“Some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them…
…and others… well, they’re just great.”

When I was knee high to a grasshopper, I loved sitting on the porch in the summer watching baseball with my grandfather. He was born a Reds fan and became a Cubs fan, but the thing he liked most about the WGN broadcasts was making fun of Harry Caray. My grandpa called him, “Liver Lips.” One day during a game my grandfather reached down and put his Cubs hat on my head. I was an extremely cognitive kid, and I understood the Hallmark-esque moment we were sharing. For 35 minutes, I joined him in rooting for the Cubs. Then my father walked in.
“Art, you take that thing off my son’s head, NOW.” He pulled me aside and in a tone so as not to alarm me but still convey the seriousness, said, “Tuck, we’re White Sox fans. I understand you want to sit with your grandfather, but try not to pick up any of his bad habits.”
The point is, my daughter was born into this. Baseball is coming.






