Next year has finally arrived

Oh my, oh my. I honestly never thought I would live to see the Cubs in the World Series. Now I want them to win it so badly that I lack the vocabulary to properly express it. I hate to say it Miss Jean, but I really hope your Indians lose.

The task ahead is tough. Cleveland has rolled through the playoffs, and will have a "hey, we are here too" chip on their shoulder. They are also young and hungry. They have great pitching aided by the damnable designated hitter rule.

I'm as giddy as a school girl. If I needed to hand write a note I would consider dotting my "i's" with little hearts or perhaps a tiny "c". I might skip down the sidewalk during my morning walk. As last night's game ended with a sweet double play I gave a jump, a woot, and danced a jig around my living room. I dropped my wife a high five and stole a kiss. I gave her a hearty Trumpian grope on the rump. I watched the post game celebrations for an hour.

I suspect my wife is sorry she promised I could get a Cubs tattoo if they ever made it to the World Series.