As go the Cubs, so goes my summer

If you were to stop by the office or come up to me in the street and ask me how I was doing, I could answer you in one of two ways. I could tell you how I've been fighting the flu and a cold for the past couple weeks, or I could grumble about trying to make ends meet in a California economy PLUS a recession, or I could tell you how old I feel now that my "baby" just turned 20. Or I could tell you, "Well the Cubs are 15-6!"

For 37 summers now, the Chicago Cubs have been a part of my life, growing in importance just as they have reached new heights of futility. Me and scores of diehards like me drift off to sleep at night picturing just what we would do as we were witness to the Cubs scoring the winning run or retiring the final batter to bring us a World Series title for the first time in a century.

While Tom Hanks' character in "A League of Their Own" was emphatic about there being "no crying in baseball," you can tell Hanks is not a Cubs fan. I, for one, no matter if I'm watching the championship unfold in the privacy of my own home or in a bar packed with a few thousand of my closest Cubbie friends, plan on crying like a baby.

How do you explain the insanity of following a baseball team that has gone to such extraordinary lengths to let you down year after year? And why cry about it?

The Cubs were my first love, and while the marriage between us has been rocky at times, I've stuck with them because I know better times are ahead. Most Cubs fans have only managed to sniff what the "party to end all parties" will be like when it erupts - how epic it is going to be.

Will this be the year? Any Cub fan worth his or her weight in peanuts and Cracker Jack knows better than to answer that question with a definitive "yes." This is because of bad luck, curses, voodoo, etc. All I'm going to say is at the time of writing, they were 15-6, and by the time you read this they will still be above .500.

How am I doing? Life is good, but you might need to ask me again in October.