And you! Your faith will be tested by every ne'er-do-well in pale socks and snot-nosed kid in a Cardinals jersey. You will be called out on your Trixie-isms and the cut of your frat boy jib (and some of you will have to swallow hard and take it). However, you will not relent. You will not back down. You will hold the C aloft and stare into the abyss, unblinking.
We will not doubt, fellow Cubs fans. There is no room for hesitation anymore. We will only allow one superstition to remain: if you cease clapping for a single moment, Tinkerlee will stop hitting home runs. Carlos Marmol will forever be known as the Jackal for his ruthless destruction of snakes. Ryan Theriot will display such grit and scrap that David Eckstein will slump in his newly purchased La-Z-Boy for two weeks in a snit fit. Alfonso Soriano will replace Al Capone as the most famous Italian to ever grace Chicago with his presence (close enough).
We will no longer distance ourselves from our feelings, Cubs fans. No more false excuses will be accepted. We will lay our hearts upon the table and wait with confidence that the Cubs will scoop them up gently and protect them against the hordes of Yankees and Angels and... Phillies? Let's just assume Phillies can gather in hordes and act appropriately.
We are confident. We are cocky. We are certain of victory. We are Cubs fans. Ursa minor (Yeah, I got that shiver the first few times, too. Practice makes perfect).
Besides, you know the Cubs are going to hoist the Commissioner's Trophy and make Wrigleyville flammable with all the booze that shall flow down its streets. How can you be sure? It'll surely drive the selling price of the club through the roof. That's something the Tribune Company has always understood.
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