After your 10th straight post-season loss last October, I decided that it was time that we start seeing other people.
I had just turned 30. The thought of another 30 years of disappointment was just too much to spare. How many years do you want me to wait for you to get your act together?
All I’ve ever done is support you: I bought your New Era wool baseball caps, even though I am allergic to wool and my eyes water up and I sneeze uncontrollably when I wear them. My doctor even gave me a prescription nasal spray so that I could wear your hats.
And I bought many, many t-shirts emblazoned with your logo. I even have a green Wrigley Field St. Patrick’s Day shirt–a shirt that was made to be worn one day a year!
Remember that time when we were together at the Cubs Convention in 2006, and Ryne Sandberg signed my baseball? I waited in line for hours–all for you, my beloved Cubs. Even though I had to use the restroom the entire time, I risked permanent bladder damage just to be there with you.
Or how about the time that I saw you play the Cardinals for 15 innings, and just when I had given up and left, Sammy Sosa belted a walk-off home run? My sunburn was beyond terrible, but it was all worth it. And someday, when I have a spot that looks like melanoma, I will think back to that day.
Ah, who am I kidding? I can’t quit you, no matter what happens. You’re the Joker to my Batman. You’re the Bobby to my Whitney. You’re the Chris Brown to my Rihanna.
You complete me. Let’s try to work things out, OK?