Last weekend I went back to Cleveland to play golf with my oldest friends on the planet, the guys I grew up with in our old neighborhood straddling the border between Cleveland Heights and South Euclid. The trip was planned solely on our availability to get together for 18 holes, and it was a happy coincidence that the Indians were in town.
My younger son and I rolled into to my brother’s place late Saturday afternoon, affording us enough time to head downtown to Progressive (nee Jacobs) Field and catch the Tribe against the Twins. This was only my second visit to the “new” stadium, a few blocks inland on East 9th Street from the old Municipal Stadium where I saw scores of games years ago. Progressive Field afforded us a fine angle to the diamond from our perch on the top deck off home plate and just up the first base line.
I got to spend time with my son, had a hotdog with the great mustard from the old stadium, The Indians won, and there were fireworks after the game.
The experience — right down to the post-game parking lot jam — stirred up a lot of fond memories and stoked the fire in this fan’s unceasing hope for a Cleveland championship one of these years. As I write this post, I’m wearing my Grady Sizemore T-shirt. I bought it along with one for my granddaughter a couple of years back.
She turns four this summer, and if the Tribe can’t win it all in my lifetime, may it happen in hers. I pray, dear God, I pray.