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And how should I begin?

It’s the start of a new season, and I’ll save you all the platitudes about a fresh start and new beginnings and crocuses pushing up through slushy soil. I am once again going to give this thing a go.

A few years ago, I was visiting some friends in Chicago. My friend works for a big Internet company and I told him I sporadically kept a blog about the Brewers.

“Why did you stop posting?” he asked me.
“Well, honestly it fell off once their season fell apart. It’s hard to find something to say about constant disappointment. And it also seemed like a baseball blog was something a 26-year-old guy, who was feeling a little lost, would do.”

I didn’t don’t want to be that guy. But here we are, a few years on, and I still feel a little lost. So I might as well enjoy the wandering.

So, here we go! Here’s to a hot 162 — comin’ at ya.

Worms in the Mini-Apple

A small band of brothers made a flat out burn up to Minneapolis last Sunday for the finale of the Brewers-Twins series. That band was us. This is the story.

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We had seen the the resurrection of the old I-94 rivalry in our home ballpark, and it was rowdy. Now it was time to see it in that pantheon of public works, Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome.

We stopped in Eau Claire for some libations and then had the first of our “first” experiences on the trip — Sonic Burger. There is a brand new Sonic on Miller Park Way, but anyone who has gone past it since it has opened has told me it is completely mobbed, with a line for the drive-in spots, from open to close. Sonic has been a fast food holy grail for years thanks to the chain’s diabolical strategy of heavy ad buys in areas which don’t yet have a store.

There was also this exchange on a recent episode of “This American Life.”

Our exchange ordering some food was just as funny, and way more discombobulated.

Me: We’ll have a number six and…

Posh: Get me something.

Me: A small Oreo frosty… shake… what are they called? Blasts?

Sonic Man: Do you want the Oreo Blast as part of the meal?

Me: No. Nic, what kind of soda do you want? Pick a flavor.

Nic: Soda? Uh… what kind do they have? I want the Oreo Blast.

Me: And… A JUMBO POPCORN CHICKEN!

To our amazement, the Sonic Man recited exactly what we wanted, but couldn’t quite articulate.

Nic: Wow. He’s bringing his A-game.

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We arrived at P-House’s, uh, house, and slammed some homemade mojitos before heading down to the Mighty Mississippi to bask in the beautiful day and flaunt our Brewers T-shirts. It was there we had our second “first”-type experience, seeing a dead body. OMG, you guys, I saw a dead body!

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We had walked out onto the Stone Arch Bridge, then doubled back and were checking out the view from the Guthrie Theater when we saw it — a gross, bloated floating corpse in the pool under the St. Anthony Lock. It’s a sad story, and a distant metaphor for the Brewers chances at avoiding a sweep at the hands of the Twins that night. But we could help throwing in a “The Departed” quote.

Collin Sullivan: “I saw a dead guy. I think I’m having post traumatic stress. Can I meet you for lunch?”

Brewers fans were well-represented in the Humpdome, especially in the general admission seats, which is where we sat. There was little to get enthused about. minn-3

Joe Mauer crushed an opposite-field homer off Dave Bush before we even made it to our seats, so the Crew was playing from behind. 

Braun got a hit in the fourth and we thought we had something going, but Prince grounded in a double play. Then Mike Cameron came up to bat.

I remember thinking, “Hey, Mike Cameron. He can hit home runs, too.” And then we saw something that was not a “first” of any kind. It was actually the 250th time it has happened. Cameron took a ball over the left field… wall, I guess. The thing looks like a tarp. Anyway, Cam’ron knocked one over it, making him one of only 20 players EVER to hit 250 homers and steal 250 bases. 

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So we’re in good shape, tie game. It’s not even that big of a deal when Bush gives up another homer, this time a 2-run job from Joe Crede. But then he walks a guy, and gives up a single, so the Crew brings in Mitch Stetter. Who hits (or didn’t really hit at all) Mauer with a pitch, to load the bases. 

 

At this point in the story, I’ll introduce you to the Twins fans who were sitting directly in front of us. They were probably younger than us, and definitely enthusiastic about their team. There were three dudes in Twins gear, and one girl, who Posh said had a common cosmetic surgery, clad mostly in pink. 

I returned from getting a beer, and one of my brothers pointed to me and said, “Hey, you should talk to this guy about being a fan of the Wisconsin Badgers.” I explained that I did go to school in Madison and my friends and relatives are quite sick of hearing about it. 

Me: So you guys like the Badgers?

Twins fan #1: No way, man. 

Me: Oh, so you back the U (of M… innesota). 

Twins fan #1: Naw, man. I’m for the Buckeyes, all the way.

I was very surprised how graciously I handled the bilious rage bubbling up inside me.

Now the umpire has shooed Ken Macha away for arguing that Mauer was not really hit by the pitch, one of the guys, in a pinstriped home Mauer jersey, and a white bandana tied in a headband style, corralling perfectly short, shellacked spikes of hair, stood up and started whipping his index finger around to indicate he believed Justin Morneau was about to hit a grand slam. 

minn-6Here is Morneau stepping to the plate. 

I turned to Posh and said, “It appears this chap believes Justin Morneau will hit a grand slam home run.”

Which is exactly what, on the very next pitch, Morneau did. 

 

There was much rejoicing in Twinkie Town. The Humpdome was rocking, and the Brewers were now losing 6-1. The bandana’d boy, turned to me and demanded a high-five. 

Me: All right… All right… Settle down. 

Twins fan #2: You know, I have to say, you Brewers fans are good sports. I mean, you’ve been losing like a bunch of losers all weekend, but you’ve been good sports about it. 

Me: Well, we have some experience with obnoxious visiting fans. 

Twins fan #2: Oh, tell me about it. The Boston fans, and the New York fans, they’re the worst.

Me: Are there a lot of Red Sox or Yankees fans who come here to the Metrodome?

Twins fan #2: No. But if you go to a ballgame in New York or Boston and you’re wearing the other team’s gear, they tear you apart, man.

Me: So you’ve been to a Twins game at like, Fenway and Yankee Stadium?

Twins fan #2: No… You know, but I’ve heard

Yeah, man. I know. I’ve heard. 

But the thing about Brewers fans on the road, is they are only gracious to a point. And that point is usually sometime around the Ninth Inning, when, after a weekend of their team getting it handed to them by an old-time rival, on the brink of another solid smackaround on national television, they get to see a 2-run home run by their most bombastic, swaggeristic player, Prince Field. 

And so these upstart Twins fans are suddenly reminded that few runs are safe against this Milwaukee team, and after enjoying a cushy lead for much of the game, they are suddenly a few hits away from blowing it. All the end result of this was the Twins brought in their closer to strikeout Cameron and Corey Hart to secure the win — but it did give us one more thing to holler about. 

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The Metrodome’s roof is made of a fiberglass fabric and is helped kept in place by air pressure. Because of this unique indoor atmospheric condition, we were literally thrown — almost DJ Jazzy style — out of the building. 

We filed out into the Navy Blue-and-Red flavored crush of Minnesota fans.  minn-7

We circled around the stadium and caught a glimpse of the Brewers buses, and the spread of food that was laid out to fortify the caravan for the late night ride to Milwaukee. 

We had to hurry off, because we had to make our 11:30 dinner reservations at Chino Latino, and then, the next morning, the five-hour drive to Milwaukee in time for the Memorial Day matinee at Miller Park.

Hot Dog wins!

The Hot Dog started the season by completely dominating the competition in the sausage race. Recently, however, the Bratwurst has made strides to nearly erase the deficit. I think it’s because the Hot Dog is partying too much.

“This is why Milwaukee wins at life and against the Cubs.”

Leaves are falling all around

Forgetting about the downsides, the final game of the Milwaukee Brewers 2008 season was spectacular. I’ve slowly been sorting and compartmentalizing all the sensory information of that day, as I watch some fairly interesting League Championship Series. 

In retrospect, the boys lived up exactly to their expectations. Most reasonable observers would have conceded in March that the Cubs would finish with the better team record, but that the Brewers would make the playoffs. Speaking from personal experience, that can be very, very frustrating.

 

There’s nothing worse than a young guy than hearing all about how you have so much talent and potential, and if you could have just worked harder or figured it out a little sooner, you could be so much more than you are.

After Sheets couldn’t beat the Cubs on the final weekend of the regular season, Posh said the television reporters were saying the Brewers might not make the playoffs. This drew an emphatic, irrational response.

“What do you mean, they’re not going to make it?!” I shrieked. “Listen, I know it doesn’t make sense, and it’s completely irrational, but my sense of self is tied very closely to this baseball team! If they don’t make the playoffs — that means I’m a loser! For life! Whatever I do, it won’t matter — I’ll be a loser!”

There is something to be said for living up to expectations, however: it’s sure better than failing to reach them.

As sure as I was the Brewers would make it to the playoffs, and win at least one game while there, I was not sure they would be able to win that Sunday. That sinking, uncertain feeling certainly didn’t get quieter when Suppan allowed a lead-off home run. There were a few signs of life, and pending elimination was definitely not on our minds as Prince Field crushed a home run — ahem, dingers — but don’t know if there were many true believers. 

In the 8th inning, my parents came down from their seats on the Terrace Level to join us near the right field foul pole. My mom called for us to get together for some posed pictures. 

I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew — when mom starts lining you up for photos, the party’s over. 

 

I didn’t talk as much as usual for the rest of the night. I was in pain. Heartache. But there were some quality exchanges. For example, on the escalator leaving the game

Posh: “April isn’t that far away. I’m thinking about getting a 20-pack of tickets. Who’s down?”

Hiking back up the hill to my apartment one last time, I announced I was officially a Dodgers fan for the rest of the year.

“Manny? Joe Torre? How can you go wrong?”

Posh and I had an earlier conversation, possibly regarding my feelings following the New York football Giants beating the Packers in last year’s NFC Championship game, about what becomes of the team that beat yours. 

“Don’t you want them to win, so you can say you were beaten by the best?”

“Who cares if they’re the best? We were beaten.”

“So you want them to lose? Why?”

“Yeah. Because — fuck them.”

Fuck Shane Victorino and fuck Brett Myers and fuck Davy Lopes, and yes, fuck Geoff Jenkins. I will not disparage Charlie Manuel’s dead mother, but mostly because Joe Torre told me not to. I’ll be residing in that pleasant alternate reality, Mannywood, until I’m forced to do otherwise. Depending on the World Series match-up, I may reverse this decision, but until then, Phuck the Phillies. 

My buddy Sam, a bartender at Maxie’s, is on board.

“I just realized if you follow the ‘A-Rod’ nickname rubric, Manny’s nickname is ‘Man-Ram.’”

I pointed out to Sam that Manny has the most home runs of anyone — ever — in the playoffs. He promptly hit a 3-run home run. Posh text’d me: 

“He’s playing like a kid playing ball in the backyard and he knows he’s the best kid.” About Manny. I think I might be a Dodgers fan.

So we’ll see how that goes. In the meantime, he’s a look at the last game in the Convertible Confines for this year, the Thunderstix, and Nic “The Dude” waving his “We Believe” sign like a wild man. 

I’m much obliged, for such a pleasant stay

 

I got what I wanted — to see a baseball game my hometown in October. And when I got there, I wanted more.

Saturday was nothing short of glorious. That cool autumn sun turns everything golden — the leaves, my spirits. I know you’re probably accustomed to me likening things to Jay-Z lyrics, but when things get really heavy, I turn to the classics. I walked down to the Giants 1,2,3 lot with Posh and her friend, The Biggest. We ran into old friends with ease. Everyone had that warm, excited, contented vibe about them, the kind you get after you successfully build a roaring campfire. The Brewers were going to win, we just knew it. 

But we were not going to the game. My seats were for the NLDS Home Game 2 — Sunday, a game which might have never been played.

“Yeah, when I bought my tickets, I bought them for Sunday,” I told my friends. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I’ll tell you what I was thinking, at the time. I was thinking I would get to see the Crew clinch the division series, at home, at Miller Park. And with a few breaks, and a few more quality performances, we could have seen it. I left the parking lot and walked back up the hill to my apartment just as the television blimp was hovering into sight over the Convertible Confines, with no guarantee there would be a reason to go back the next day. 

But I was sure — the boys were not going to be swept. 

I paced throughout a bartending shift in which I did little but watch the game. I don’t think I’ll ever forget Corey Hart dropping the ball after embellishing an amazing wall-banging catch with a somersault. And if the team retains Dale Sveum as its manager next year, there can be no underestimating the importance of his calmly stating the correct rule on Shane Victornio’s body slam interference on Craig Counsell. He just shrugged on out there… “The rule is that guy, he has to go back over there,” he seemed to say. So they gutted out a win. Chicago, for the second straight year, did not. 

Posh even had a joke for the occasion:

“What’s the difference between the beer at Miller Park and the beer at Wrigley Field? … They’ll still be selling beer at Miller Park tomorrow.”

The sun was not shining when we walked in on Sunday. I brought Posh, my brother and my parents. We were cautiously optimistic, but there was a sense of dumb desperation in the air. The people in the bloody mary line were bitching about how long it was taking, how expensive the drinks were, commenting on the drink lady’s wrist brace. WTF? Is this the first time you’ve been in this line? That lady is a saint, and she crafts a quality cocktail, and she’s administered several dozen to Posh and I this summer, so why don’t you go find your seats, OK?

A very nice family who let us stand by them at the right field cocktail tables (they waited in line starting at 8 a.m. and sprinted to reserve the spot) confirmed it.

“The crowd last night was electric. This is different,” she said, pointing to passersby. “There’s a lot of non-fans here. Look at that guy. He’s not a fan. She’s not a fan. Not a fan. Not a fan.”

There was also a scrum to grab the fan give-away, Thunderstix. As a fan, I’ve never seen these before and I admit I was intriqued. 

Thunderstix — To make noice, bang together lengthwise 

It was a fun gimmick, but I am convinced it handicapped the crowd. People would just bang the things, which were loud, but not that loud. It helped sustain the cacophony, but it took the edge off.

At a certain point, I handed them off. I wanted to clap and cheer and scream and yell. That’s how it’s done — with your teeth and nails and not some confounding clapping balloon. 

Still, there were some fun moments. 

And if you don’t mind, I’ll stretch out in telling them. Because really, what else is there to do for the next five months?


Who do you love?

Manager Dale Sveum has announced his roster for the NLDS. Here’s who we’ve talked about before:

RHP Dave Bush

RHP Eric Gagne

RHP Yovani Gallado

RHP Seth McClung

RHP Guillermo Mota

LHP Manny Parra

LHP CC Sabathia

LHP Brian Shouse

LHP Mitch Stetter

RHP Jeff Suppan

RHP Salomon Torres

RHP Carlos Villanueva

C Jason Kendall

C Mike Rivera

INF Craig Counsell

2B Ray Durham

1B Prince Fielder

3B Bill Hall

SS J.J. Hardy

INF/OF Brad Nelson

2B Rickie Weeks

LF Ryan Braun

CF Mike Cameron

OF Tony Gwynn Jr.

RF Corey Hart

Along for the ride:

RHP Ben Sheets
OF Gabe Kapler
3B Russell Branyan
RHP David Riske
INF/OF Joe Dillon
C Vinny Rottino

Bench coach Robin Yount

No longer with us: Claudio Vargas, Ned Yost, Chris Capuano

And we’ll be going up against former Brewer, Geoff Jenkins.

Today was gonna be the day

Were there moments of doubt? Oh, you betcha. Specifically, on Saturday morning, I heard “Wonderwall” by Oasis in the car. You know, the song the PA at Miller Park plays when grounds crew comes out to rake up after the Brewers lose.

“Oh Christ, not that fucking song again!”

I switched the station and – I am not making this up – guess what song came on? I put on my Ben Sheets jersey t-shirt even though I knew he was starting for the first time in 10 days and had previously said he might be done for the season. Posh Tosh and I were walking down to the game when I made a derisive comment about a chick in a car with Ohio license plates.

“Why do you hate on all the other Midwestern states so much?” she asked. “You can’t stand Ohio… Michigan…”

“You forgot Iowa, Illinois and Indiana,” I said. “Just… just… nevermind.”

 

We got into the game and discovered… that the Crew was already losing 0-2. Although it was a warm day, the roof was closed for some reason – perhaps because, “Sheets likes it hot – he’s from Louisiana” ? – and it was making us rather uncomfortable, crammed into the cheap seats surrounded by Cubs fans, smelling like they just left the stockyards of Chicago, to be sure. When Sheets gave up a hit that scored two more runs, the crowd roared.

“What’s going on?” Posh scowled. “Why are they cheering?”

“Because,” I muttered. “They’re all Cubs fans. Everywhere.”

“What are they doing here?” she demanded. “Where are the Brewers fans?”

“They sold us out.”

You should have seen her face. It was sort of like this. With the Brewers losing 0-4, were treated to three innings of no-hit ball by Dave Bush. This was day, Sept. 27, 2008, when we wished Dave Bush had started instead of Ben Sheets.

Then Manny Parra began pitching – remember him? At this point, the 7th inning, the Brewers still had not recorded a hit. We walked down to the second level and found a spot to stand, with some cheese fries and a pretzel.

 

But then, through a series of unlikely events, the Brewers got a little rally going. Branyan took a walk, and Alcides Escobar ran for him. Mike Cameron got a single (that photo is actually of him walking earlier against Lilly), and Craig Counsell hit a sac fly to score Escobar.

For the first time all day, the Cubs fans were silent and the Brewers fans had reclaimed their own stadium.

 

Neal Cotts came in to pitch for the Cubs and promptly hit Ryan Braun in the back with one of his garbage pitches. The bases were loaded. Princey singled in another run. The bases were loaded again. But then the Cubs brought in Michael Wuertz – “he’s just the wuertz” – who got J.J. Hardy to hit a grounder which was used to get the force out at home, and Corey Hart to hit a grounder for the force out at second.

In the top of the 9th, the Brewers brought in their closer Salomón Torres - and really, why not? Down 3-4, the Brewers could win with some late inning heroics and keep their one-game lead over the Mets in the Wild Card chase. But the bullpen blew up, and the Cubs took a 7-3 lead.

We sat leaning on a railing watching the Brewers go out quietly, 1-2-3, to end the game. Blearly-eyed, short on sleep and long on drink, Posh and I left the park as a cavalcade of Cubs fans oinked their way to the escalators.

“Now do you understand?”

“Yes. Those people are awful.

They played “Wonderwall” again. But despite the loss, and the fact the Brewers were now even with the Mets, the song sounded like it had a little more swagger, a brazen air of defiance. Yes, it sounded like Jay-Z.

“So they said you guys ain’t want me to be here tonight?”

We had, at least, one more day.

Wake me up when September ends…

So there has been a lapse. In the meantime, the Crew should have won three games against the Cubs – but they only won one. Oh yeah, and Ned Yost was fired. I had an entire conversation with Posh in which I didn’t mention the status of the team, which is highly unusual. She text’d me:

Omg babe you didn’t fill me in on the Yosty thing last night! No brewer update… are you feeling okay?

Am I feeling OK? Am I feeling OK? No, I’m not feeling OK – I am FREAKING OUT!!! The team fired their manager, when they’re tied for the Wild Card with 12 games to go. I have no idea what the fuck is going on. All I know is C.C. is pitching tomorrow, and everything will be fine.

Oh wait.

Continue reading

Can’t Knock the Hustle

This morning, the perfect song to describe where we now find ourselves bounced into my head. Not surprisingly, it was Jay-Z, baby. jay-z

I’m makin’ short term goals, when the weather folds
Just put away the leathers and put ice on the gold
Chilly with enough bail money to free a big Willy
High stakes, I got more at stake than Philly

Let’s take a look at that:

  1. The Brewers need to make “short term goals, when the weather folds,” i.e. in September, going 1-0 on the day and not worrying about tomorrow until the day after today.
  2. Instead of putting “ice on the gold,” Brewers fans are more likely to “put the gold on ice.” Goldschläger, that is. Swiss cinnamon schnapps. Try saying that three times fast. Better yet, take three shots and try saying that at all.
  3. Thanks to Mark Attanasio and increased ticket and apparel sales, the Brewers have a “enough bail money to free a big Willy” — or at least to sign a free agent.
  4. “High stakes, I got more at stake than Philly.” Fuck yes, you have more at stake than Philly. They’ve been to the playoffs — you haven’t. Their team went last year, yours hasn’t in 26 years. We’re talking about a lifetime here. We’re talking about my lifetime.

Although I want all of Brewers Nation bouncing to this track and drawing inspiration from it, it’s worth noting that it does appear on the album “Reasonable Doubt.”

The Other J.J. is headed to the Bankpark tonight and tomorrow to see if the Crew can get out of Philly with a split. That would be super. He also just mentioned Nas is playing Temple’s homecoming.

Hell yeah, North Philly

Legends of the Fall

I went to the game last night with my 81-year-old Grandpa. He has had several strokes over the years, so he talks in a craggy, staccato pronouncements. He still speaks much better than Kirk Douglas or Col. William Ludlow, the Anthony Hopkins character in “Legends of the Fall.” Also, P-House told me that lately G-Pops has developed an admiration for Obama.

Col. Ludlow: “Screw’m! Screw’m all! Screw the gov’m’nt!”

The game started well enough. Suppan got three Reds to ground out. The Brewers came to bat and got a walk and a balk, before two Reds collided on an infield fly, dropping J.J. Hardy’s popup. Prince singled in a run, but then they left the bases loaded.

Then absolutely nothing happened for the next very long seven innings. We went to get a bite to eat — Grandpa recommended the Polish sausage. Nothing else happened, except of course, for the Reds to hang up four runs on Suppan. Second half pitcher, my ass. Villanueva came in to replace Suppan.

“This is my one of my favorite guys,” I told my grandpa. “He’s younger than me.”
“Wow, you are old,” G-Pa joked.

Bill Hall made a diving catch of a line drive, and the runner on first took off and was standing on second before Hall could pick himself off the ground. Hall stood up, but then he seemed to start his trot into the dugout. A couple of Brewers started walking in as well, until they saw Hall did not seem to know his catch was only the second out, not the third. Prince was standing on first base waving his arms for the ball to make the force out. Baseball for Dummies, Part 1: Know how many outs there are. Anyway, the power of the Brewers lineup was up to bat, starting with Ryan Braun.

“Braun, he’s due,” G-Pa said.

He’s more than due. He’s past due. He’s overdue. Braun has hit around .250 in the last 10 games, but yesterday his average for the year dipped below .300, and that’s more conspicuous when the Brewers lose. Ryan Braun struck out. In the next inning, Ray Durham came up to pinch hit with two men on base.

“Let’s go, now!” G-Pa shouted.

Let me pause and give you a little background on Ray Durham. He’s a solid veteran player, and he plays Rickie Weeks’ position. You’re gonna love him. That’s about all you need to know. Here P-House talking about when the Brewers traded the Giants for him, while they were in San Francisco, conveniently:

The story goes that the Crew and the Giants settled on the deal but weren’t going to announce the trade until after that Sunday’s game. But, during the game, Durham and his San Fran teammates pretty much know what was up. So Durham, who wasn’t starting that day, sat in the dugout for the first three innings. But finally…

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” said Durham. “Guys were looking at me, like, ‘What are you doing here?’”

So Durham left and spent the rest of the game in the clubhouse. After the game, Ray-Ray went over to the Brewers clubhouse, and there waiting for him was the owner of the Brewers, Mark Attanasio.

“Hi, I’m Mark Attanasio, the owner of the Brewers. We’re glad to have you.”

The following conversation was undocumented, but based off of that introduction, I imagined the conversation to be like Hank Scorpio on the Simpsons.

Ray Durham hit a three-run homer to right field. The remains of 30,312 fans in attendance jumped to their feet and stayed there until Ray-Ray hopped back to the top of the dugout stairs and doffed his batting helmet.

G-Pa and I are still pretending to be grown-ups, so we left after the Brewers failed to score in the bottom of the ninth. I was worried he was getting tired — we had just sat watching intensely for four hours — and he was concerned I was getting cold feet in my flip-flops. We could still hear the crowds as we walked through the very cool night to my car in the preferred parking section, and we listened to the radio call as we cruised back to his house. G-Mother was waiting up for us at their house and we watched the end of the game on television.

These are nights I know well and enjoy — this time of year, coming inside with rosy cheeks and brisk breath, staying up too late, with your elders, who are also up past their bedtime, but for a very exciting reason. These are nights in which your school wins the homecoming game, or your buddy comes home from war, and everything you do makes a burnt-orange ripple in spacetime.

But the best part of these crisp, phantasmagoric September nights is the promise that there are still a few days of sunshine yet to come, and a few more nights of madness.

Post Script

Here are some other “Legends of the Fall” quotes, applied to baseball season!

Samuel: “Still hung over?”
Tristan: “Still drunk!”

Col. Ludlow: “Don’t talk at me, boy, as if I’ve never seen a war!

Susannah: “Forever turned out to be too long (for Cubs fans).”