the green fields of the mind

At last!


It's everything they say it is, and more.

continue reading »It's sad to say that I'm writing this almost two weeks after my first Cubs game, but I'm still sleeping off Hood to Coast, and I haven't even begun writing about that yet. But Wrigley is first in the queue, because Wrigley is a church, the church of Baseball, and holy places should be treated with respect.

It doesn't matter what team you root for growing up; there are three ballparks you must visit before you die. They are Fenway Park, Yankee Stadium, and Wrigley Field. There are others which until recently were on the short list of venerable ballparks--like the old Tiger Stadium, which is still standing but scheduled for demolition this fall, and Old Comiskey, which is long gone--but none others can match the history and tradition of the Big Three. Now I have two to go.

My first night in Chicago, a month before baseball season, I took the El up to Addison and circumnavigated Wrigley on foot. It was the only landmark I had in the whole city, and was my reference point for navigation while I was scouting places. (That Craigslist ad offering a room for rent in a house with two early-20's female flight attendants who share a room, and live a half block from Wrigley? Yeah, it was probably fake.)

So I felt I could do nothing more appropriate than pay tribute, despite the absence of actual baseball, and I vowed I would go see a game as soon as humanly possible. However, an unavoidable combination of circumstances along with a series of poorly-timed Cubs road trips prevented that. So I was very excited when I had a night when the team was in town and I could get off work at a reasonable hour, and I started feeling like a little boy again. Between the jet planes, capture the flag, and baseball, that's happening quite a bit these days.

Everything they say is great about Wrigley--the Friendly Confines, the sight of the grass for the first time, the ivy, the manual scoreboard, the Old Style in paper cups, the girls in Cubs jerseys, the seventh inning stretch, the rooftops--well, it's all true. There's nothing like it.

Forthwith: pictures.

Every game is sold out, but since the Cubbies are so bad (what else is new?), tickets are easy to come by. These cost us 20 bucks, were acquired with zero hassle, and were pretty decent seats in the lower deck. (I paid something like $14 to sit in the tippy-top row at US Cellular, but it was a highly anticipated series against my Oakland A's, featuring the return of Frank Thomas to the South Side.)


The view from our seats.


The manually operated scoreboard, the bleachers, and some of the Chicago skyline. The A's lost, by the way.


During the seventh inning stretch, the crowd unites in a traditional spiritual entitled, "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." The extended fingers represent one strike of the three necessary to retire a batter. The home team was shamed, 6-3, at the hands of the Phillies.


My friend Ryan is a Cubs fan and was distraught. I repped Oakland so I didn't care. Note that I wore the one article of clothing I have with any sort of bear on it.


In conclusion, Cubs games are awesome. In case you want more of a fix, here's some excellent writing about baseball:

John Updike's account of Ted Williams' last game. From the New Yorker.

A. Bartlett Giamatti's classic essay The Green Fields of the Mind. Evan, it's the second result on Google!