Why am I writing a heartfelt thank you to baseball?

It’s after midnight. I’m pacing around my apartment, trying not to wake the kids. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying. I hear the announcer say a few words I’ve been waiting to hear since before I truly understood what they meant. “The Chicago Cubs have won the World Series.”

I get it. Most of you are rolling your eyes at this point. That’s fine. But in this is a story of a little girl from Indiana who used a baseball team as her security blanket.

I was born into a big sports family. Every family event I’ve ever been to has had at least one sporting event on TV. We have super bowl parties, silly theories on “you have to be here next week, remember what you are wearing so they win again.” I’ve had “lucky” shirts and superstitions. I even skipped out of Epcot singing ‘Go Cubs Go’ after they won the game to advance to the NLCS last year.

The Cubs have always been the team that will always hold the most special place in my heart. My aunt used to sing the ‘Seventh Inning Stretch’ with me. I was only a year old or so. But it was ingrained. I got so much joy out of watching the Cubs with her.

Jill played an extremely important role in my life because she taught me all about the Cubs. One of my earliest memories is Harry Caray’s last time calling the game. That’s why every single time he is brought up I tear up. The Cubs were my lovable losers and I remained faithful to them. I remember being enamored with Ryne Sandberg. I remember watching Sammy Sosa knock baseballs out to the rooftops of Wrigleyville. I remember being on the brink nearly every year in high school. It was our year every single year.

But the point of this is not as sweet. The Cubs were always there for me in some form. They took away some of the pain from my childhood. They were the perfect distraction for my fragile mind. They made me hopeful again. Hopeful that one day, they would make it. And that one day, I would too. We went through some painful seasons together. But I stuck by them because they were still there for me. They were around when I was pregnant and terrified in 2010. I found so much comfort in sitting in bed, watching the Cubs.

They brought me new friends. Some of my favorite memories consist of sitting in the break room at Sears with Nicole and Stevie. We would watch baseball and give the players ridiculous nicknames. So thank you “Uncle” Ted, Mike Fontenot and Ryan “Can’t Quiet the Riot” Theriot. You all brought joy to my life in a time of uncertainty.

They brought me to Wrigley Field, nearly 9 months pregnant, only to watch them lose 9-1 against the Cardinals. They are my dog Wrigley’s namesake and my daughter Addison, too. They are my pride, even if they don’t win a game.

They brought me a fun little rivalry with my boyfriend, who is a diehard White Sox fan. I remember the first conversation we had, when he told me I should rename my dog “US Cellular” because he looked too sweet to be Wrigley. But something about me apparently attracted him because here we are, two Cubs games and a parade later, still together. He even took me to Wrigley on our first date. (That’s TRUE LOVE, guys. Seriously.) Since being with him, it’s been incredibly happy memories.

It all hit me on Saturday. Not being at the parade the day before. But Saturday, on the train to Lincoln Square. I sat by the window and stared out at the “W” flags proudly draped over balconies and displayed in windows. It was comforting. It took me back to my childhood, sitting in front of the TV. It took me back to every game I’ve attended. It took me back to that moment, just nights before, as I cried while the announcer said those words I’ve been waiting to hear.

Some may say “It’s only a game. It’s only a baseball team.” But to me, that was the little girl who always wanted that moment. It was the little girl so eager to fly. It was all those years of misery being washed away. Their season felt like a metaphor for this year. I just had to keep believing that great things would come.