I am a 32 year old who grew up in Edgewater (next to the giant pink building). I currently live in Brooklyn, NY. I grew up in the Sandberg era, basically bad years bookended by 1984 and 1989. In 1984 the Cubbies lost the fifth game on my ninth birthday. For many years that was the worst day of my life. Living in Ny, 9/11 sorta trumped it. For a while. Then I realized that one of the most defining aspects of my life is my love of the Chicago Cubs.

It is a childish love by a grown up. It is the love of underdogs. Of beautiful sunny June days in an ramschackle old house. It is about spending time with friends and family. It is about singing alongs during the seventh inning with an old drunk man and his replacements. It is about six, hopefully seven months, in which I think I will get less done but actually get more done, because I live for this thing we call baseball, and more specifically Cubs baseball.

Okay, obviously under this cynical Cub fan shell at heart there is a sentimentalist.

As I said, I live in NY. I have been coming to this site for about three years now and it sorta sustains me amongst all the Mets and Yankee fans I have to deal with. Though honestly, most of them are harmless and are quite compassionate when the Cubs, er, lose.

I don't get to many games. Go to Shea when the Cubbies are in town. Occasionally I get back to Chicago, but the last three times I have gone to Wrigley it was a rain out.

Otherwise, I am a writer and have a cat. But who cares about that crap.