To be a recovering Cubaholic.

I’m addicted to baseball. No. No. That’s not true. Instead, I’m addicted to the Chicago Cubs. A team that pretends to play baseball. Some pretty bad baseball of late. My addiction goes back to when I was a youngster. Even before my teen years. I’ve been a Cubs fan ever since I can remember. Back as far as 1945. When the Cubs were last in a World Series.  I was 9. Going on 10. I’ve followed the Cubs avidly ever since. I’ve considered going in for a cure. For the same kind of treatment they give alcoholics. Thing is, I’m a Cubaholic. Every baseball season, I swear I’m through. No more Cubs. I’ll ignore ‘em. Completely.  But I keep coming back for more. Another fix. Oh, I’m a little bit more under control. I’m better at accepting heartbreaking losses. I don’t lament for days and weeks any more. Maybe for a few hours.  But still, that’s too much. I should learn to take it all in stride. No trauma. No stress. But I can’t. Today the Cubs had a 3-0 lead in the ninth inning. Only to bring in a relief pitcher named Carlos Marmol. A guy known for blowing games in dramatic fashion. And he was true to form. Gave up two home runs, including a walk-off three-run homer. The Cubs lost, 4-3.  I’m bothered. Shouldn’t be. But still I agonize. I need help. Maybe it’s time to check in to the addiction clinic. Time to be a recovering Cubaholic. –Jim Broede