My legs are bouncing up and down in anticipation. I am doing a grown-up version of the pee pee dance. I have checked and rechecked the time and station. Baseball's Opening Day is upon us. I feel like a five year-old crowded in the bow of the big boat crossing the lagoon to Disney World. "Oh, oh, oh, almost there".
Will the Cubs repeat? History says probably not, but I know the despair of 90 and 100 loss seasons is behind me for a while. The Boys in Blue will be competitive and win far more than they lose. That is a good thing.
I know where I will be this evening, perched on the couch filled with youthful hope and exuberance as the the Cubs take on the evil Cardinals. Boyish dreams will fill my nose with the smell of well-used leather and dirt and sweat. I will hear the crack of the bat and remember that wonderful jarring sting as you make contact with a well thrown ball. I will hear the chatter on the field. I still recall the dreams of a small boy imagining his name on the PA as he steps to the plate on opening day. Dreams from a time before he realized he just wasn't good enough by a long shot to play ball at almost any level; too small, too slow, too unathletic.
Tonight I will remember that moment last fall when a lifetime of dreams was fulfilled. When my beloved Chicago Cubs finally won the World Series. The joy, the exuberance, the sheer happiness I felt. I can't wait to go there again. If not, the seasonal journey will be good enough. I wanted just one before I died. I even have a T-shirt with that sentiment printed on it. I got it.