When pigs fly.
When hell freezes over.
The twelfth of never.
Mr. Bartman forever pictured in our mind snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, or at least the glove of Moises Alou.
Having been tried and convicted of killing the Cubs' chances of emerging from almost a century in Hades, the thought of the devil receiving absolution from this team was about the same as the possibility of the Bronx Bombers getting a thank you note from the Beantown Boys for the charitable gift of taking the Bambino off their hands.
But I guess time, and Aroldis Chapman, heals all wounds. The curse of Bartman, and his stay in baseball purgatory, is now but ugly footnote.
Welcome home Stevie.
P.S. - I hear the Cleveland Indians have a call out to you.
1 comment:
Nice blog!
B
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