Melancholy

November is the cloudiest month, followed by December and January.  So, if the next three months don’t drive me to jump out the window, we’re good.  I’d just like to see some West Coaster do it.

And this has been a particularly hard month, the clouds and sports’ pages offering constant reminders of mortality.  First, it was Bobby Doerr, then Jim Rivera, and now this week Joe Fortunato and J.C. Caroline of the NFL champion 1963 Bears.  Enough, already.

For me, Fortunato and Caroline, respectively a linebacker and defensive back, were names that came out of the car radio on a Sunday afternoon.  That Jack Brickhouse could pronounce them without stumbling was impressive in itself, and Brickhouse uttered them a lot when I was a kid.  For what it’s worth, my parents always seemed to go for a Sunday drive with me in tow, weather permitting.  I think they liked to imagine themselves living in different parts of the city or in some far-off suburb.

Brickhouse was probably at his best verbal on December 29, 1963, when the Bears beat the Giants 14-10 for the championship.  He definitely shouted “Caroline!” and “Fortunato!” enough to burn into my memory.  Drive, they said, and we did, to points unknown with old man Halas leading from the sidelines.