You got sucker-punched by the Cubs yet again, and you have no one to blame but yourselves. Notice I say “you,” not “we.” I warned about falling for this gag again. You shouldn’t be shocked because you’ve already seen this movie. Sure, there were some requisite surprises, like the who-saw-that-coming moment with a dropped-third strike, of all things, leading to the go-ahead run. But you should have seen the ending a Daniel-Murphy-homerun-length away. This time we also got the unbecoming, with all the boo-hooing about the cold New York weather.
You really thought it was going to be any different this time? Yeah, right. Just like the chain smoker’s New Year’s resolution to quit smoking, the dough boy whose diet starts on Monday, and the lush who swears this is the last whiskey shooter he downs before going on the wagon.
There is good news, though. I’ve got some prime swampland real estate to sell you.