the world series

 I have to admit that I have never experienced wedded bliss.  But I live in a big city and many of the people I come across are married and I have to say that I have never heard any talk of, or seen any evidence, that their marriages have been degraded or cheapened.  And Beagles says neither has his been, so I am at a loss that that the institution has been degraded or cheapened.

I guess it's just a case of a right that Beagles has that he doesn't want others who aren't like him to have.

But let's not begin the morning with one of those Uncle Ken/Beagles nitternatter conflicts, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Speaking of fury wasn't that a mighty storm last night, beginning sometime in the afternoon and continuing into this morning with its lightning-laced acme in the evening. thousands of furious wet fists pounding on my east-facing windows. 

Seems like a major weather event, and peeking about Cheboygan I see that they have the same strong northeast winds but without the rain.

Almost Halloween, almost time to turn our clocks back, and you know what else, the world series.

In the fall of 1970 I was doing my CO work in Herrin Illinois, mopping floors with my fellow janitors.  I was the goofy young hippie, and they were either guys who had not gotten too far climbing the corporate ladder or retired guys who still needed a little more money to scrape by.  I got along well enough with them, they didn't care much either way about that crazy Asian war, and we all got together and bitched about our boss, Sabrina.

She was on our case Man.  No floor was sparkling enough for her, no baseboard free enough of soap scum.  Sneak off the floor for a little break in the cool basement and there she was.

Man oh man.  Anyway it was this very time of year, fifty-one years ago, and a couple of us were mopping the waiting room where there were tvs and the tvs were showing The World Series.

The World Series.  We remembered it from our boyhoods, it was a big deal.  It took us back to our youths on the sandlot, far from parents or teachers or anybody to tell us what to do.  And our whole lives before us.  Who could have imagined we would one time be doing shit work at shit pay, and above us, like some fairy tale ogress, that damn Sabrina.

One of the guys put his mop back in the bucket, sat down in one of the easy chairs, leaned back and crossed his legs.  He was watching the fucking world series.  The guy next to him shrugged and sat down too, and then another guy, and then the word spread through the hospital via the janitor hot line.  We were going to watch the world series.  Were we not men?  Proud American men?  If we chose to take a little break and watch America's Pasttime, why who could deny us.  We chuckled among ourselves, the easy chuckle of Free Men.

But hark what was that sound, kind of a clacking, Heels!

And there was Sabrina breezing into the doorway and we were all gone justlikethat.