Well, you'd think that. Opening day games don't mean a whole lot. The 2002 Anaheim Angels, 2003 Florida Marlins and 2004 Boston Red Sox all lost their opening day games and went on to win the World Series. But, listening to the Cubs score 16 runs today without Sosa or Alou was a real treat. That's the most runs the Cubs have ever scored on opening day, including the 13 with Sosa. By the way, the Orioles did win today, but Sosa can take no credit for it. He singled twice (2-4), but never scored and never drove anyone in. Good riddance.

On that note, I have to share a story written by Bill Simmons that was brought to my attention by a coworker. As it appears on ESPN.com:

See you in Mexico, Cubs fans
By Bill Simmons

Remember the end of Shawshank, when Andy Dufresne is sanding his boat in Mexico without a care in the world? That's how every Red Sox fan spent this past winter. We're out. Life is good. Now we're just waiting for our Red to show up: Cubs fans.

The Cubs-Sox bond can't match Andy and Red's -- a 20-year friendship highlighted by lots of chess, the expansion of a library and Andy buying a rock hammer from Red for $10 (almost as good a deal as Miami getting Shaq). But a kinship exists well beyond the twinned years of 1908 and 1918. Lumped together as lovable losers, both fan bases fell back on the same "woe is us" mentality, constantly rehashing past failures and worrying that their lives would pass without a championship. As we both headed for a Series showdown in 2003, unspeakable tragedy hit both of us: the Bartman Game and the Grady Little Game.

We were a collective mess.

So, yeah, we're connected. That's why Cubs fans can learn from us. Lesson No.1: all the pain and heartbreak are worth it. I swear. When the Sox finally became champs, it felt like we'd lost 25 pounds, gotten rid of nagging migraines and bought a new back on eBay. The prevailing theme in the press was, "What happens to these sad sacks if they actually win?" Here's what happens. You celebrate for the entire winter. You buy all the DVDs and books, all the hats and T-shirts ... basically, you act like a tourist who just won big playing bingo on a cruise ship. You sigh in relief because your children can lead normal lives as baseball fans. It's the baseball version of a colonic: all the poison is released.

Of course, you have to get there first. I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the 2004 season, wondering if there was any rhyme or reason to what happened. Remember, if the Yankees throw out Dave Roberts at second, Boston gets swept, Francona probably gets fired and I go on a three-state killing spree. But Roberts made it by a hair, sparking an eight-game winning streak where every single break went Boston's way, like a craps table catching fire. Homers hitting foul poles, broken-bat bloopers landing for singles, A-Rod karate chopping Bronson Arroyo. Now I understand what happened: after 86 agonizing years, we ran out of bad luck.

I also know that someday that has to happen for Chicago, too.

My best advice to Cubs fans? Start thinking of yourselves differently. Stay away from the negative TV shows and apocalyptic newspaper columns. You can follow the team just fine without being infected by that stuff. The media-driven Curse of the Bambino had gotten so out of control by last fall that Fox's pre-game playoff shows could have been called Babe Ruth: A Photo Essay. But true Sox fans never discussed The Curse. If anything, we were hopelessly romantic, always believing this would be The Year. When our hearts were broken, we'd fall into a Dylan McKay-like tailspin but regroup with a curious optimism that renewed itself each winter.

By last October, we carried a certain edge, personified by Schilling's "Why not us?" campaign and the self-proclaimed "idiots" who scoffed at the idea of a jinx. Seriously, why not us? If the black sheep Patriots could turn into a dynasty, anything was possible. We really believed that. Cubs fans need to believe too. Don't let the media define you. So let the Bartman grudge go, even if the rest of the world won't. Not only were 20 other fans going for that foul ball, the game was lost because Dusty didn't trust his bullpen. Don't chalk up team failures to a curse; the Sox proved that logic wrong. And when it comes, don't be afraid to give yourself to a playoff run.

When last year's Yankees series started, Boston players were growing Fu Manchus and passing around a midget, Schilling was starting message-board threads, I was refusing to wash T-shirts covered in bird poop, some fans didn't shower while others didn't take off their caps ... everyone did his part. When your turn comes, you need to do the same, three million people rubbing the same rabbit's foot. I know it sounds crazy, but it works. You aren't the losers people want you to be. Remember, big-market teams have a huge advantage over small-market ones. (As much as I love to think the Sox were underdogs, their total payroll exceeded the average Bruckheimer budget.) If you want, pray the team trades Nomar, for karmic reasons only. Like Andy told Red: "Hope is a good thing ... and no good thing ever dies."

Cubs fans, I hope this column finds you and finds you well. See you in Mexico someday.

I just hope that Red Sox fans don't drift away from being Andy in this analogy to Brooks: "I don't like it here. I'm tired of being afraid all the time. I've decided not to stay. I doubt they'll kick up any fuss. Not for an old crook like me." After that's read, Brooks, of course, carves "Brooks was here" into a wooden beam, admires his work for a moment, then kicks out the table beneath him and hangs himself. I think I'd rather stick with the Andy.