Me and Julio

God’s talked to me twice so far in life, both times through a move. The first one was Martin Scorsese’s “Mean Streets.” I saw it alone one Friday night in the fall of 1974. And what did God say? “Drop out of law school, now.” Which I did. He waited another nine years, until John Sayles could finish “Baby It’s You.” And, boy, did He have a lot to say, not that I caught all of it at first. But allow me to paraphrase. You went to a movie in Cicero. That’s Joe Mantegna’s hometown. Decades from now, your daughter will play softball at the campus where Mantegna attended high school. She’ll be really good, like the movie you’re watching. Oh, and answer the phone when you get back to the apartment. I did. It was my friend Dan, all excited that the White Sox had just clinched their division with a win over the Mariners; Julio Cruz scored the winning run on a sacrifice fly from Harold Baines. Dreams of a World Series danced through our heads. It was not to be, though Cruz looked to be a steal from those very same Mariners, only he wasn’t. He played another three seasons on the South Side before retiring at the age of 31. I actually thought of Cruz on Monday; he died the next day. If God is talking to me again, I’m not sure what He’s trying to say. I need to go to the show.