Genesis of a Love Affair

Recent estimates indicate that there are presently 8 million bloggers or so. Today, make that 8,000,001.
That should keep me sufficiently humble enough in all future offerings.
The summer of 1970 is rife with conflict politically, socially and culturally. And yet, a ray of optimism is born in the heart of one 12 year-old-boy. For that is when I become a Cubs’ fan.
A local TV station issues a contest. Three lucky lads are to have the opportunity of a lifetime. They will receive a uniform, travel by limo to Chicago, see a game, receive the honor of being “honorary bat-boy” (with no actual duties) and the best yet, be ushered onto the playing field during batting practice and meet real life ballplayers. All we have to do is write in 25 words or less why we want to win and then our vignettes will be judged by a panel from the TV station.
I decide the sympathy route is the way to go. “Even though I’m 4’ 5” and 12 years old, I want to prove to the opponent that I can do something and am not helpless.”
Finally, my lack of stature pays off. I win!
I’ll never forget walking into Wrigley for the very first time and taking it all in; the scoreboard, the ivy, the field.
And then my eye catches that little brick wall winding around the perimeter of the first and third base lines. Dozens of kids huddle in a mass of hope and anticipation, screaming in a cacophony of pleadings, “Ernie, come here! Ronny, sign my program! Hey, Billy!!”
I will never forget the feeling when the usher openes the door in that wall and I stroll through out towards home plate. I turn and smile at the throng of dismayed wannabes.
The first man I meet is Don Kessinger, then Glenn Beckert and finally Jim Hickman. All gracious gentlemen, it is more than one boy can take in.
But I do not get to meet Ernie or Billy that year. Randy, either. There is but one recourse; enter next year’s contest, which I do (with a different little ditty) and lo and behold, I win again!! As a matter of fact, I keep entering and keep winning. In total, I get to go to three games and eventually meet Banks, Williams and Hundley, among others. for some reason I never get to meet Ron Santo and of course pitchers do not take bp Barney, the club photographer, gets it all on film for posterity.



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Life, as they say, is very good.