As someone who grew up, as I did, with names, familiar in my mouth as household words, Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marichal, Jesus Alou*, I should be pretty happy about last night's World Series win by the San Francisco Giants.
I am. Sort of.
I'm happy for my relatives who are in the Bay Area and care about the sports teams.
Other than that? I watched only the last inning, and that more by accident than design. So I can't say I was really invested.
But in the lead up, through the series, of course I heard stuff on the news. And around here, maybe it's the Midwest thing, but the local news folks were definitely rooting for Kansas City. And the rooting felt like there were subtle digs not at the Giants, but at San Francisco, the city, the people, and the whole Bay Area. And as much as anyone around me has noticed or mentioned the game (except my relatives on effbee), that's been the general undertone, often. (Not always, but in a sort of undertone way.)
Winter is coming on, and with all this, I'm feeling very dislocated. I'm not getting outside enough, just going to work in the near dark (already) and coming home just before dark most days, and I'm feeling the cold in the way we do in the fall, when 40 feels so much colder than it does in the spring. Work is overwhelming, but I need to find a way to make time to get outside at least a little, and to be warm while outside. And my yard, my yard needs so much cleanup right now.
* I remember pretty distinctly the first time I learned to read Jesus Alou's first name. I guess in my little kid way, learning to read in a monolingual English speaking household, I'd thought his name would look like "Haysoos" or something, something totally separate from the word "Jesus" I'd seen in church stuff.
It probably says something about my parents that they were totally okay with me wanting to grow up to be Willie McCovey when we played streetball on our street and I always wanted to play first base.