Afraid To Hope!

Hope drives mankind. Atleast it applies to the rest of the world, but not to a Chicago sports fan. After five years, billy goats, Bartman balls, missed tackles and shots at imaginary hoops, I am afraid to hope.

The plot usually runs like this (pretty much applicable to Bears, Cubs and Bulls). The start of the season is low-key. Then, suddenly there's a magic mid/late season run, and boom, they are in the play-offs. It doesnt matter if they scratched their way through or sailed through the season.

And at this vulnerable moment, the beast of hope rears it ugly head. It mesmerises all Chicago fans and the "what-if" question is asked. "What if we are the world champions?". The world goes into a tail-spin and the deary weather becomes pleasent. We marvel at the beauty of the dried out vines in October and actually pray for a super cold January Sunday. And it seems like all our wishes are being granted. Finally, we feel God is on our side and are even brave enough to have goat-stew in October. Alas, hope, has become our master.

Hope, is a tricky bastard. Once it gains upper-hand, it comes down hard. The teams lose. Most times badly (we cant even "hope" for the next season). But like flu in spring, we catch hope every new season. After five years, all night drunken analysis, and realisation that hope is bad, a Chicago fan sincerely believes that "The next year is the best year". Frankly, its time to open up a rehab for the hope addicted.