By Roger Wallenstein
It’s Sunday morning, and the sun is making a valiant effort to burn through the cloud cover. The thermometer already is registering in the mid-50s as I gaze from my balcony overlooking Lincoln Avenue. Finally spring is beginning to bloom, and the Sox are home to play the young and talented Houston Astros. Sunday parking is $10. Round-trip on the El is less than half. I possess a voucher that the team passed out at last season’s final home game that gets me an upper deck box seat for free.
I’m feeling good. Most other seasons, I’d be out the door. But I’m not going today. Call me a fair weather fan – which, I suppose, is literally true for this grandfather – or someone who is in need of a reminder of his allegiance to the team which I’ve always revered. But the heart of the matter is that I am wary of watching the opposition score four times in the first inning followed by three walks and a grand slam in the top of the second as the local bunch falls behind 8-0 before the first beer can be consumed. We all have choices. This would not top my list. Not even close.
Posted on April 23, 2018