Published: October 22, 2009

Right now, I hate life. While everyone around me is singing “Empire York State of Mind,” I’m humming Taylor Swift’s “Invisible” quietly to myself.

What could cause such depression during what should be one of the most exciting times of my life, you’re asking? Simple: I’m a Chicagoan.

It started with the usual fall occurrence: the Chicago Cubs’ early exit from October baseball. Then something happened that exacerbated my usual depression period: Rio de Janeiro.

I realize now that it was somewhat foolish to believe the U.S. would win another Olympic bid so early in the 21st Century, but until the International Olympic Committee dissected my body and removed my heart on Oct. 2, I fully believed that, in 2016, the world would finally witness the awesomeness that is the Windy City.

It’s useless now to argue why Chicago should have won the Olympic bid instead of Rio (which is dead to me until further notice), but I still fervently believe that the world is missing an incredible opportunity to discover the wonders of “the town that Billy Sunday couldn’t shut down.”

While New York’s strengths are easy to put into numbers (population, wealth, business headquarters, cultural institutions), Chicago excels in intangibles that visitors can experience, but only Chicagoans themselves can put into words.

The first thing the world would’ve noticed about Chicago is the efficiency with which all the planning and building would be done. This comes from the political powerhouse that is Mayor Daley. When Richard M. Daley wants something done (like the 2016 Olympics, the Batman movies and being reelected five times), he gets it done, and trusts public opinion will follow.

Because of this forceful head, everything that happens in Chicago feels like it serves a purpose. Nobody but Daley knows this purpose, of course, but that is besides the point.

More importantly, the world would have noticed the plethora of ethnic communities throughout Chicago, amounting to basically a larger-scale version of Disney’s EPCOT theme park.

While there are still the mainstay communities like Chinatown, Little Italy and Wicker Park/Lincoln Park (our version of SoHo/Greenwich Village), there are somewhat more unusual neighborhoods of Greek, Polish, German, Philippine, Indian and other ethnic groups that one can only find as single restaurants in other cities.

Wikipedia’s list of Chicago neighborhoods reaches 215, and we only have one borough.

You know what else the world will miss? Kanye West’s inevitable interruption of the opening ceremonies to complain about how Beijing had one of the best opening ceremonies of all time. Even more entertaining would be when President Obama, in the lame duck period of his presidency, would have come on stage and punched him in the face for disgracing our hometown.

But the pinnacle of Chicago culture that the world would have benefited most from is undoubtedly the Italian Beef sandwich. Most people know of Chicago-style pizza (deep dish and stuffed, Pizzeria Uno does not count) and hotdogs (which you can have of decent quality at the Shake Shack), but few, if any, know the wonders of Italian Beef.

Technically, an Italian Beef sandwich starts with slices of seasoned roast beef, saturated with meat juices, on an Italian roll, best served fully submerged in the juices the meat was cooked in, and garnished with sweet or hot peppers. But the experience is so much more. It’s a complete mess that forces you to throw all pretenses to the wind and just immerse yourself in enjoying the jubilee of flavor that is Italian Beef.

Jealous? Tell it to the IOC.