End of the baseball year, 1969

GO CUBS GO, WE SING
INEVITABLY GAME ENDS
WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR

40 years ago around this time, I was in high school. Junior year I think. It was a beautiful late summer day, and the Cubs were playing just a few blocks up Clark from my high school. (St. Sebastian's, long closed. My doctor's office is on the site. But that's another story.)

About noon, after lunch, my stomach began to "hurt." So of course, I went to the principal's office. (It was a small school of 140 or so girls. No nurse. Any problem and you saw the principal. No vice principals, or deans or whoever.)

It was a little dance we did in September. A nice day, the Cubs at home and I would begin to feel "ill." Far too ill to stay in school. So I would go to her and say I had to leave as I wasn't feeling well.

Sister would ask: "What was wrong.?"

"I don't feel well."

"Are you caught up for today?"

"Yes, Sister"

"Can you make up the work you'll miss?"

"Already have Sister"

"Is your homework done?"

"Yes, Sister. I've finished all my homework for the week"

"Ok, you may leave school early."

I'd turn to go, and she'd finish with: "Enjoy the game."

(To be honest, Sister Principal cut me a lot of slack as I was bringing in top scores in national tests and would be one of the first college bound students from a business prep school. I was her pet.)(Back to that day.)

And inevitably, I'd be so "disoriented" by my "illness" that instead of getting on a southbound Halsted bus, I'd find myself, somehow, on a northbound Clark street bus. Of course when I realized I was on the wrong bus, I got off. At Addison. And Clark.


Feeling far too sick to go any further, I looked for a place to sit and rest. And what do you know? Wrigley Field was right there! And although the game would be beginning in about 30 minutes, I thought I would just go in and rest awhile.

And on this particular day, that is how I found myself at Wrigley Field for the game between the Mets and the Cubs that would determine who went on to post season play. If I remember correctly, it was the last day of the season, but I was so "sick" that day, my memory might be off.

So I got a seat, and sat down for awhile. Got a hot dog and a coke, and felt better, but since I was here......and it was a very important game.....and I wanted to be there when the Cubs won and went into post season play.........

Do I need to state the obvious (besides I hate the Mets)? After the game ended, I just didn't know what to do with myself. That sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach had returned. (Evil, vile, Mets.) The only thing I could think to do was to leave.

But being so addled by the crushing disappointment and disoriented by my "illness", I found my self jumping over the wall and on to the field. Well, I knew I had to get out of there. I couldn't climb back over the wall. I didn't know where the door was to get back into the stands, or if there even was one. So I did the next most logical thing.

I ran to home base.

(C'mon, you know you would have done the same.)

Once there, I looked around and figured, so far, so good. No security was after me. [To be fair, I was one of maybe a couple of hundred other fans.] Tried to think, but my feet began moving and I found that I had run to first base. Then to second. I stopped and looked around: still no security, so on to third base. And there it was: home plate ahead of me. Mere yards to go. And......

You guessed it.

Security. "Everyone off the field!" They began herding us towards the eastern doors. I knew this was my last chance. I would never be able to circle the bases in my beloved ivy covered summer home. In a split second, I decided. I shot out behind the guard and made a beeline for home base.

If you know me, you can guess how this ends. Some big burly guard sweeping a 16 year old girl up and shoving her towards the exit.

Well, there was a big burly guard. But he must have remembered his own youthful dreams, because he looked the other way until I made it to home base, scooped up some dirt and threw it in my pocket. Then he came up to me and quietly said that I had to leave and pointed out the door.

I went. But I went with the biggest grin on my face and a pocketful of dirt. I don't think my feet even touched the ground.

To Sister Principal, thank you, May God rest her soul.

To whomever that guard was, thank you.

BRAVERY IN WATER

BACK AGAINST THE COMING WAVE
BRACES FOR IMPACT

Remember when you were younger, and you'd go to the beach with really high waves. Just short of the big waves that would make the life guards shoo you out of the water. And you and your best friend would stand there, maybe knee deep and the waves would come up to your neck or even sometimes over your head. You both would brace yourselves against the coming waves and see who could stand the longest before being knocked over?

Driving along the lakefront the other days, I saw big, gigantic waves, full of foam and excitement, splashing up over the rocks. The scene reminded me of how much fun I had standing against the waves, getting completely drenched, getting pushed around by the lake and that good achy feeling that came later letting me know that I had had a GREAT day.

I also thought about suggesting to my husband that we go to the beach later, after our errands, and enjoy the waves and the water. I really wanted to be that carefree again.

Then I shifted in my seat, and my bum knee twinged. I moved to ease that and felt my back ache just a little. And my foot. And my shoulder. And I remembered I was 10 anymore. So I took my aging body home, picked up my knitting and fell into my evening routine.

But -- that night in the semi-twilight before falling asleep, I swear I heard the waves, felt the spray and saw my best friend fall down just a second before the wave got me too.