Cubs Win! Cubs Win!

There were no stockings hung by the chimney with care. My wife wasn’t wearing a kerchief, nor I a cap. A creature was stirring. Those negative comparisons are as close as this will come to The Night Before Christmas.

I was sleeping well, dreaming as a matter of fact. Dreaming of baseball. I was on the field, in uniform, playing third base. It wasn’t young me doing it; the dream kept me at fifty-four years old.

In my dream, I threw out three batters at first. Each play was more spectacular than the last. My throws were as impressive as my fielding range. Subconsciously, I have a tremendous throwing arm. 

From my spot on the field, I could hear the play-by-play announcer. He was in the background; his voice was not close enough for me to hear his words. All I got was his excited tone.

One game played, zero at bats (public domain)

And then I was awake. I’d just grabbed my bat and then, well, I don’t know how it ended. I closed my eyes again, thinking of Moonlight Graham. Moonlight got in to one game, for two innings, in his major league career but never got to bat.

I could still hear the announcer. He was as excited as when I was in the field. But I could also hear my wife’s peaceful breathing from a pillow away. The baseball dream was over, but the announcer didn’t seem to know it.

The flickering light from downstairs clued me in. The television was on. I got up to turn it off, though I was fairly certain that I’d done that before I headed to bed.

Our cat lay quietly on a blanket on the couch. The TV remote was under him. His head was up, as if he were taking in the highlights of the game. For all I know, he was.

The Cubs won on a suicide squeeze bunt in the bottom of the twelfth. Cubs win! Cubs win! This is their year, I’m sure of it.

G’night, cat. Thanks for the dream.

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