A Different World Series Experience

It is the bottom of the 6th inning of the Dodgers-Astros World Series and the family is gathered around the television.

That is an experience that mirrors the one I grew up with as a Dodgers fan in the ’70s and ’80s which is to say how we watched the Dodgers in the series.

But that is where many of the similarities end because by the time I was the same age as my oldest child is I had seen the boys win one series championship and play in four.

And by the time I was 19 it had turned to 2 series championships out of five visits so I never expected to have to wait 29 years before I got a chance to see them in the series again.

A Different World Series Experience

If my grandfathers were here we’d swap stories, memories and thoughts about this series.

We’d laugh about how the Cubs finally won another title and I know they’d talk about how they can’t believe how old they are because they would both be over a 100.

I am sure they would point out how strange it is to see us watch while occasionally checking our phones, updating statuses or responding to texts from friends/family about the game.

And I am certain they’d include a comment about their favorite grandson live blogging the moment.

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Since they aren’t here all I can do is make educated guesses about their comments and say it is as hard and as fun to watch my boys in blue play.

The series is tied but they easily could have been up 2-0.

The reasons why they aren’t are as cut-and-dried as saying they were outplayed but include the screwy and questionable plays that make sports amazing.

You know the kind that make fans of the winning team declare those destiny and the fans of the losers call cheating.

Memories

As the game progresses I make a point to look at the faces of my children and to enjoy their expressions.

Teens are jaded and some of the looks that cross their faces are harder to come by than they once were.

Sometimes I catch them looking at me and they laugh because they say I am way too serious and there may be some truth in that.

Twenty-nine years is a long time to wait and I didn’t realize how much I missed this until it started.

It turned the pilot light that never stopped burning into something big and bright.

So as we head into the top of the 8th I have to stop writing and focus solely upon my boys.

The baseball lords of superstition must be followed and I must go through the remaining rituals just in case they will help.