Sorry, but I don't want the Cubs to win the World Series.
That franchise's 108-year run of ineptitude - punctuated by Bartman, billy goats and memorably bad baseball - is one of the sport's most compelling story lines. Sacrificing so much delicious history for the brief satisfaction of a Michigan Avenue parade seems an unworthy trade-off.
For me, the Cubs will always be best captured by a framed Norman Rockwell print I pass on every trip up and down the stairs in our home.