I distinctly remember the first time I went to see the Cubs play at Wrigley Field as a youngster.
My late father, Marshall, and my mother, Lila, took my brother, Bruce, and me to see the Cubs play the Atlanta Braves on a beautiful June day.
I can see the green grass and the ivy in all its glory and the Cubs going through their warmups before the game began. I was instantly captivated and hooked for life.
This was going to be my team.
Little did I know that at that moment, my life was about to be filled with a stunning amount of losing from my favorite team.