Life is full of those idyllic scenarios that we imagine to ourselves and say, “Hey, it could happen.” I most often experience those with women and sports.

Members of the opposite sex often leave me hoping for the best and experiencing the opposite. “She’s gorgeous, and wonderful, and funny and sweet. Maybe she’ll think the same thing about me. Hey, it could happen.”

On those rare times it does, it’s agonizingly temporary. There comes that defining moment where she “needs space,” or to “think things over.” During the emotionally wrenching interval, I think, “She’ll realize that this is what she really wants. She’ll have a defining come-to-terms with herself (like in the movies) and think ‘Why would I ever leave him?’ Hey, it could happen.”

A few days later, I get the official word that the “we” is back to “me.”

Then there’s sports; more specifically, the Phoenix Suns. The Suns faced the Jordan-lead Bulls in ’93. I tried to convince myself that Chicago would lose to the Suns. “The Bulls are old, and they’ll be complacent. Barkley and KJ are hungry and deserve to win. They’ll raise a banner in Phoenix. Hey, it could happen.”

Most recently, in the era of the resurrected Nash, there have been so many of those moments. 2004-05, against the Spurs in the conference finals, I thought that since they had a historic turnaround, it was a year of destiny, and tried to tell myself that, “This will be the storybook season. Lottery one year, championship the next. Hey, it could happen.”

2005-06. Sans-Stoudemire, Phoenix managed to avoid the Spurs and Mavs until the conference finals. The Mavs were the opponent, having slain the Spurs dragon for us. Even without Stoudemire, I thought, “The Suns didn’t fight all the injuries and the L.A. challenges in the first two rounds to be stopped now. We’ve got Dallas, and we know we can beat them, and then get to the Finals and win even without Amare. Hey, it could happen.”

Last season, in the face of suspensions and physical Spurs defense, and for 45 minutes of Game 5, I did my best to keep saying, like a sacred verbal talisman, “Even though they’re overmatched, the Suns are playing with so much heart. We can hold on for three more minutes and then go into Game 6 with a 3-2 series lead and finally beat the freaking Spurs. Hey, it could happen.”

I think the worst part about all of the occurrences above, is that I truly didn’t believe it myself. There was that part of me, in my gut, that would ache and tell me, “You want to believe, but you know, despite everything, that it won’t work out that way.”

I hate that. I hate how the “Hey, it could happens” have happened to everyone but my team. How the Spurs landed Duncan in the one year the Admiral was out of commission. How Miami gets a once-in-a-lifetime performance out of D-Wade to lift them over an 0-2 finals hole. How all those wonderful, best-case scenarios work out for other fans, but not for me. Not only me, but forty years worth of Suns fans. Not once.

This year, I really believe. There is no secret tummyache that betrays a false faith this time. I really believe the Suns will win it this year.

Nash is angry and determined. Stoudemire looked good last year, but this preseason has looked more spry and athletic, like the pre-microfracture version that took the league by storm.

Hill looks healthy and is running with the offense. Marion hasn’t peeped since training camp. Diaw isn’t fat. Banks is shooting the lights out.

Yes, San Antonio looks stronger than ever. Yes, Miami got a shot in the arm with Ricky Davis. Yes, Boston’s triumvirate of All-Stars is enviable. Yes, Dallas could finally have a psychological breakthrough.

None of that matters. The Suns will win. I believe it. They’ll beat San Antonio and Dallas if/when they face them. Phoenix will play like a team. The parts will mesh. They’ll make the plays and get the breaks that all championship teams need. They’ll be NBA champions for the first time in their 40-year history, and I will see it as it unfolds.

That and I’ll find the girl of my dreams this same year. Hey, it could happen.