Author’s note: If this post makes you smile and nod in understanding . . . you might be a KC Royals fan. Apologies in advance for waxing melodramatic. 🙂
Hope isn’t hard to come by.
There was always hope—hope for the Farm Boys up north in Omaha. Hope that one day they would arise to meet their Destiny. Hope for next year.
But next year was always the same. There was always a Chosen One or a Chosen Few brought to Kansas City, but none were truly up to the task laid before them. The Blood of Royalty pumped through their veins . . . but they weren’t old enough, or good enough, or anything enough. And even the most skilled among them couldn’t win on their own.
Until one day, something did.
When did it happen? Perhaps even they couldn’t have said. All I know, looking back, is that a new sort of hope filled the air. It was something tangible—not the faint glimmer you cling to when every ounce logic you possess tells you all is lost.
It was something real.
The Farm Boys began to grow up. Others joined them in the Quest, leading them at times, bringing out the best in them, fighting with them until, from just across the waterfalls, the Great Competition beckoned.
So onward they traveled, reaching territories no one would have thought possible. Some said they didn’t belong—they were still too young, too green, the opposition too great. Still, onward they fought, working as one, no longer just hoping but believing the possibilities.
And they won, and they won, and they won. With each contest, their skills improved. People began to take notice. Minstrels wrote songs about them. People everywhere crowded around to hear of each new success. The Boys were no longer Farm Boys, or even Kansas City’s Boys—they were America’s Boys.
But alas, in the final round, America’s Boys faced defeat. People wondered if it had all been a fluke—a dream from which they had awoken too soon. We wondered in silence, afraid to voice what we feared must be true. They were still young; this defeat would shatter them. We were still too accustomed to defeat–and yet, reluctant to come down from the thrill of that magical run.
It was magical.
But it wasn’t magic.
The Boys fought back. When time came to take up the Quest anew, they battled back through the ranks, back on to victory. They fought as though no time had passed, picking up where they left off as though they had unfinished business to attend to.
It was obvious now. The dream had never ended.
The Boys had grown up. The Boys had become one. The Boys had earned their Crowns.
Day after day, victory after victory, the dream lived on. It still lives on.
How much longer? The Great Competition has returned. The Boys have arisen to their Destiny. Will Fate at last look down kindly upon them?
It’s a wonderful thing when hope becomes real.