CHICAGO—In his mind’s eye, 21 miles from the actual brick and ivy confines, he hit hundreds upon hundreds of home runs at Wrigley Field. It was always bottom of the ninth, full count, two outs, World Series. The crowd roared. He floated around the bases as their hallelujah chorus of cheers played for him.
The power of a boy’s dream is one of life’s little miracles, the way it wraps itself around the heart and remains through old age and to the last breath. In his backyard in Northbrook, Ill., Jason Kipnis formed that dream “over and over,” through wiffle ball, softball, “an acorn that just fell off the tree—it didn’t matter.