AS PREDICTED

For the record it is Halloween and it is snowing this morning.

GO ROCKIES!

Last night the Rockies lost to the Red Sox in game four of the World Series. They were swept. And I couldn't care less. Not because I wasn't watching every pitch with anticipation that the Rockies series was just about to turn around. No, I was a good fan, and believed in my team. But, the dream was not for them to be the best team in the world. For me, it was enough that they were finally the best team in Denver. After fifteen years, I like most faithful, had gone almost an entire season without going to a game because they were going to lose. The point of the games were to go and enjoy being at a baseball game. Summer nights under the lights, consuming beers and brats, critiquing other fans' cheers, being with friends and family. And I'll tell you what, when they actually started winning, that was just a bonus. I was reawakened to a love my father cultivated in me, and that is baseball. It started when I was seven years old and sat in the dugout with the rest of my dad's softball team cast with seriously shady characters learning how to keep book. That E6 meant that my dad had really messed up the play, and he never did that. So to sit next to my father as the Rockies won the National League pennant, those young, inexperienced underdogs--that was a pleasure. So the Rockies didn't win the World Series, and P.S. they got swept in the World Series. It was ugly. But they were there, and for a few games so was I, with my dad, my husband, my sister, my step mom and stepsisters and brother-in-law. That is not losing.