That Broom I'm Sitting On
Was Probably Made in China

By George F. Will
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, March 28, 1998; Page A11

I may be uptight, to paraphrase a current popular tune, but I'm certainly not out of sight. People depend on me to provide them with sharp, incisive commentary on national politics, and damn it, I do a fine job, but unless I'm discussing the Chicago Cubs, I'm ignored. Most people think I'm older than David Brinkley. I'm not.

Speaking of the Cubs, it's that time of year again, when the Cubbies appear to have a lock on optimistic pronouncements coming out of the ideal (and overly idealized) world of spring training. Ah, yes, I can hear it now: Sosa will hit fifty home runs; the pitching staff will keep the windows from breaking on Waveland Avenue; and they'll be playing ball in Chicago all the way through the wintry days of late October. By the way, Clinton's good luck on the economy could change overnight if he stumbles into another foreign imbroglio like Bosnia.

Ah, the flowers that bloom in the spring -- you can count on the desert blooms (the Cubbies train in Arizona) to pop up quickly and often with the Chi town ink-stained sports wags thirsting, quite literally, for a story. Any story. Like how the campaign funding scandal might blow good soldier Gore's candidacy right out of the Tennessee swamps.

But, just like an overly aggressive Food and Drug Administration, the Cubs will eventually thwart and shackle our dreams, leaving us all to wonder: When, oh Lord, when will they win the pennant? And when, oh Lord, when will I get the kind of attention the other two get?