in September with three players joining the 20 homerun season club and finishing first in the Central Division, I could hardly keep my joy to myself. I felt like a giddy schoolgirl again. And I knew this time it was right. Pinella, Soriano, Rameriez, Lee, and Big Z all but promised it. This would be the year the Cubs didn't break my heart. I believed and I loved. And I didn't care who knew it.
This year my love affair went further than it had gone in years. The Cubs made it to October with me. But then it all came crashing down in three humiliating nights and days. The power hitting and pitching was gone.
And now I'm mourning. But only for a few weeks. Because like any other hopeful romantic, I believe in next year.
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