I must have had at least five heart-attacks [felt that way] during the 7th World Series game. The first came when the Cubs starting pitcher was taken out of the game…very prematurely. The others were…well, when a ball was fumbled, when a first-strike was taken, when the prime relief pitcher gave up a 2-run tying home run.
It’s now Friday morning. And I’m in our home in Leander, Texas. But, emotionally I will be at Grant Park today—to shout out to and for the Cubbies—their victory parade.
My daughter-in-law, Sheila—so special—teaches in a Park Ridge High School. On her Facebook was a You-tube of their high school band, leading a parade in the school hallways playing the Cubs Victory Song…GO CUBS! How special.
But, what hit me the deepest—partnered with the Cubs victory—was the story of the Cubs fan listening to the game at his father’s grave. How incredible. As a way to communicate—at least emotionally—with his father. Who was a life-long and “through death” a Cubs fan.
I would have done that. My father often confused Ryne Sandberg the Hall of Fame second baseman of the Cubs with my nephew, Brian. More than that, though, my father ALWAYS rooted for the Cubs. In his latter days, even though memory-loss was major, we taped some Cubs games and re-played them during the winter. And in Portland, winters often seem like the sun has gone somewhere else, with rain “on its own parade—daily.” In fact, the Chamber of Commerce often chortles, “Portland, Oregon…you don’t tan; you rust.”
Well. Friday morning…hope the parade is on television. And what is very real, “giving life—abundantly so” is now this verity: the rust of 108 years of losing is no longer….sweet.