I left Cardinal country and flew back to the Northwest.
I emptied my schedule, and turned to baseball.
For my grandfather had died.
I had gone home, but now I was back.
I thought ballgames would bring me comfort.
I might watch and relax, might think and remember.
I watched, all right.
But nothing seemed to fit.
And winning didn’t inspire me, and losing didn’t faze me.
And I wanted both, so I switched games again and again.
Perhaps a change would help.
I found the Astros and Rangers.
And then I saw the announcer as his name flashed across the screen.
His name was Grieve.
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