Thursday, November 3, 2016


When the Atlanta Braves were about to win the World Series, I found myself away from the TV, standing in a hotel gift shop, too numb at the possibility.

I'd rooted for underdogs for so long that I was suddenly feeling like the hole in the donut.

Tonight when the Cubs won, I had a similar sensation. I'm thinking that even Cleveland fans had to know that this was an epic event requiring two astounding teams and that if ever two trophies were allowed, it ought to be this year.

I know that sounds pretty namby pamby. To the diehards, I apologize. But after this ugly season in America, where churches are shot up, where both sides of the thin blue line are sitting ducks with innocents murdered from all ranks, stretching out to a world of refugees whose children are cannon fodder, maybe something as pastoral as seven baseball games could make the earth a bit less wobbly on its axis. Just for tonight.

Thanks to both teams for giving us your best.

And to Cubbies. Son of a bitch. Y'all did it.


Maybe. With the awful killing that's been part of Chicago of late, just maybe the angels came down and sprinkled just a bit of extra sparkly stuff. Because sometimes divinity ain't cheating. And sometimes it's the only way to get some folks to believe.

Yes. I'll admit hitching a ride on the treacle truck tonight. The turnip one was completely full.

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