A Family Affair

Clare just got a real job, the kind with benefits, at [insert name here] on Chicago’s Gold Coast.  For those of you who might not understand, that’s north of Madison Street.  For those of you who might not understand, Madison Street is the border between the North Side and the South Side.  We live south, so we’re White Sox fans.  And my daughter has been spending the postseason among Cub fans.

It was so bad last night that, as soon as Clare came home, she changed into her A.J. Pierzynski jersey and sat on the couch to watch game three of the World Series.  “They were talking about going to the victory parade,” Clare said in disgust, as an athlete who knows never to assume victory.  Chris, her fiancé, was on a bus headed to Bloomington, Illinois, where his Elmhurst Blue Jays will be playing the Illinois Wesleyan Titans this afternoon.  So, we got our daughter, and Chris got to listen to the game on the radio.  Call it a family affair.

The Indians won, 1-0, amidst a lot of chess moves and lack of hustle by yet another Cubs’ player.  Jorge Soler might have had an inside-the-park homerun if only he had to run from the start rather than jog out of the box on a ball that got by right fielder Lonnie Chisenhall.  Soler’s manager might want to take that up with his player as soon as he’s done holding court at the postgame news conference.

Other than that, I enjoyed all those shots of the one percent—I mean, who do you think could afford those secondary market ticket prices?—praying and high-fiving and, best of all, crying when Javy Baez struck out with two runners in scoring position to end the game.  Perhaps I should also mention that Kyle Scwarber popped out as a pinch hitter.

Stay calm and beat the Cubs.