This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

For Mike Royko

Today I'm going to discuss what can happen if you finally get that thing you've always wanted. But first, a little backstory.

OK. Even if you don't follow baseball, you've probably heard by now that the Chicago Cubs clinched the pennant Saturday night. This is a BIG DEAL because the Cubs, who were once cursed by a goat that was banned from Wrigley Field (and you know how goats are when you start banning them from ballgames), haven't won a pennant since man discovered fire.

So yeah. There was euphoria all around when the Cubs took down the best pitcher in baseball (Kershaw) and smacked the Dodgers' little behinds, thus catapulting the team (the Cubs, not the Dodgers) into the World Series. That euphoria extended all the way out here to Utah, where some of the Cannons began weeping with joy.

People sometimes ask why we're Cubs fans. After all, we're not from Illinois, although we have driven through Illinois several times, once with a large U-Haul and three cocker spaniels. No. We're Cubs fans because of the Summer of the Yellow Eyeballs.

It all started when I noticed that our son Alec, who was 5 at the time, was turning a different color. When I took him to the doctor, the doctor said Alec was turning a different color because he was eating too many carrots. I thought this was odd because of all the things I'd seen Alec eat too much of, carrots were not on the top of the list. But whatever. Doctors are smart, so I figured he must have been right.

Except my mom wasn't having any of it. "Your doctor's an idiot," she said. And my mom, as she often is, was right. Within hours, everybody in our family had changed colors. Especially our eyeballs. Which were yellow. That's what happens when you all contract a mysterious case of viral hepatitis.

Anyway. I spent much of that summer in bed because that's what happens when you contract a mysterious case of viral hepatitis AND you are also pregnant. Meanwhile the TV got stuck on WGN, and because both my husband and I were too tired to change the channel (hepatitis makes you too tired to change channels FYI), we watched the Cubs play ball all summer long.

The Cubs became our best friends. Andre Dawson. Shawon Dunston. Ryne Sandberg. Vance Law. Doug Dascenzo. Rick Sutcliffe. Those guys would have totally brought us get-better-soon casseroles if only they'd lived in Salt Lake City and not Chicago.

Even after we got better, the Cubs remained our best friends, because, as it turns out, we have the right temperament to be Cubs fans. We are the kind of people who are always expecting the other shoe to drop, which is the main requirement if you sign up to be a Cubs fan. You must believe that things could be worse and they probably will be. You must have a taste for the sound of your own heart breaking. You must be able to laugh (mirthlessly if necessary) whenever you hear that joke about how any team can have an off-century. You must nod in agreement when you remember the advice the great late columnist Mike Royko once shared with his readers: Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be Cubs fans.

So what do fans like us do when — surprise! — our team IS ACTUALLY PLAYING IN THE WORLD SERIES?

Does the ground shift beneath our feet? Do we double-down on our decades-long angst? Are we poised to experience a massive identity crisis?

Oh, hell no.

We're gonna buckle up and enjoy this ride for as long as it lasts.

(Maybe.)

Ann Cannon can be reached at acannon@sltrib.com or facebook.com/anncannontrib.