Why I Miss Bill Clinton (and other thoughts):

Two things I have come to appreciate in seven years of marriage: jazz and baseball. Cubs baseball, to be exact. Nearly a month ago, our little family ventured to Chicago to take in an historic afternoon at Wrigley Field: the Cubs vs. the Red Sox for the first time since 1918 when the Sox beat the Cubs in six games at the World Series. Any day at Wrigley, especially when the sun is shining and the stands are full, is a good day - even when the Cubbies (godforbid) falter.

As one might imagine, the energy in the stands behind the matchup was hot, as was the temperature (fortunately, our seats were under the upperdeck but not behind a huge pole). Early on, the multitude of Red Sox fans who had invaded the Friendly Confines erupted in a chant of their team's name, only to be booed by thousands of Cubs' loyals (ourselves included).

What might have been a fierce battle turned into an all-out routing by the Cubs to beat the Sox by a good measure. I was prepared for fighting and gnashing of teeth, especially given the typical amount of beer imbibed during any given baseball game, much less such an historic encounter.

Instead, a rare moment of unity swept across the dividing lines of hostility. As we, along with thousands of others, slowly emptied the stands, a new chant emerged from the swarming mass of sweaty, drunken humanity:

"YANKEES SUCK! YANKEES SUCK! YANKEES SUCK!"

Now, who can resist that refrain? It's good to know that, in times like this, in such a fractured and hostile world (case in point), humankind can still find ways to "join hands and sing." As Annie Savoy put it so well, "I believe in the church of baseball."