Don’t Wait ‘Til Next Year

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New faces I see on the diamond,
Each year I go to Wrigley. I hear
Xylophone--no--organ music as Bill Murray
Tosses out the first pitch.

Yells come from all fans as Wayne Mesmer announces the lineup. No seat left
Empty, another sellout leading to another
Attendance breaking season. The old analog clock
Reads 1:15 and only five minutes ‘til game time.

I watch the grounds crew water the field as the
Sights of the historic ballpark yearn to be seen.

Hey Hey on the foul poles, and ivy
Engulfs the outfield walls. Flying flags pay
Respect to players of old,
Even the old scoreboard remains a sight for sore spring eyes.

From my seat the smell of hotdogs and peanuts wash
Over me. And the crowd joins Bill Murray in his
Rendition of the 7th inning stretch.

To my feet I stand,
Holding my breath for the final pitch ‘til Go Cubs Go blasts through my
Ears along with the rest of Wrigleyville.

Chicago is where I’ll be, in Wrigley Field, end of October, jumping
Up and down. I’ll be covered in spilled
Beer, screaming with the crowd. After too many years, will we surely
See a World Series on the north side…this year?





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