Unless you’re from another planet (Mets fans, I’m talking to you), you understand that the Cubs have a pretty friggin’ good chance of making the Series this season. We’ve lost Schwarber to a freak accident which ain’t good, but still, outta the billions and billions of stars out there I’m thinking there’s only one or two that are out of alignment. I’d almost be willing to say it’s our destiny to win the last game of the playoffs this year. Almost.

There’s still this very small but nagging thing in the back of my head, though. It’s like when you’re eatin’ a PB&J sammy and you get a raspberry seed stuck between your teeth. It’s delicious, but you can’t fully enjoy it cuz of that stupid seed. And you can’t get it out. It drives me friggin’ nuts. It’s Bartman. I know, I know, there was no sign of him last year, but I can just see him lurking in the shadows … with his mitt.

The missus says I’m like a dog with a bone with this Bartman thing, and that I’m cuttin’ years off my life by letting it stew for so long. She’s right, I know. But then, if the fully loaded barge of encased meat products I’ve eaten, and that cheese sauce on the ball park nachos (it looks like it’s radio active or something) haven’t corked up the old arteries yet, I think I can handle a few more years of pointing the finger at Bartman. I’ll get over it one day. Maybe. But for now, keep your eyes peeled. And if you do see him, please give him the official Bartman Welcome.

Joe