In
desperate times, even this Atheist becomes as
superstitious as a baseball player and seeks for
omens as to what's to come. I'm not much of a sports
fan, but I became engrossed in the race for the
American league pennant, root-root-rooting for the
Red Sox, because they were the underdogs, and because
they had gone eighty-six years without winning the
World Series, not since 1918. I looked to the Red Sox
for a "propitious" omen. If they could win,
maybe....
It was history in the making. Ms Keogh and I watched
as the Red Sox pitcher, Curt Schilling, performed in
the sixth game with a torn tendon, the camera
focusing on the blood seeping through his sock. The
Red Sox beat the Yankees to win the pennant and move
on to the World Series.
For weeks I have been suffering a profound anxiety,
fearful that the travesty will continue, that the
Bush Administration will be elected to office. I have
never been more frightened of a President. I don't
believe there has ever been a President in my life
who has done as much damage to my family, to my
country and its Constitution, and to the world. This
has been a devastation and four more years of this
present administration could mean a cataclysm. My
Soliloquy, coming when it does, a couple of days
before our national elections, is the product of a
mind obsessing about the near future and is hardly
capable of writing about anything else. You, reader,
will know the outcome.
For months the usurper President has been leading in
the polls, always by a small amount that even the
pollsters say falls inside the margin of error, but
so consistently does he "lead", so close is
the potential risk of his winning, that I find myself
sickened, psychosomatic ailments to be sure, but
unpleasant enough. So I sought augury by baseball,
eager for an auspicious World Series triumph of the
Red Sox.
It was the fourth game of the World Series with the
Red Sox having won the first three. It takes four out
of seven to win. I was snuggling with Ms Keogh in the
guest room, watching the game on our only television
set. While the game was underway, going into its
fifth inning with the Red Sox having three runs, I
stepped outside to admire the full moon. It was the
night of the eclipse. The moon was behind a quilt of
clouds, but so bright as to be clearly visible at the
center of a glowing aura. The eclipse had begun and
was well advanced.
Ten:fifteen and it was the seventh-inning stretch, so
we did. Ms Keogh and I disentangled ourselves and
rose from the guest room's chaise longue to step
outside and search for the moon. The clouds had
become thicker. Then, briefly, the moon appeared in
the cracks of the overcast. What little could be seen
of the moon was a reddish brown. The gap moved on and
the moon once more disappeared. We would not see the
moon again until the game was over.
Before heading back in, I heard the honking of geese.
I waited until they appeared overhead. The flock was
formed into a spearhead silhouetted against the faint
glow of the overcast.
It was during that eclipse that the Red Sox won the
World Series. After the game, I had to make a run to
the all night pharmacy. The moon had reappeared in a
night sky that was again clear. The earth's shadow
was withdrawing from its face. My drive was through
the residential streets of Levittown. The route
brought me to one of the main thoroughfares that
crisscross Levittown and where I was to turn right.
Across from me was the driveway leading up to the
portals of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, a church with
three golden domes shining in the night. While I
watched, two deer, who had no business being that
deep into suburbia, strolled casually across the
driveway, stopping to look into my headlights.
At the strip mall where the pharmacy was located, I
continued to watch the receding eclipse. It is to be
the last lunar eclipse until 2007. It was most
certainly an unusual night, filled with little
miracles. Reviewing the events of that night, I
considered the many things I had observed, both
history in the making and small, personal delights,
these many pleasant things might just be good omens. |