On a Gray Day

On a December day given over to cold and drizzle, I’m tempted to think the internet would’ve altered the fate of Comiskey Park. As it is, there are numerous tweets of photos and video clips showing the park at is boisterous best. Just the other day, I read an online interview with organist Nancy Faust. Na Na Hey Hey. I imagine a social media campaign that could’ve overwhelmed the kneejerk desire for a ball mall. Tweet followed by TikTok followed by petition followed by whatever a good imagination could come up with. And all of it to be repeated, day after day until the powers that be wilted. On a December day given over to cold and drizzle, I tend to dream. Behind me on the wall are a group of pictures I took during the 1990 season—Carlton Fisk crouching behind the plate, Fisk and Ivan Calderon trying to dig in against Randy Johnson. In some ways, my favorite is the one showing four steps off the main concourse; nothing more separated the fan from a glimpse of the field up close. I want to say it took something in the neighborhood of twenty paces to go from the entrance to that top step. From 35th Street to a green cathedral. On a December day so wrapped in cold and drizzle, I find myself mixing memories with dreams of what might have been.