A good friend of mine was Cleveland born and raised. He lived and worked in Chicago for more than a decade. He told me ten years ago he knew the date the world would end; the day the Cubs and Indians met for game 7 in the World Series.
That day is upon us. Will Lake Erie wash away the stadium with a giant tidal wave? Will the mighty Cuyahoga River erupt in flames? Oh wait, that already happened. Will that ugly pyramid that is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame collapse under the weight of its own pretentiousness? Will the ghost of Ricky Vaughn imbue the Cleveland pitchers with a wild thing vibe? Will the goat again have its revenge? Will 108 years of expectations be too much of a burden? Will the Indian pitchers regain their shutout form? Will the Cubs bats remain hot negating the Cleveland bullpen advantage?
It is going to be a good one tonight.
If fate does not decree that neither of these teams should be allowed to ever win a championship.
If I see four guys riding horses up Superior Avenue I'm going to start praying.