There is crying in baseball

Tom Hanks was wrong.

There is crying in baseball.

'Next Year' has arrived in Chicago.

At 12:47 a.m., the Chicago Cubs ended 108 years of misery, finally winning a World Series crown with a dramatic, 10-inning win over the Cleveland Indians.

Perhaps the only sad thing about the euphoria that is sweeping the Windy City is the remorse in Cleveland, which has its own long history of wandering in baseball's desert.

The Indians last won a title 68 years ago, in 1948.

But that pales next to what the Cubs' faithful endured.

Actually, there might be two sad things about the Cubs' monumental push to end the curse.

The second might be that if happened at quarter to one in the morning.

Then again, that is part of the magic of baseball, the muse that brings us back every winter, when teams make the trek to warmer climes in Florida and Arizona, the annual promise to winter-battered fans that better, warmer days lie ahead.

Maybe it was appropriate that last night's game was extended by a brief, 17-minute rain delay, as well as extra innings.

After waiting 108 years, what's a few more minutes.

Unlike other sports, baseball is not confined to the whims of a clock. It moves at its own pace, a chess match played out in the minds of players, managers, and second-guessing fans.

You can't rush baseball.

They know a little bit about that in Chicago.

Rest easy, Cleveland, your turn will come. Just ask LeBron.

For now, the Cubs are the World Series champions, a phrase that has not been uttered in more than a century.

There is crying in baseball. Just ask anyone in Chicago today.