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When the Chicago Cubs won the World Series in 2016, I was still living in Dallas. My mom and I stared wide-eyed at our living room TV along with the rest of Chicago’s North Side, partially still in disbelief that this could be real. The curse was over. The series was won. The W flag we flew outside our house during the playoffs was nailed above our front porch where it hung like a trophy for the next month.
It felt too good to be true, and as a lifelong sports fan, I was subconsciously aware that all good things can and will come to an end.