CHICAGO -- Hi. I'm Tim Gutowski. You may remember me from such columns as "Davey Lopes: The next Joe Torre?" and "With Jimmy Haynes atop rotation, Crew sure to go far." Yes, it's been awhile, but I'm returning from my columnist emeritus status to share in the joy of the Brewers wild card season.

I was lucky enough to write about my favorite sports teams on OnMilwaukee.com for seven years before going on hiatus in 2006 to return to grad school and a new career path. During that time, I saw nary a winning season at County Stadium nor Miller Park. But, you all know that story.

But for all the lean years, the most promising of them all -- until this one -- was 2007. A 24-10 start, giddiness among the local populace, and a fresh crop of stars developing before our eyes had me convinced it was "the year." Of course, the team's long, steady fade allowed the Cubs to catch and pass them, a feeling that probably only the Russians at Lake Placid can truly relate to.

Then this year happened. And it was hard to truly believe, especially in late May. But unlike last season, the Crew put together three great months of baseball in June (passing .500), July (getting CC!) and August (20-7). Sure, I was still paranoid on Sept. 1 -- I'm a Brewers fan -- but I also felt like it might finally be, um, "the year."

When Ben Sheets left after five innings and 54 pitches while holding a 2-0 lead against the Mets to open the final month, I felt a twinge -- like a sprinter grabbing for his hamstring in the final 40 meters of the 200 final. "Uh oh, I might not be able to finish this." Then Eric Gagne gave up a homer, the game was lost, and everything literally went to hell.

What happened afterwards is still a bit hazy. I remember being surly. I remember being incredulous. I remember questioning the existence of a higher power; when not doing that, I questioned why said power hated me so. OK, I'm generally rude in traffic, oftentimes selfish -- but did I deserve this? Again? Seriously?

Turns out, though, it wasn't really about me. It turns out it was about a bunch of players, coaches and executives who work at Miller Park. They pulled out of what was fast becoming -- had seemingly become -- a terminal nosedive, a collapse describable by no other word. First, Seth McClung stopped the bleeding in a short though effective start in Cincinnati. Then the Pirates were in town, and the Brewers tormented their former tormentors in Hollywood style -- walk-off dingers by Prince and Ryan (who hadn't hit one since approximately April), the latter a grand slam! We had hope.

By the time Rickie Weeks hit a three-run homer last Friday night to salt away a win over the Cubs, hope had been resuscitated to the point of belief. A strange calm came over me. Sure, typically the Brew Crew would lose the last two, the Mets would win theirs, and defeat would once again be ours. When Ben Sheets fell to the Cubs kiddie corps on Saturday, that sort of tragi-comedy still felt possible. But Sunday, CC, Braun, Craig Counsell and Ray Durham made sure that plot twist was pure farce, too mean-spirited to impose on any team, even our Brewers. At least on this day.

I have tried to explain to my wife on a few occasions why the Brewers have such a hold on me. She and I have been together for over 10 years, and I still have trouble describing it, even to myself (part sickness, part passion, part dementia, part immaturity, etc). But when Braun hit that homer Sunday, and Seth McClung did his best Jim Valvano impersonation in the bullpen, looking for someone to hug; and the team greeted Braun outside the dugout with the closest thing to pure joy that adults can experience; and Bill Schroeder screamed "YES! YES! YES!" after the final 4-6-3, I felt for a few minutes that it all made sense ... that I was perfectly sane.

Sanity is a temporary condition for baseball fans, Brewers fans in particular. Let's hope this bout of lucidity lasts a little while. If not, it sure was fun while it lasted.