Bless You Boys...

No, no. Don't touch me.

Don't pinch. Don't shake me. Don't let me wake up.

Please. Please tell me Grandpa is having this same exact dream.

Please tell me that Dad, and Ben, and Kurt are too.

Tell me this so that I know how real it is.

Go ahead. Scold me for being too emotionally attached to a sports franchise.

Scoff at me for waiting since kindergarten for this moment.

But at least allow me to soak it in. Let me enjoy the feeling of champange stinging the eyes from thousands of miles away.

Those that know me best understand this isn't a bandwagon moment. My heart has been trampled on every summer for the last nineteen years. And still, every April, I kept coming back. Because that's what you do. That's how I was raised. We may not have been good, but it was still OUR team.

So forgive them for embracing the moment.

Forgive them for realizing that an entire city had agonized with them and deserved a bubbly shower.

Forgive them for acting like school children even though they didn't recieve a trophy.

Forgive them for not earning more than the gross national income of a third world country.

Forgive them for hoisting their leader on their shoulders out of respect, because he showed them respect in leading them.

It has been quite a journey boys. And while I will continue to cheer with passion, teach my daughter to say "Go Tigers! Rahr!", no matter what happens the rest of the way, I have to thank you boys. Thank you for this moment. Thank you for sharing with us.

Bless You Boys!