It was 1938. Two teens from Brighton Park ambled along Archer Avenue to the crux of this city: Chicago's Stadium; where North meets South. There these brothers bought what little they could afford, during the Depression; the cheap tickets of that Upper Deck. And they watched, witnessed our Blackhawks achieve Glory: the Stanley Cup.
Seventy Two years have intervened since they together sat there. And one most trying. Between last season's end and this, first Bob then Ken saw their final games.
Tonight I put up their pictures in front of the television set that my Grandpa and I experienced other significant sports events before. And we were all united again.
In France, there's a tradition that calls those sort of second balcony seats from which their eyes once looked upon an ice-y skating rink: "Paradise." As the Hawks hoisted the Cup tonight, I think of them together there celebrating in glory so long awaited; at last finally fulfilled.