Long before I became a sportswriter, I was a misplaced, heartfelt Chicago Cubs fan somehow surviving in the New York area. I began rooting for all teams with baby animal nicknames at age 5, which turned out to be a terribly unkind fate in 1969, when the Baltimore Colts lost to the Jets in the Super Bowl and the Mets made September mincemeat of the Cubbies. I lost my lunch money many times over in ill-fated bets.
My romance with the Cubs eventually cooled a bit, but one feeling never died. Any baby boomer fan of this bewitched Cubs team still bristles at the mere sight of Mr.