When my Royals make the World Series some year, I don't want to share it with the rest of the world. I don't want your back slaps, your words of congratulation, and most of all, I don't want to hear you say "I was rooting for the Royals, man," because you're not.

We don't need to hear about curses, about Bumgarner, and we don't want outsiders to constantly reference a certain gif who also shares our heartbreak. The rest of the baseball world is obsessed with him, but we aren't. We have a better heart, a better understanding of the DH, and a better understanding of the royals. It's clear to us, the rest of you will just never understand.

We are obsessed with finally making the World Series. It's been almost more than a lifetime for the infants in our fanbase to even get that far. We dream of watching those games with our father, or our brothers, while trying to hold ourselves together thinking about the departed family members who introduced us to this awesome experience.

With each passing year, the pain gets deeper and deeper, as our parents reach the age of 70, and our grandparents move on to a better place. This isn't a game once you reach that point. It's a memory that's taken from us, that won't ever happen for a third time. And that hurts. A lot.

So if you won't stop making jokes about the team now, or laughing about its futility, please understand that when we do finally win, I won't share the moment with you. I won't be angry or treat you like you've treated us. I'll just ignore you. It's not something you will ever properly experience, and I don't want you to know how it feels. Ever. It won't change the fact that I can't give my grandpa a high five and see the look in his eyes. But that will all be part of the emotion of that moment, my moment, our moment.

We are not kindred spirits with the team in San Diego, we didn't share in the torment with our twinsbros in Minneapolis, and most of all, we would never trade our experiences with the Cardinals fans. As painful as it is, I love being a Royals fan.

I don't know if it will happen in my lifetime, my father's lifetime, or even my children's lifetime. I know it only happened twice in my grandpa's lifetime, and every October, that thought brings me to tears. In 2014, though, I learned a lot about being a royals fan from him, and in those 30 minutes after Game 7, in the depths of despair, I learned something new about my 84 year-old grandfather. For that, thank you Kansas City Royals, because the true character of a person announces itself in times of despair.

If you're not a royals fan, you don't understand, and I don't want you to. When it does happen, don't talk to me, don't mock me, and certainly don't try to cheer with me. Don't offer words of encouragement. Because, right now, everyone is laughing and joking about memories I may never share with people that mean the most to me. That hurts.

Until then, though, enjoy your jokes and your ridicule and your trite references that only outsiders find funny. The fire is brewing inside, and when it happens, I won't waste an ounce of energy on you.

Instead, I'll share those moments with the people that mean the most to me.