Most of my life I’ve dreamed of the Cubs making it to the World Series. I imagined it as a time of unbridled joy as unicorns danced in the field until the Cubs were inevitably crowned the champs.  It didn’t occur to me that there would be another really good team trying to win the thing as well. I never realized how anxious I would be with each pitch, or how sense of encroaching doom. They played three games over the weekend and I really only watched about  a total hours worth. I couldn’t take the stress.  I watched a movie, I read a book, I took a walk. Anything to avoid the games.  This was supposed to be a happy time.