Every year as my relatives sit around a too-small table waiting to dig into their overcrowded Thanksgiving plates, we go around and say what we are thankful for. The typical answers include family, friends, and our education.

Last Thanksgiving, however, was different. It was 22 days after the Chicago Cubs, a team that infamously hadn’t won a World Series title in 108 years, finally did.

So naturally, when it was my turn to state what I was thankful for, I found an answer in the Cubs. With my game seven jitters still running rampant, I said I was grateful for getting to see my home team end a drought longer than the average lifetime.

Now, a year later, I take my answer back.

As the first chills of the inevitable winter air start to show themselves, officially putting away another baseball season, I’ve found it interesting to reflect on these past five months.

I’m no baseball analyst, but overall, I’d say the former reigning World Series Champions performed pretty well this season. They won 92 games and lost 70, while making it to the top four teams in Major League Baseball during postseason. For me, that in itself is a triumph.

With that said, 162 baseball games later, one thing is clear: something about this Cubs season was different. When the Cubs gained the Commissioner’s Trophy last year, they also lost something.

The old Cubs stood for failure and defeat, ideas that the human race naturally tends to shirk from. In all their “glory,” the Cubs showed us that defeat is okay, even important. They even displayed all the good things that come from losing. Perseverance. Hope. Dedicated fans cheering you on.

I live five blocks away from Wrigley Field, a convenience that has served me well over my life. Whether it was walking over for a couple innings in the late afternoon sun or sitting on my back deck and hearing the distant cheers after a homerun, the Cubs were always just around the corner.

At first I thought it was this close proximity that justified the feeling I got whenever someone mentioned the Cubs– an intimate familiarity, as if someone was talking about an old friend.

Now I understand that my “relationship” with the Cubs ran much deeper than our being stationed in the same neighborhood.

It was the failure that I saw in the Cubs that made me love them even more. This failure aligned with the defeat I sometimes saw in myself. The same defeat that everyone sees in themselves, since by definition, there is no ring in the game we play everyday.

The Cubs showed to the world it was okay to lose.

This made me identify with the Cubs– no longer was I just a fan watching from the seats. I was with them, a part of their team. We were in this together, our common thread being the flaws we had  and our never ending daily struggles to get things right.

Now the numbers on the Cubs’ jerseys are gold.

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to see them win. Watching my grandfather finally see his home team take the World Series from his usher’s seat made me understand the magnitude of the Cubs drought.

But now the common thread that we used to share has been strained, maybe even beyond repair. The thing that made the Cubs so special in the first place is over.

It was the relatableness that came with their losing that reached out to so many people. People from all over the world have long worn Cubs jerseys. Not because they love Chicago, but because they identify with the franchise’s constant defeat. In a way, that mystique was more affecting than any championship.

I fear that now, the Cubs will be just another team to have won the World Series. The history, the connection, and the familiarity that made the Cubs the universal underdog for everyone to pull for is gone.

Hopefully, as time progresses, the Cubs will be able to maintain that sense of connection with their supporters. But I’m not sure how. How do you continue a relationship with a friend who’s nothing like the person you fell in love with in the first place?

At this year’s Thanksgiving dinner when it’s my turn to say what I’m thankful for, I’ll remember the Cubs I once knew, and say I’m grateful for all the memories of an old friend, and all the lessons they taught me throughout those seasons.