The Monument To Failure Part 3

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Let’s see…where was I? Oh yeah…we went to a Major League baseball game last week. Hard to believe that in the middle of the theme park that is Wrigleyville some fans actually manage to watch nine innings of Major League Baseball. We were there to witness all nine innings while our visiting Chicago White Sox erased a previous rainout game from their schedule with a decisive 5-0 win.


Both Chicago teams are woeful this late in the season. Waaay back in April, the Cubs were predicted by most experts and many delirious fans to win the NL Central while the Sox were picked to be near or dead last in the AL Central.

Here’s one and another and another.

(I tried to locate the most accurate MLB predictor but googling anything for more than five minutes is not worth my time.)

Could it be the Cub Fans have finally learned a little humility in recent years? Cub fans were absolutely stunned by the White Sox 2005 World Championship run. The past two years have seen winning seasons on the north side go down in flaming post season failure. This year expectations were high but somewhat reserved. There were no “This Is The Year” or “It’s Gonna happen” signs and shirts. Even the local sports media toned down their usual sickeningly giddy optimism and even seemed to bail on the Cubbies in July. Hopeless, they are.

After slugging down our 4,800oz. cocktails and wandering around the crumbling facade we handed in our tickets and entered the stadium under the landmark sign. It was surprising to see the narrow concourse looking more like a Potbelly sandwich shop than I remember. Each vendor station was decorated with nostalgic looking wood signs and there were plenty of themes. It was too dark for photos so we hustled up the ramps to our upper deck seats in far right field.

With 30 minutes to game time it appeared as if the local media was correct in their assessment that this crosstown contest had lost it’s luster judging by the crowd. At the time of this game the Cubs have no chance at a playoff spot and the Sox are hanging by a thread. These tickets dropped into our lap a day before the game and we went just for sh!ts and giggles. We had far more giggles than sh!ts.

Wrigley is famous for the bleacher section. These curiously devoted fans may as well be the cultists who followed Charlie Manson. Here’s what the bleachers looked like at 15 minutes to batter up.


Here’s what the grandstand looked like at 15 minutes to batter up.


We were surrounded by a few Sox fans and a sea of empty seats at 15 minutes to batter up.

It was explained to me a few years ago that most Cub fans would be packing bars across the street until the second inning. They then enter the stadium, hang around until the seventh inning sing along and then head back to their bars to get seats for the post-game itch where they drink until well after dark.

For a Sox fan it was a well played game for a team going nowhere. If I were a Cub fan it would be embarrassing to see a multi-millionaire ball player over-run an easy fly ball in left field allowing two runs to score. Thanks, Alfonso! The replays I watched on TV that night were even sadder. The Sox are one up for the modern inter-league series by one game. ’Snot to like?

These were my seatmates for the game. I needed to look their way for each pitch. Just dang!



The Sox blanked the hapless Cubs 5-0. A rookie pitcher got the win. We stayed seated until the third out in the ninth.

FINAL OBSERVATIONS

The sky was blue, the Sox won and we met many unusual people. It was a fine day for my diversification therapy.

Wrigley Field, the Chicago Cubs and the surrounding neighborhood have discovered the secret to putting whipped cream on a turd while millions pay handsomely to come and lick off the cream. Good for them. Go with God. I am not a Cub fan and have no reason to return.

Surprisingly there were no taunts, fights or altercations between fans. It was a peaceful day watching two teams with no post season in their future.

Chicago is a fabulous city. It never looked better to an ex-resident like me. But I quickly, easily and happily left for the greener pastures and cornfields where I now call home. I did go away with more questions than answers.

In my best Andy Rooney voice I ask:

- Are there are far too many nose-pickers and butt- scratchers riding public transportation to avoid a tragic urban pandemic?

- Is the stew-bum and street urchin population finally out of control?

- Didn’t the Chicago City Council outlaw the sale of aerosol spray paint within city limits over a decade ago?

- Do the taxpayers really get their money’s worth?

- When will the availability of food and beverage in the city exceed demand so it finally becomes affordable?

- Can I swing a dead cat on Chicago’s north side without hitting a trendy restaurant or Irish Pub?

- If urinating in the streets, alleys and yards is illegal why don’t they provide convenient public restrooms near the stadium?

- Am I the only person alive without some form of exposed tattoo and pieces of hardware sticking out of my face?

- Why don’t more people bathe?
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