The Burrow

I'm a Cubs fan.  It's my natural state of affairs. I allowed myself to buy into the hype this year.  I was foolish and I was forgetful and I got what I deserved. Only 2 out of the last 20 winningest teams in baseball  have won the World Series.  When you hit a losing streak in a seven game series it's hard to regroup, to recoup, to make the fans smile again. And so, tonight, when I should be able to turn to Fox Sports One for an escape from debate, I have no alternative but to stick with Hillary and The Donald.  I'll have a belly ache no matter where I land. Woe is me, I'm a Cubs fan.  I don't mess with the mojo.  When we checked in on-line and saw that Chicago was ahead we knew that we couldn't start the tape delay until it was all over.  They were doing just fine without us. And I fell right back into it, along with half the crowd in Dodger Stadium.  Russel and Rizzo broke out of their slumps and everyone was smiling and, once aga...

After  yesterday's rant , I want to write about a lovely use of the spoken word.  I want to bask in the aura  of someone using the language in thoughtful ways.  I want to recall the comfort of knowing that verbs and nouns will agree while perfectly positioned among interesting clauses. Bob Costas, the man whose post was hi-jacked over the weekend , earned this post on Saturday night.  He's a baseball guy and a smart guy and I can overlook his failure to visibly age because, like Mary Carillo, he makes sports watching an enjoyable experience. His encyclopedic knowledge satisfies TBG's No Stupid Sports Talk rule.  He appears genuine in his enthusiasm, and his boyishness just adds to his charm.  But it's what comes out of his mouth that makes me smile. "A likely reprise of the Game 1 match-up...."  left me dancing with reprise  and unable to tell you anything more about the match up.  He could have said repeat; I appreciate a ma...

I have resisted for years.  Others became excited, and I was able to maintain my equanimity.  I'd been burned too many times before. I threw myself into it while sitting in the bleachers, a $2.50 extravagance which the sun and the peanuts and the beers made worthwhile.  The game was played, and we watched and cheered and threw back home run balls hit into the stands by opposing players. We wore Cubbies shirts and Cubbies caps and wrapped ourselves in plastic bags from the food vendors when the wind whipped up.  I had a wide array of gear, something for every season.  I bought Brother a Cubs jacket for his 30th birthday, which he exchanged for a Nationals jacket on his 60th birthday.  It was hard for me to buy something other than Cubbies blue, but he was cheering for his (new) hometown team and who was I to complain. We'd listen to the cheers from our backyard, leaving the gardening and running inside to watch the televised replay.  We were six b...

CUBBIES WIN!! CUBBIES WIN!! According to ESPN, everyone everywhere except Pittsburgh wanted the Cubs to win the wild card game and advance to the Division Championship 7 game series. That's all you need, if you want to look like you understand what's going on. ***** Yes, Daughter D, this next phase is a series. The first game was, absurdly, between the teams with the 2nd and 3rd best record in baseball. How did it happen?  It's the first time in the system's 17 years; no one expected it. ***** CUBBIES WIN!!! CUBBIES WIN!!! I have my t-shirt from 1989, carefully cold water washed and folded neatly, to be brought out on championship runs. I am letting myself dare to dream. ***** Little Cuter took FlapJilly to the softball field, where, to the delight of the women's league on the adjacent field, my granddaughter expressed herself I'm sorry. Kinda sorta. ***** Anyway, CUBBIES WIN!! and if FlapJilly feels it, who am I to say her nay? *****...

There's an emptiness in the old homestead this evening. The Little Cuter landed safely at O'Hare this afternoon, and the Big Cuter is packing as I type. His plane leaves first thing in the morning, and I am already feeling bereft. I was never one of those mothers who longed for the first day of school. The house echoed with the sounds of my footsteps .... and nothing else. No teasing, no poking, no whining, no screeching - all the sounds of kids who knew exactly how far they could go and who went there with glee. I could skip lunch and no one was the wiser.... or the hungrier. Groceries went into the cart without discussion. Errands were silent endeavors, devoid of explanations and side-trips to the toy store next door. I was efficient, but I was lonely. I missed the unscheduled chaos of summertime. Don't get me wrong - I love the fact that the kids have their own lives separate and apart from their parents'. I'm just wishing that those lives were lived in...

A relative has begun signing her emails "Go Yankees". Conversation at the Happy Ladies Club luncheon today dwelled on Oregon's resurgent football team. Gardeners were meeting for an early dinner and a UofA volleyball game last week. I am bereft. I have no team for which to cheer. I need a home team. I love Peyton Manning, and the Little Cuter has outfitted me with a commemorative shirt but I've never lived in Indianapolis so the Colts can't possibly be my home team. The Cowboys may have been America's Team, but now, I think, the New Orleans Saints have earned that moniker. They are marvelously undefeated and totally fun to watch and it feels good to be able to share successful vibes with The Big Easy, but, again, they're not my home team. Orb Kcrob never wears anything but Michigan t-shirts. It's where he went and he's damn proud of it. I find myself in collegiate gear from TBG and the Cuters and myself but I can't seem to ma...

Maybe it's not "too easy for the Cavaliers this post-season". Maybe they are just that good. LeBron denies a basket, lopes down the court and stuffs it in for 2. Delonte West, faster than a speeding bullet and stuffs it. ***** I wrote that when Dick Stockton said it, about 2 minutes into the first quarter of the 4th game of the Eastern Conference semi-finals series. It was a "reminder post" - just there so that I'd remember to use it. I'd fix it up later. Then I went back to watch the game. And the Cavaliers were suddenly behind. And LeBron couldn't make a lay-up. And the Hawks were stealing the ball. And I knew that it was my fault. I'd jinxed it by writing it down. Anyone who's ever "had a team" knows what I'm talking about. Maybe you have your lucky shirt. Wearing that Frank Gore jersey focuses your energy, and Frank feels it. You know he does. Perhaps it's a towel you wring and un-wring and wring again dur...