My dear sweet Love,

You cut me deep, cut me real deep. I’d stand up and walk out on you right now if I didn’t think I’d just come whimpering back again in the spring-like I have so many times in the past.

Once again, we shared so much with one another only to have it implode. And how, how could you do this to me, to us, again? Did you not enjoy those blissful summer days of happiness and victory? Did those warm starry nights of victorious revelry and reverie not send pleasant shivers down your spine? Did you not feel the tingly sensation every time you touched my home plate? I felt it, oh my, did I feel it!

I wanted those days and nights to last forever-or at least through the month of October. I wanted to walk with you, hand-in-hand through the beauty of autumn. I wanted us surrounded by a (brick-)wall of red and gold leaves. I wanted us smiling, laughing, and cheering. I wanted to watch you hose yourself down with an expensive bottle of champagne, like you did a few weeks ago when we first celebrated our love this season.

I wanted us dancing to our favorite song. We played that tune after each and every consummation of our love. You know the one I’m talking about. It was special to us because it had your name so many times in the lyrics. Don’t tell me you don’t think of me when you hear: Go Cubs, Go/Go, Cubs, Go/Hey Chicago, what do you say/the Cubs are going to win today.

If you’re not drenched in tears after reading that last line, then you’re hollow inside. All I wanted was for us to continue onward, running out doubles hand-in-hand or batting glove-in-batting glove.

But you, you had other plans. You decided to ignore my advances. You withdrew, went silent, and crawled into your dark dugout of insignificance. You also went out on me. That’s right, I saw you. You chose to swing away! And they were ugly, repulsive pitches … I am just so distraught over our latest squabble.

At least you were able to satisfy someone else with your mediocre performance. Because with us, let’s just say that when the bases were loaded, you failed to capitalize. Other times you just couldn’t find the strike zone, if you know what I mean.

There were three times last week that you tore my beating heart from my chest and shoved it … I’m not going to write something I may regret later. We shall heal, you and me. We shall heal from this terrible wound.

But know this, Love, you cut me deep, cut me real deep. And stay off the pound-cake over the winter, for I’ll see you in the spring.

Yours forever and always,

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Brad Spencer

Brad Spencer has been covering sports in and around Oak Park for more than a decade, which means the young athletes he once covered in high school are now out of college and at home living with their parents...