Tuesday, June 25, 2013


Seen exiting the Fullerton Station at about 8:40 a.m.

There he is, coming down the stairs: dirty knees, flushed cheeks, the slightest tinge of gray beneath his eyes. This is the face of youth at its happiest, a boy who has just spent the whole night celebrating his city and his team. He has not slept. He has consumed many beers, beers in plastic cups, beers that sloshed over onto his hands and into the street. His sandal is broken, but his jersey is just as vibrant as it was when he slipped it over his head the previous evening. His mother would say, “Ashton, what have you done?” But his mother isn’t here; she’s four whole states away, and to him that’s the biggest win of all.

As a Chicagoan, I felt obligated to write a Blackhawks-related story today. That was one hell of an exciting game. Coincidentally, my most recent story for All Together Now is about punching somebody in the face. So, you know, not technically hockey-related, but close.

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