I believe in a baseball god.

I believe in multiple gods. Minor gods. And some people may not even consider them to be true-blue gods. But spirits, instead. But I give ‘em more lofty status than that. Maybe even assistant gods. Executive assistants to the supreme god. I’m speculating that there’s a baseball god. One that reigns over the game of baseball. And this god, if he so wishes, can put the Chicago Cubs into the World Series. He hasn’t done that since 1908. Although he’s come close a time or two. But for more than 100 years, he’s decided to make Cubs fans suffer. Believe me, I know. I’ve suffered. And maybe rightly so. Because the baseball god probably thinks I’m not showing enough faith. And because I’ve been a crybaby. And maybe even cursed the baseball god a time or two. That ain’t fitting conduct. I know it. And it won’t be until I get it right that the baseball god will bless the Chicago Cubs and their fans. I’m trying mightily to please the baseball god. But maybe I’m trying too hard. Maybe he feels I’m putting unrealistic demands on him. And that I’m just faking being nice to him. When underneath, I’m fuming. And pissed. That he’s treated Cubs fans so shoddily. It ain’t fair. But it’s possible that the baseball god wants to put Cubs fans to a test. A test more awesome even than the one faced by Job. I think he’s telling us have faith. Become believers. Instead of Doubting Jims. Only then will the long-awaited 'next year' finally arrive. –Jim Broede