There was plenty of time to spare. I had a solid two hours, and I was told the walk up N Clark Street would take about 20 minutes and was well worth it. It was shaping up to be a perfect evening for baseball which meant it would also be a perfect time for a stroll.
I had kept myself busy for the first two and a half days of the trip which meant there was little time for the anticipation to mount until I set off from the hostel, clad in my white pinstriped Chicago Cubs home jersey and brand new on field cap. This is it, I thought to myself. Finally.
A group of Canadians I had met a few nights earlier had advised me to do the walk rather than take the L Train. They said it was very cool gradually making your way into Wrigleyville, and then all of a sudden, bam, you're there. I was glad I did. Wrigley Field has the unique distinction of being smack dab in the middle of a neighbourhood, not buried amongst skycrapers downtown or in the middle of nowhere off the innerstate.
About half way, I noticed the scenery changing. Cubs logos were everywhere. People clad in t-shirts, caps, jackets, jerseys were all over the place, and they all seemed to be headed in the same general direction as I was. Even though I was traveling alone, it was an interesting sense of belonging in Wirgleyville. I felt like I could move into this neighbourhood and instantly feel like I belonged.
And then I could see the lights.
That's when it hit me, seeing the lights on the roof of Wrigley Field. I walked just a little bit faster and the anticipation almost became too much. Then before I knew it, I was standing at the corner of Clark Street and Addison Avenue, staringacross the intersection at the iconic marquee that I had seen a million times in photos and on television. I couldn't help but be just a little bit awestruck. I had finally arrived at my baseball mecca.
Just a month earlier, my best friend, a lifelong Red Sox fan, made his first trip to Fenway Park in Boston. When talking to him about the experience there, he described the atmosphere and scene around Fenway before the game as "like a carnival". That is the exact phrase I would use to describe the scene around Wrigley as I made my way around the stadium.
It was unreal. I can't even find words to describe the scene as fans and vendors and others wandered around the stadium much like I was, smiles on their faces knowing that the Cubs were to be in action this evening. This single game between two bottom feeding teams was a huge event, or so it seemed, and it was clear to me in this moment that when it came to baseball, the Chicago north-siders took nothing for granted.
About an hour and half before game time, I had gotten my fill of photos and made my way inside. Seeking as authentic a Wrigley experience as possible, I opted for a seat in the bleachers. As I made my way up to the bleachers, the Marlins were in the midst of batting practice. There were quite a few people already there watching as the Miami players took their hacks. I sat down in the front row and immediately took a look over the railing at the basket at the top of the outfield wall and the ivy. I always wondered what the view was like from up there, and in that moment I could tell I was in for a memorable experience.
Three young guys in their twenties were standing in the front row, yelling at every Marlins player in sight to throw them a ball. Surpringly every so often a ball would get tossed in our direction, and after a few minutes one of the three guys had souvenir. About ten minutes later, another was tossed to the three of them. One of them tried to catch it, bobbled it, and watched it land in the basket below him. The small crowd around him laughed and booed, and after a moments hesitation, he turned to his friends and said, "Grab my legs, I'm going in!"
It was a hilarious scene as this guy slithered headfirst over the rail, with one friend holding each leg and, after a struggle, emerged with the ball in his hand. Those of us nearby who watched trying not to hurt ourselves laughing gave a round of applause. It's the sort of scene that I feel lucky to have witnessed, but one that I suspect isn't uncommon in the bleachers.
I went up to the upper concourse of the bleachers and took a look around for food and beer options and just to take it in. I looked down at the sidewalk almost directly below me, the rooftop seats across the road, the fans sitting on lawn chairs on the closed streets hoping for a home run ball, it was unreal, nothing like I expected watching all those Cubs games on TV.
Deciding it best to sample the food before the game started and things really filled up, I got myself a Wrigley dog and loaded it up. There's really only so much you can do with a hot dog, and I don't know if I would say there was anything special about it save for the neon green relish, but something about a ballpark classic in a classic ballpark made it taste just a little bit better.
Batting practice was winding down and the Marlins batters seemed to be kicking things up a notch as balls started raining down on the bleachers. After one crack of the bat, a ball came heading in my general direction, right at the three guys who had been weaseling balls the entire time. One of the guys camped under it and tried to make the barehanded catch. Instead, the screaming liner smacked off his hand with a huge SMACK and bounced a few rows back. He immediately hunched over in pain and I stifled my laughter as his friends made fun of him for not catching the ball.
I couldn't tell you the final score of the game. I know the Marlins won, Edwin Jackson didn't pitch very well, Bogosevic hit a home run, the nine innings seemed to take forever, and Christian Yelich was a 2nd Team All-American when he played high school ball. It's not that I wasn't paying attention to the game, but just being in Wrigley Field was almost overwhelming. I found myself looking around the stadium, taking in the historic ballpark rather than paying attention to what was happening in front of me on the field. The ballpark was so full of subtle touches that I couldn't help being distracted as the game went on.
Christian Yelich was the Marlins rookie left fielder who took up his position during the home half in front of the left field bleachers. There is no buffer zone at Wrigley to separate the fans from the players in the outfield like in Milwaukee or Toronto. The left fielder is right there in front of you, and there is no doubt in your mind that he can hear everything you yell at him. None.
The heckling started almost immediately and continued uninterrupted through to the ninth inning when a guy sitting a few seats from me took out his phone and got some dirt.
"Yeeeeeeeeeeelich! Second team All-American?!?!? WHAT HAPPENED!!!"
"Yeeeeeeeeeeelich! You played for the Grasshoppers? NOBODY LIKES GRASS HOPPERS!!!"
"Yeeeeeeeeeeelich! Hold on I'm looking at your Wikipedia page! .... GRASSHOPPERS!!!"
With the game out of reach for the Cubs, those who stuck around erupted into a fit of laughter as the new age heckling broke out. And everyone knew that Yelich could hear him.
The game ended fairly late, sometime between 10:30 and 11 so I didn't stick around much, just made my way to the bleacher gate at Sheffield and Waveland and headed for the L train to get back to the hostel. I went up to the platform to wait for the southbound red train, and an amazing scene awaited me.
From the platform, I could clearly see the stadium, lights still on, and in the foreground was the CTA Addison station sign with a big Cubs logo. I had also noticed that on many of the maps along the red line, Addison had a Cubs logo instead of the regular circle (35th street also has a White Sox logo). It was those little subtle things that made me realize that Chicago is a baseball town. Throughout my time there, it was hard not to take notice of all the Cubs and White Sox caps that I saw on people's heads everywhere I went. Chicago even has a definitive boundary, 100 Street, between Cubs and White Sox territory.
The historic ballparks are slowly disappearing. The closure of Yankee stadium leaves Fenway Park, Wrigley Field and Dodger Stadium as the last of the truly historic baseball stadiums. Any real baseball fan should do themselves a favour and take in a game at one of these magnificent ballparks before they are gone forever. Having experienced the old school charm of Wrigley Field, I have moved Fenway Park and Dodger Stadium to the top of my stadium list because nothing beats it.
If I could ever go back in time, I'd go back far enough that I could make my way to Yankee Stadium and Tiger Stadium, two of the classics that I remember seeing the Blue Jays play at on TV for as long as I can remember. Yankee Stadium for the pure history and Tiger Stadium for the quirks. I can imagine what it would be like to stroll through the original monument park in Yankee Stadium, or take in a game from the upper deck at Tiger Stadium on top on the field.
But I know for certain that I wouldn't do either justice.
-matt
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