Opening Eve
Another year.
Like every year.
Every single year.
The 132nd installment.
The long season.
Some decent.
But mostly not.
So many injuries by May.
So often finished by July.
So many empty seats by September.
Such quiet nights by October.
But enough of that.
I am through with flashes of brilliance.
Gracie and Ryno and Dunston.
Maddux and Sosa and Sut.
How did they keep going all those years?
So good in April.
So bad in June.
Every single year.
Time and again.
Over and over.
Early successes.
Total meltdowns.
The eeriest circumstances.
Yet we always come back.
Impatient.
Hoping.
Praying.
Knowing that it should not be so hard to do something once.
To unfurl an earthquake cheer across the plains.
Just once.
For the love of our game.
Because the building is not the thing.
There's a grand scheme to all things.
And professional means business.
Especially now.
And sentimentality is expensive.
Ah but a gem.
Ah but a business.
Though never before with our team.
Patriarchs.
Tower folks.
And now.
What?
They will capitalize on her.
But might be sinister in doing so.
Because won't the Olympics have new stadiums?
A place on the Lake?
Or nearer the suburbs?
No.
Never.
Haunted is fine.
But no deals with the devil.
We need another Reinsdorf.
But does Jerry prefer to have another him in his club?
He decides.
And the residents.
Who claim to hate it.
But weren't yet born when she went up.
And wouldn't have settled there if not for her.
They want to live in Rogers Park?
Let them.
Wrigleyville.
We'll get our rich guy.
With deep pockets and common sense.
Who will let us keep our cozy spot.
Our home of escapism.
And anticipation.
And hope.
Distracted from the emptiness by a Super Bowl.
And a busy off-season.
Lots of big numbers tossed about.
$300 million sounds huge.
But not on an annual average basis.
Not for a large market with top attendance.
Not for an original team that hasn't won it all since the first Roosevelt.
Teddy would have been a Cubs fan.
Churchill too.
Never give up.
Don't go down unless swinging.
Get after it.
Get ready.
Another year.
Not just like every other.
Maybe it's time.
Maybe this is the year.
This is our year.
This is it.
It's here.
Finally.
C'mon.
Do it.
Please do it.
Please.
Just once.
Please.
Do it.
Please.
Go.
Cubs.
Go.
Like every year.
Every single year.
The 132nd installment.
The long season.
Some decent.
But mostly not.
So many injuries by May.
So often finished by July.
So many empty seats by September.
Such quiet nights by October.
But enough of that.
I am through with flashes of brilliance.
Gracie and Ryno and Dunston.
Maddux and Sosa and Sut.
How did they keep going all those years?
So good in April.
So bad in June.
Every single year.
Time and again.
Over and over.
Early successes.
Total meltdowns.
The eeriest circumstances.
Yet we always come back.
Impatient.
Hoping.
Praying.
Knowing that it should not be so hard to do something once.
To unfurl an earthquake cheer across the plains.
Just once.
For the love of our game.
Because the building is not the thing.
There's a grand scheme to all things.
And professional means business.
Especially now.
And sentimentality is expensive.
Ah but a gem.
Ah but a business.
Though never before with our team.
Patriarchs.
Tower folks.
And now.
What?
They will capitalize on her.
But might be sinister in doing so.
Because won't the Olympics have new stadiums?
A place on the Lake?
Or nearer the suburbs?
No.
Never.
Haunted is fine.
But no deals with the devil.
We need another Reinsdorf.
But does Jerry prefer to have another him in his club?
He decides.
And the residents.
Who claim to hate it.
But weren't yet born when she went up.
And wouldn't have settled there if not for her.
They want to live in Rogers Park?
Let them.
Wrigleyville.
We'll get our rich guy.
With deep pockets and common sense.
Who will let us keep our cozy spot.
Our home of escapism.
And anticipation.
And hope.
Distracted from the emptiness by a Super Bowl.
And a busy off-season.
Lots of big numbers tossed about.
$300 million sounds huge.
But not on an annual average basis.
Not for a large market with top attendance.
Not for an original team that hasn't won it all since the first Roosevelt.
Teddy would have been a Cubs fan.
Churchill too.
Never give up.
Don't go down unless swinging.
Get after it.
Get ready.
Another year.
Not just like every other.
Maybe it's time.
Maybe this is the year.
This is our year.
This is it.
It's here.
Finally.
C'mon.
Do it.
Please do it.
Please.
Just once.
Please.
Do it.
Please.
Go.
Cubs.
Go.
posted by Pat at 11:07 PM
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