The long held ho
pe of teenage left field bleacher bum was made manifest in Cleveland tonight.
Gone was Leo Durocher, Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, Billy Williams, Randy Hundley, Billy Williams, Ferguson Jenkins, Glen Beckett, Don Kissinger. . .
How the hell do you remember these things after nearly 50 years?
Because your little desperate fan heart so was so damn heartbroken when the season went into the toilet, aka the September swoon. I was there, in Wrigley Field, the day the music died. No man could break my heart more than the Cubs that year. Not even the kind words from Ernie Banks whom I met years later on an airplane could assuage my sadness.
That sting was finally extinguished tonight, in the bottom of the 10th, after the rain delay when the miracle made its move and manager Madden finally smiled.
The best part was I got to walk all over St Louis today with my Cub shirt on – in the afternoon, reminding any daft creature who tried to take a piece out of me that bird-watching was such a boring thing to do. Today I dared to have hope and today my Cubbies delivered. The nice guys finished first. On top.
And I couldn’t tell the name of any player in any position if my life depended on it. It’s been so long since I let my heart care.
Thanks boys. . . .
