Storybook endings.

I'm resigned. To the fate of the Chicago Bears. They'll lose. To the despised and rival Green Bay Packers. On Sunday afternoon. In Chicago. I feel it. In my bones, my psyche, my gut. Yet, I'm pulling for something other than destiny. For a miracle. For divine intervention. Merely for my emotional pleasure. The Bears are supposed to lose. I know that. But I want the script changed. At my behest. I want to overrule the gods. It's been that way. Ever since I was a kid. Perhaps I get my way occasionally. But I want always. Imagine that. I've made my trivial wishes important. I'm a gambler. Not with money. But with emotions. I root for the Bears in professional football and the Chicago Cubs in professional baseball. Especially in what I deem pivotal games. When they lose, I used to be downright morose. Depressed. Out of sorts. For days. It bothered me. Not so much any more. But still, I'm affected if my storybook ending doesn't prevail. Yes, that's stupid. And selfish. Because it really shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of life. But still, I let it matter. My mood can be affected. By the happenings in a football game. By random chance. So here I am. At the moment. Trying to put the Bears-Packers football game into the meaningless category. It really shouldn't matter. Even if the Bears lose badly. Or in a heartbreaking fashion. Yet, I can't fully stop myself from letting it matter. I recognize the Bears are a relatively bad team. More bad than good.  And they probably don't deserve to win. I am trying to prepare for an emotional letdown.  For disappointment. When really, I want unbounded happiness.  Jubilation. I want to usurp the grand creator. And take control of the universe. If only for a few precious moments. I want storybook endings. Designed exclusively. For me. By me. --Jim Broede