Pure Hope

post Game 7 Notes...

   I started this thread with babies, and circumstance has forced me to end with the elderly. After last night's game 7 whupping of the Legion of Doom, I finally took poor Sloppy Dog for a much overdue walk.

   Monponsett is the kind of town where a small woman can walk around safely after midnight, especially if she carries Mace...for coyote, of course.

   Sloppy, who is a lovable border collie, had patiently waited for her walk, and she was dogging it up, sniffing, marking territory, chasing cats, and running up on people. She and I walked by several houses with 20 cars parked outside of them, as we eventually made it to the more woodsy part of Monponsett.

  Monponsett- stuck in the middle of the Great Cedar Swamp and the Twin Lakes- is a strange place to hear 1 AM screams. I'd be in the woods, and a breeze was ruffling the trees. When the breeze stopped, one could hear the sound of distant celebration. I was overjoyed, and the night had an almost surreal air about it. I would imagine that V-E day had a similar sound to it around these parts.

   At the end of the street, I walked by Mr. Valjean. He isn't a Jean, but he was happy to see another Frog move to the neighborhood. I see him on a lot of my Sloppy walks, usually as he is sitting on his porch, listening to the Sox game on the radio.

   Mr. Valjean is, by conservative estimate, 170 years old. He calls me "The Schoolmarm," and I called him "Sir," until he said to call him "Henry," after which I called him "Mr. Valjean." He is one of those old charmers, and I usually see him 3-5 times a week, depending on which street Sloppy pulls me up. The same routine every time, too:

"Heyyyy...it's the Schoolmarm"

"Hello, Mr. Valjean....how's the game going?"

"Whipping them, hon....absoultely whipping them."

   One time, I came to their house to thank them for a cake they sent by when I had Melissa(I have 2 kids, a dog, a live-in sister and a 270 pound husband who all benefit greatly from having a French person run their collective kitchen...and the household suffers if I am unable to cook... my sister is completely American, and hasn't really taken to cooking yet- my husband refers to the 3 days I was in the hospital as "The Starving Time"). After talking about the game, I told him I was looking for Mrs. Valjean.

"Funny...I'm doing exactly the opposite."

   Anywho....last night Mr. Valjean was sitting on his porch as I strolled by. I knew he'd be up- even though it was nearing 1 AM. I wasn't surprised to see him on the porch, drinking a beer. He greeted me loudly, and I responded with a primal scream of my own. Eventually, I made it to the central question:

"How good was that?"

"I'll tell you, dear....I'm not as young as I look. I was a child when they won it in 1918. I truly felt that we'd never break that damned Curse, and I'm glad I lived to see us humble those ******** Yankees."

" Sir...did you ever stop believing?"

"Hell no,dear....I was a POW in France. I'd get a bowl of stew a day. I was there for a while. General Patton's 3rd Army liberated us. As they took the town, the Germans were killing prisoners. They stopped the job before they got to me, of course."

   I just stared. I'm smart enough to let old people roll with their stories. I took the beer he offered me, and kept listening:

"When Patton reviewed the camp, I actually had a chance to speak to him. I thanked him, and he took my hand and thanked me. I asked why, and he said 'for never giving up hope.' You know what I told him?"

"No, Sir"

"I said 'Hope? I can only hope you have an extra rifle- I have a year's worth of Nazi ass to kick.' Patton smiled, which was strange enough. He was dead a short time later, and I like to think that I gave him alaugh on a day that was probably most unpleasant for him."

"Anyway...waiting for Patton when the Germans are shooting my fellow prisoners- that's hope, Stacey. Waiting for your baseball team to break a Curse is merely like waiting for a bus after that."

"I guess it would be, Sir."

"God damned right. But I'll tell you....after being liberated, this is a close second."

   Sloppy and I walked home afterwards. It was pushing 2 AM. Mr Valjean may not be long for this earth, but I look good for 50 more years, or so. While Mr. Valjean's story about Patton had a bit of Commander McBragg to it, I will never forget the look on his face as we spoke. He wouldn't admit it, but I could tell he may have been holding out on just how relieved he was with this Sox victory.

   After all he's seen in his 170 years of life, his mind was blown by what happened in Hell's Kitchen last night. I don't know if that speaks to how shallow our lives are- this man saw wars, men on the moon, 9/11, Patton, you name it- or if baseball truly does reach some part of us that never, ever loses hope.

   Down 3-0, facing the very Soul of Evil itself.... but in the end, 2 French-Americans of differing eras share a six pack over the Corpse of Curses Past. St. Louis or Houston is about to be hit with a Karma Sledgehammer, and the world itself may be heading towards a new era of positivity.

À la Victoire!!!!!!!!!

 

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