Throughout the 2019 season, I caught myself in the middle of a silly habit. I would fantasize about the Dodgers winning a World Series. I would imagine what the last out out would look like. Kershaw finally cementing his legacy, replays of each player on the field celebrating in their own way. I’d imagine excitedly running to my car, driving to Dodgers Stadium and not caring about traffic or even what I’d do that next day. Who would I excitedly pick up on the way there? Which street would I stand near during the parade? I’m a little sad to admit it, but sometimes I think it would be the happiest moment of my short life.

World Series fantasizing is, of course, an extremely dangerous practice. Baseball is highly superstitious. Players have their pre-at-bat rituals they must complete, broadcasters withhold information when a pitcher is throwing a no-hitter, and I never expect to actually win it all. I set myself up with low expectations, so I can only be caught off guard in a good way. I’m hedging.

I’m hedging because I want it to hurt less when the Dodgers lose.

Yet I keep coming back year after year because I know that this year could be the year. The unlimited potential of a new season is a dangerous drug. Nothing is more exciting than learning the new kid’s fresh name or watching old players reinvent themselves or seeing them do the impossible and mount more comebacks than any other team in the major leagues.

I grow to love the team and everyone surrounding it. Dodgers twitter is absolutely hilarious (maybe not right now), and Los Angeles comes alive when this team does well (I had an in-n-out worker excitedly point out my 2017 WS shirt right before Game 2). I become enveloped within a baseball community built around the personality, success, and fortune of the Los Angeles Dodgers.

And before you know it, I truly believe that the Dodgers will win the World Series.

Because why not this year? Why couldn’t they finally get a few breaks and tough it out? Why not shove and will it to happen, just like the countless World Series winning teams before them.

Then the losses happen. The closer I get to the team, the more it hurts, and boy does this one hurt. Kershaw is aging and his postseasons failures (along with the vitriol it embiggens) make it feel like it’ll be impossible to finally win one. The dairy diet probably didn’t matter. Winning 106 games didn’t matter. Baseball is indifferent to our constructed narratives for why they’ll win or why they won’t win. Baseball, much like life, just happens.

I could start over in this cycle and try to convince myself to believe that they won’t win by completely disengaging. After all, It’s a lot easier to forget about them during an increasingly meaningless regular season engulfed by the shadow of postseason failure.

But I know that, like an addict, I’ll return to watch the 2020 Dodgers try their best to win it all again. There will certainly be new faces to root for and new reasons why this team is different from past teams. Sometimes, my attention will validated and I will be able to enjoy watching a good team do good stuff and that will feel good. Other times, I will question why I even bother.

And that’s why I will continue to follow the Dodgers. There is a special joy that comes in anticipation and hope, and that’s how I want to live my life. I don’t want to be mired in a nihilistic outlook on the potentials of life, especially with something as low-impact on my actual life as baseball. So, as painful as this loss is (I’ve been on the brink of tears for the last couple hours), there’s nowhere to go but move forward and root for the Dodgers.