HistoryDude

45 pages of writing this weekend. Yep, it’s a doctoral program. One foot in front of the other. Slow and steady wins the race. Cliche, etc.

What a trite thing to say, right? Of course it is, on the surface. Then I think about where I live…approximately ten blocks away from Wrigley Field, in Chicago, Illinois. Home of our Chicago Cubs, who haven’t won a championship in one-hundred and three years…and counting.

Sports teams are an extension of our community and regional identity. We may not pay attention to the Cubs every single day, especially when they’re losing as frequently as they do, but they’re always there…like the tree in the front yard or the L-tracks up the street. When something bad or sad happens to them, we notice.

Today we went to the baseball game. In a surprise to our community, it was announced all over the local media about an hour before the game that our manager would not fulfill the remainder of his contract for the season, and would retire following today’s game after forty-eight years in professional baseball. We sat in our regular section and watched the groundskeepers ready the field for the game. I looked over into the home dugout, and noticed him there, all by himself for a good half-hour. He just looked out over the field, at the seagulls coming in off of the lake, at the flags blowing in from right center.

When it came time to exchange lineup cards and the announcement was made in the ballpark that this game would be his last, the crowd gave him a cheer and he waved his cap to us. The team lost in terrible fashion, per usual. At his last press conference, he was asked…”What was different about today than other days?” He said, “I just noticed the details…things I hadn’t ever seen before.”

May we all be so lucky at the end of whatever career path we choose. Rather than settling scores or taking stock…just taking in what is good and right and beautiful about our environment for one solid last moment. There is time for reflection later. Good day today.

...the rich memory of your singing voice as it drifted through the crack in the door of the bunker. I recall shaking the desert dust from my boots and wondering what adventures we would have that day. Smiling. Listening. Smiling. Thankful to be fighting my way through a horrible war with you and secure in the knowledge that you would always be at my side if I needed you. You made the most hellish place on earth simply beautiful.

Tomorrow you will have been dead for a year.

I can hear you like it was yesterday. Thank you.