Time Out

Shakespeare used to write about a time when things were "out of joint."  When the music of the spheres was out of tune and the concord of the heavens was discord.  This is that time of year.  Some would say when the moon is in Scorpio while others simply feel that it's all another version of what goes around, comes back...comes around...or represents the myth of the eternal return.  In any case, we seem to be in such a time these days.  It's raining inches and inches in one part of the country while the drought persists in the other.  It's 100 degrees in L.A. with November on the horizon.  Trappers in Alaska can't get to their lines because there has been very little snow for the past couple of years, and this year the Yankees were one and done and the Chicago Cubs have dispatched the Cardinals, perhaps the best team in baseball, and have a chance at the World Series.  Out of joint or simple just time?  Any real baseball fan has got to be smiling right now.  It's been over 100 years since the Cubs were in the World Series.  This is a just once in my lifetime precipice they are on.  As a Giants fan, my mantra this year is "Wait till last year."  Having 3 Series appearances in the last 5 years is more than I ever could expect.  Therefore, it follows that rooting for the Cubs now is a no-brainer.  I noticed that the Cubs uniform has the number 14 on it.  Ernie Banks, Mr. Cub, the humble, talented, All-star who's baseball card we all wanted and whose career was stellar never got a shot at the World Series.  His number and spirit will be with this team and yet another powerful force to reckon with in this extraordinary time.

Watching the Cubs fans last night, I noticed how they  waited patiently for the last out to celebrate.  They've been near the top of the mountain too many times to rely on anything but facts.
But this just could be the year.  Forget winning the series, just getting there is the real victory...perhaps.
I'm reminded of a pair of brothers who used to hang out at the racetrack.  Transplanted New Yorkers, they were perhaps the loudest and physically repulsive human beings I ever came across.  Every now and then when the most improbable horse would win at box car odds one of them would yell, "Every dog has his day."  Politically incorrect...yes...bad use of the word dog...perhaps, but the message was clear, don't ever give up on anyone because it all comes around eventually.  Oh, and did I mention that this is the year that Yogi Berra left us.  "It ain't over till it's over, and it ain't over yet."