For decades, I have spread the theory that The Cubs were born to break your heart; in fact, I often cited The Cub Factor when discussing World Series play. The rule was to count up the number of players on each team who were ex-Cubs – the team that had the few number would win.

And it was always a time to rest your head against a wall, too sad to bang it, and watch the Cubs win every straight game after they had become statistically ineligible for the Series.

Last year I waited for the dream to end and even imagined the crushing letdown when the Cubs came so very close. Then, in the last game, I remembered all the movies about BELIEVING and I thought: Believe, AmeliaJake, believe.

And they won and it was wonderful. Where was Frank Capra when you needed him?
Fortunately, it was October and the holiday season showings of “It’s a Wonderful Life” were just on the horizon.

Then this year came; they made it to the play-offs, but the game total wins was 3-1, in favor of the Dodgers. I thought, I am ashamed to say, of the agony watching and hoping and I’m pretty certain I stopped believing; I think I wanted the pressure off. They lost. And part of me is ashamed, because I was to afraid to believe. Yes, I’m breathing, but I didn’t anticipate the sadness; I wish I had believed to the end.