Earlier this week, the fabric of the universe itself was torn asunder. The Chicago Cubs, in violation of a previously-irrevocable law of nature, won the World Series for the first time since 1908. The student of history would note that the last time the Cubs were champions was the same year Henry Ford released the first iteration of the Model T. Yes, the Cubs’ World Series drought spanned the life of the automobile. But no longer, a fact that five million Chicagoans were eminently aware of during the ticker-tape parade that clocked in as the seventh-largest gathering of humanity in the history of the planet.

Baseball is a game of momentum: A series of triumphs and tragedies separated by periods of standing around (not unlike life itself). The Cubs’ World Series matchup with the Cleveland Indians, an exercise in emotional bungee jumping, was as back-and-forth as it gets. Let’s explore some World Series vignettes.

There was Cleveland outfielder Rajai Davis, he of but 55 home runs in more than 3,500 career at-bats, hitting a game-tying homer off elite Cubs closer Aroldis Chapman. He also watched from the bases as teammate Michael Martinez grounded out to end their season. Highs and lows.

There was David Ross, a 39-year old Methuselah of a backup catcher, entering the pivotal Game 7 and promptly committing an error that led to two Indians’ runs. In his self-proclaimed final season, he later batted against the Indians relief pitcher and possible deity Andrew Miller, he of the nigh-unbelievable postseason stats, and hit a titanic home run to deep center.

There was Anthony Rizzo, the young phenom who carried the Cubs for long stretches this season, putting his arm around Ross in the dugout and channeling the spirit of Will Ferrell’s Ron Burgundy: “I’m an emotional wreck. I’m in a glass case of emotion right now.” And there was Ross, purveyor of sage baseball wisdom: “Well, it’s only going to get worse. Just continue to breathe. That’s all you can do, buddy. It’s only gonna get worse. … Wait until the 9th with this three-run lead.” Certain athletic events transcend sports. For a week during the 2014 World Cup, every American was keeper Tim Howard’s biggest fan. For a few minutes every four years, Michael Phelps continues his quest to create the world’s largest pile of gold — and for those minutes, we are all swimming experts. Howard and Phelps are all of us; parrying blow after blow from the forces of evil, carrying the weight of the nation on their shoulders. The Cubs — perennial losers, hapless choke artists — have risen again, and brought us with them.

Tuesday, the nation will be tugged in two different directions. Election season seems to have brought out the most unsavory aspects of the American sociopolitical sphere — and in such times, symbols of goodness are more important than ever. Perhaps the ascendance of the beleaguered Chicago Cubs could remind us that good things do come to those who wait — even if it takes 108 years.

Jack Siglin is a senior physiology and neurobiology major. He can be reached at jsiglindbk@gmail.com.