Is there a Cubs game today?
Does hope spring eternal . . . ish?
Did my son proclaim, in response to my question yesterday evening about what tomorrow would hold, "It's Opening Day!"?
Does the murderous grip of optimism have a stranglehold upon my throat?
Will Steve Goodman forever ask from the grave what Chicago has to say? And will the Wrigley faithful always wait until after the game to answer him in joyous unison?
Can DirectTV customers watch WGN on their long-distance boxes of glowing baseball glory?
Do we, as reundiscredited bloggers and unheralded fans with brains resigned to the dismal truth and hearts ascribed to the eternal promise, wait with lusty anticipation for the first sound of ash cracking against spinning, speeding leather in a game that, according to the measure of the league, counts . . . and, according to the posture of our souls, truly matter?