I’m a Cubs fan, so I’m for Houston to win tonight and take home the World Series championship—go STROS! — kenne
Baseball Before the Apocalypse
by Leah Mueller
Cluster of bodies, soap
bubbles at a Cubs game:
1983, our bicycles shackled
to poles outside, entwined in
a steel snare. To saw through
tempered metal would
give thieves the pick of several.
We smuggled imported
beer in white bottles, eight
bucks a pack, and salads
in sturdy plastic containers
from the Bread Shop.
Bleacher seats three dollars,
nicknamed the “Animal Section.”
No one at the entry gate
ever checked for weapons.
We were good to go, unless
bottles protruded from the
sides of our backpacks,
or we spilled marijuana
on the sidewalk by mistake
as we entered Wrigley Field.
A friend once said,
“If you were one of the lucky
people who got to change
the scoreboard by hand, you’d
be so cool by default.”
We drank beer, passed
joints, ate salads, and
when the game was over,
we took our trash…
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Becoming is Superior to Being 
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