I did not grow up in Chicago.  In fact, in full disclosure  I come from a family of die-hard Yankee’s fans.  I’ve spent most of my life with that blue and white “NY” emblazoned on my mind as the one, the only formidable and mighty team in MLB.  Yet, even with all that, I always felt it was beyond easy to root for a team that was, more often than not, destined to win.

Risking turncoat status, I began quietly pulling for the Mets.  Why? Because they were the underdog.  They got no respect in NY baseball.  Yanks fans hold them in such disdain that each subway series it’s unwise to bear your teams colors lest you receive more than the usual Bronx cheer coming at you.  Could I have named you the Mets starting lineup?  No.  It was a purely contrarian choice which might be why my support eventually fizzled out as I slowly realized the beauty of backing a baseball club was not just about duty- it was also about emotion and pride.

After moving to the windy city in the early aughts I started to feel the Northsider’s pull.  I didn’t want to fall into some pattern of just picking a struggling team to root for, like taking in random stray animals, so I resisted slightly… but it was in vain.   The Friendly Confines…Bleacher seats…the warm spring sun on your face…the clunk of bat meeting ball but most importantly- those Cubbies.  Say what you will about these “lovable losers”, call ’em names, poke fun,  I simply don’t care.  I have adopted them as my own and it’s a perfect match.  How can I watch Big Z on the mound and not feel like this is my team?  That hot head who wears his emotions on his sleeve.  I love it, he’s just like me!  D-Lee; my soft spoken gentle giant covering first, just watch that arm snap out a quick double play.  It’s a thing of beauty.  But most of all, it’s third baseman- Aramis Ramírez, who gets my “Hey, Heys”.  There is no greater joy than when the Cubs are down, bottom of the 9th, full count, one man on first one on third – number 16 comes to bat and hits one out to Waveland Ave.  Sheer pandemonium.  Well, I think you get my point.

So what if the Chicago Cubs have not won a World Series championship since 1908.  They have made the postseason a respectable six times and  I’m not about to give up hope.  How could I?

Yeah, these guys are the underdogs alright…but so am I.  So are all of us.  Underestimated. Challenged. Our stats against us.  We don’t win every time we put ourselves out there.  That’s true.  But we get up every day, grease up our mitts and run into that glaring sun to give it our all because this game… could be the one.

And with that – I begin BCPs.

Lupron up next.

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