At the age of nine, I became a RABID Cubs fan*. My dream was to someday play center field for the Cubs. This, despite the fact that my father claims the first time he took me out to the back yard with a glove and ball, I threw the ball and it ended up BEHIND me. (He has told this story for years. I wish I could check it on Snopes.)
(*Yes, I am now a Mets fan. Don’t judge until you know someone’s story.)
That summer, I rarely missed seeing a game on WGN, Channel 9. (Jack Brickhouse: “Santo-Kessinger-Beckert-Banks, the infield third to first.”) I learned to keep score. I listened to the West Coast games under the bedcovers with the volume turned all the way down (no ear buds back then) on my Panasonic transistor radio (I had the cool-looking round one, remember it?).
When I told my brother about my dream of playing center field, he laughed.
“Girls can’t play in the major leagues,” he said.
I was stunned. In my ardent fandom, I had NEVER NOTICED that none of the ballplayers were women.
This year, the Cubs are going to the World Series. I could not be more thrilled.
And we’re going to elect the first woman POTUS.
Somehow, although it might make no sense to anyone else, the two events feel intimately connected to me.