Being a fan of the Chicago Cubs is a blessing that is usually handed down from generation to generation. It is a lesson in life; taught to all those who, for too many seasons, have been able to experience the euphoria of success only to find humility by the season's end. However, there have been seasons in which teams have been able to prolong the inevitable, dragging the loyal fans along for the ride giving them the worst feeling possible as a Cubs fan. Hope.

Many outsiders don't understand, but a person does not become a Cubs fan. It is an inherited rite. I can remember watching the games on summer afternoons with my grandmother. Actually, I wasn't allowed in the kitchen when she was watching the game; I had to watch it in the living room where I would not get a new language lesson. the kitchen table always had a slant to it and for a long time I thought that it was from an uneven leg or a warped floor. I later learned that it was from my grandmother slamming her fist down on it every time there was an errant throw or a dropped fly-ball. Until I was seven years old I thought our shortstop's name was "Damn-it Dunston" and that he was her favorite player. She always yelled and cussed and pounded her fist, but everyday at 1:00 p.m. I would once again hear the famous voice of Harry Caray saying, "Hello again Cubs fans and welcome to another day of Cubs Baseball." I still find myself choking back tears thinking about it.

All Cubs fans believe in curses. For any Cubs fan to proclaim otherwise is either not a life-long fan or is flat out lying. The optimistic fan will say that there is no curse and that this is the year that the Cubbies will finally win the World Series and will believe it to be true. The real fan will say the exact same thing using the logic that if one builds an optimistic facade then the curse will not reveal its ugly head. However, the real fan is waiting and watching for that certain moment that all hope is dashed and the Cubs are doomed until next year. Black cats,a ground ball with eyes making its way just underneath the glove, overzealous fans reaching for a part of history. All Cubs fans believe in curses, but curses are meant to be broken. Right Boston?

In reality, being a Cubs fan is painful. It is like having your fingernails ripped off while climbing a mountain. Soon the pain will subside and life will go on as normal, but for a few days or maybe even weeks, the physical pain and the mental pain of not making it to the top will linger overhead like a cloud. Soon the new and seemingly stronger fingernails will grow and you will be ready to take on the challenge again; this time getting even higher up the mountain only to feel the same pain all over again.

It's what we are supposed to do. It's in our Red White and Blue blood year after painful year to cheer for that white W flag. It's what our parents did. It's what my grandmother did. And it's what I'll continue to do. One of these days it is going to happen. One day the ivy on the outfield will have never looked greener and the sound of Harry singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" will be echoing through the streets of Chicago. Until then Cubs fans will still pack Wrigley cheering the Cubbies up the mountain to plant that white W flag. Go Cubs GO.

Learn more about this author, Brian Robbins.
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