A look at what the crystal ball has to say about the future of Chicago baseball

As we look into the future of major-league baseball in Chicago, what do we see?

An abyss of darkness and despair? Another desert of World Series drought? Goodness, let’s hope not. Not after fans’ worlds were brightened — and their bellies sated — on both sides of town already this century.

Sunshine and rainbows? That might be more like it, though one hopes we’re more realistic than that. There’s so much we don’t know about what will happen, but there’s roughly a 100 percent chance some of it will bum us out and/or tick us off.

Again, there’s so much we don’t know. How great a player will Kris Bryant become, and for how long will whatever unfolds happen with him in Cubs blue? Will Yoan Moncada become the star — the superstar — around whom White Sox teams revolve? Will a cavalcade of young Sox power arms bring the American League Central to its knees? Will the Cubs’ Yu Darvish start seasons and end them, too? Will every last ‘‘construction on the Dan Ryan’’ joke be replaced by a ‘‘construction at Wrigley Field’’ quip?

So. Much. We. Don’t. Know. Though here’s something I wonder: Will the Cubs-Sox rivalry — on the field and especially off it — be more or less bilious if both teams sustain success concurrently? Because that’s the dream: Good Cubs, good Sox. Postseason hopes on both sides of town. A Red Line World Series as more than the haziest, most distant notion.

Imagine it! Can you? I can. Then again, I’ve always been a sucker for the future. Have I mentioned my pair of Pulitzers and the three-picture deal I’ll be signing with 20th Century Fox?

Maybe, just maybe, this will become one hell of a baseball town. As in, almost like never before.

I think it was Winston Churchill who said, ‘‘It is always wise to look ahead but difficult to look farther than you can see.’’ I think it was Churchill who said that because I just looked online for a pithy quote, and there it was.

But after much painstaking consideration, I’m here to tell you that Churchill was wrong. Out over the horizon, I see a few things (admittedly, I’m a little fuzzy on the years):

2020

Kyle Schwarber, by now a lithe 185-pound, switch-hitting center fielder, gets his fourth consecutive audition in the leadoff spot for the Cubs. His Gold Glove defense and rampant base-stealing aren’t at issue, but must he try so often to bunt for base hits?

2023

Ever so tired of hearing about the advantages surrounding Wrigley, the Sox break ground on a new Ballpark Village. It includes a tamale cart, a flaming saganaki pit, two sausage stands, an on-site tailor and a beer garden with TVs pried from no fewer than three of Reinsdorf homes.

2028

To make room for the 38th, 39th and 40th luxury club-seating areas at Wrigley, the dugouts are relocated onto Waveland and Sheffield avenues. Home and visiting players are not required to dance in the bullpens or on their way to the field before each inning, though it is recommended.

2032

The nonstop fan promotions come to an absurd head at Guaranteed Rate Field, which now formally is known as Guaranteed Rate Field Brought to You by Motorola at Lou Malnati’s Place. There are still Free T-Shirt Thursdays and $1 Hot Dog Wednesdays, and now come Hold My Beer Tuesdays, when fans actually are encouraged to create the kind of chaos in the stands — and on the field — that gets them kicked out of the park, only to win tickets to two more games.

2039

After every other nook and cranny of Wrigley has been altered, the Ricketts family declares its intention to renovate the press box. Alas, the budget comes up 14 cents short, and the project is tabled for the time being.

2042

The eagle lands, as Sammy Sosa finally admits to purposely using a corked bat in games — that’s as far as it goes for now — and is welcomed back into the arms of his former team. He buys a condo high on Sheffield and salaams to fans in the right-field bleachers before every inning, only occasionally noticed.

2057

At an impossibly young-looking 83, president of baseball operations Theo Epstein delivers the Indians their first World Series title in — drought? What drought? — 109 years. But that has nothing to do with baseball in Chicago, so forget I even mentioned it.

As for the intervening years, well, you can read between the lines. There might even be a World Series title or two in there. Not to be gauche, but there even might be a Red Line World Series or two in there.

Who can say? Who wants to be the negative Nelly not to say? It might happen. Just blink into the haze and hope it’s not an abyss.

Follow me on Twitter @SLGreenberg.

Email: sgreenberg@suntimes.com