Going all in, 97' cry like I'm 10 years old Mike Hargrove style for this.
How fervently did I hope the outcome of these games would wash away the persistently lingering taste that '97 left in my mouth?
That World Series coincided with one of the darkest, most oppressive periods in my family's life. That entire autumn had been an unending onslaught that seemed to be part of a world-wide wave of destruction and negativity. Within days of our personal horror story beginning, Princess Diana was killed in that horrific crash in Paris. Later that week, Mother Teresa died. Grace and compassion were being obliterated from the earth, privately and internationally.
And then, glory of glories, the lowly little Cleveland Indians had miraculously found themselves in the World Series. And they were winning games!
Something wonderful was unfolding! And then those final innings of game 7 happened.
I have echoes in my memory from that time of my daughter's voice. They are simple statements, but the sorrow and loss that resonate through them are unfathomable. "Diana died." And, when the game tied in the 9th, "I'm going to bed." Nothing special in those words, except for the despondent resignation to defeat that her tone conveyed.
There is no way to express how much it would have meant to see that team win on that October night...how much it would have meant to have
something go right in the world. Instead, it was just more of the same.
Thankfully, both our personal lives in this 2016 autumn are galactically better than we would have dared imagine back then.
But, that foul taste in my mouth? Yeah. Still shitty.