This has been quite the week, what with all the well-wishers flooding my inbox.

I probably should have kept it to myself, but while working on this week’s humorous essay I came up with one of those ideas that practically writes itself.

Believe you me, this is something that doesn’t happen every day. When it does, it’s hard to keep quiet.

Not that I want to gloat about it, but the thought of my writer friends sitting at their desks, their underwear damp from mental exertion, electric fans blowing the sweat away from their brows…well, it does raise a bit of a chuckle in the back of my throat.

Especially since I’m leaning back in my overstuffed leather recliner bathing in the warm, cognac-like glow one gets from a flash of inspiration.

It would take an unholy quantity of self-control not to share my good fortune and, having lost much of my holiness the day after my Bar Mitzvah checks cleared, I chose not to resist.

Judging from the responses—little blurbs such as, “Oh, great,” “F**king terrific,” and “Just what I wanted to hear,”—apparently I did the right thing.

Here’s the idea. The Chicago Cubs, the only team in baseball that hasn’t won a World Series in over a century is, today, the winningest team in baseball.

Let me tell you, if you’re a humorist things don’t get any better than that.

Imagine if the Cubs were to win it all. Imagine if you were the manager of the American League team that lost the Series. Or the pitcher who gave up the winning run.

As I said, this stuff just writes itself.

All I really need to do is jot down an opening sentence and stand back because, whoa boy, my pencil will have a mind of its own.

Take the losing manager, for example. What kind of a job can he get now? There’s the opening.

“Would you like fries with that?” the former manager said.

There you go. The story is underway. It’s writing itself. There’s a little kid who’s the customer, and he says, “Say, aren’t you the world’s biggest loser?” And the manager says, “Go away, kid, you bother me.”

(Note that the manager has turned into W. C. Fields. Who would have thought of that? I told you it’s writing itself.)

Oh, and then the kid says, “Sure you are. I recognize the way you scratch yourself.” I’m sure by now you can see how the rest of the story unwinds.

I was going to take a nap while it did, but then I thought about that pitcher who gave up the winning run. What if he doesn’t want to pitch that day? What if he’s…say…from Japan and doesn’t speak English? He has an interpreter who travels with him.

“I am sorry, honorable Coach-san, but Ikuru-san doesn’t not wish to play in humble Game 7 of the World Series,” the interpreter said.

Of course, the coach tells him he has to play. What if Ikuru replies in Japanese and the interpreter says, “Coach-san, Ikuru-san wishes me to inform you that he demands political asylum?”

Yes, sir, I’m getting out of the way of this one, too.

After a full week, this essay is still writing itself…and it shows no signs of stopping. Although, with advancing age, it has slowed down a bit.

So I have yet another idea.

You might enjoy this experience as much as my friends. So, sit down in your favorite chair, computer or pen and paper at the ready, and think “The Cubs win the World Series.”

If your essay finishes before mine, let me know.