Creeping Inexorably Toward A Worthwhile Sub-Heading.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Home Sweet Home
Alright, I've really got to get into a rhythm on this writing thing. Frankly, I've been wound so tight the last couple of weeks, it's a wonder I can even breathe. There have been a couple of times recently when I was pretty sure I was in immanent danger of pulmonary collapse. If I were to write what I've been feeling lately, it would look as if I had scrawled a physical representation of a single sound comprised of the whimperings of a lonely puppy, Whitman's "Barbaric Yawp," and the noise a Jackboot makes when it ploughs into your gut.
I'm glad to have the boys back in Wrigley. I'm nervous as hell, because I'd hate to come this close to heaven only to be told by St. Peter that he's really sorry to have gotten my hopes up, but that there was a case of mistaken identity, and while he hates to disappoint the 10 million people standing in the lobby of the Pearly Gates Hotel and Casino, their sea of blue hats stretching out before him like an ocean of pent up, unused, baseball joy populated by little red c's, but the folks who belong here are really a couple of guys named Mort and Jerry who've lived in Miami Beach for the 15 years they've been retired, and have adopted the Marlins as their team in a last gasp of defiance against the Dodger organization for moving to Los Angeles in 1958.
Anyway, my only worry at this point is will the Cubs score enough runs. I don't think we can count on getting another one run game out of The Franchise, that's just too much to hope for. So the Cubs chances, to my way of thinking, rest on whether or not they can get at Carl Pavano for three or four runs. If they can score, particularly score early as they've done throughout the playoffs, there's a decent chance we could all be dancing at the end of the night.