It is now mid December & we are 5+ inches above the average monthly snowfall. More subzero temps on the way. This time of year my heart fills with joy & sorrow as I remember times long gone.
Long gone, just like the bottom of the 9th inning home run hit by Bill Mazeroski beating my beloved New York Yankees in the 1960 World series.
Before all the Yankee haters start to piss & moan, please indulge me a moment of childhood fantasy.
What mid-western 12 year old boy didn't dream of growing up to be a Yankee in the post WW II era. You could be the best. You'd be on a team that would win 10 out of 12 pennants, play ball with guys named Mickey, Clete, Moose & Yogi. Names that sounded like they could be your very own version of the Dead End Kids.
Growing up in a market that at the time had no major league team to call your own, watching these larger then life ballplayers televised weekly in orgasmic black & white on CBS. Who could not hope to dream?
Well the Mick has long retired from the game & life itself.
I haven't been a Yankee fan since Steinbrenner bought them and as life get shorter, & dreams are never realized, there is a certain sense of joy & sorrow that creeps into my heart this time of year.
Joy in the blessings of a wonderful wife & daughter who have put up with an disillusioned , embittered old man's bullshit for all these years. Sorrow for never quite having dreams come true for myself & the human race.
So, for everyone who has dreamed or is still dreaming. I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. Play ball.