It was another beautiful day in Chicago. I was lucky to have had great weather every day of the trip so far, sunny and warm from the time I landed. For the second time, I made the walk up Clark Street to Wrigley Field and again I stood in awe of the stadium. I was really early, so I walked around a bit and snapped some photos of things I missed the first time.
Around 10am our tour guide rounded us all up at the main gate and the tour commenced. I figured I would learn some new things about the stadium, but it turned out to be more of a history lesson on the Chicago Cubs than just a here's this and here's that of Wrigley Field. It was like walking through a museum. Imagine working there as a professional baseball player.
Our tour guide told us some great stories. An explanation as to why the basket exists along the outfield wall. The origins of the bleacher bums. How the Chicago north-siders are basically the reason every MLB stadium has a batter's eye. How the Cubs influenced the name of the NFL's Chicago Bears. Why the Cubs owners finally relented in the late 1980s and installed lights for night games. All kinds of little tidbits that I always wondered about were revealed through the tour, stories that answered questions, induced laughter, and raised some eyebrows.
The anticipation kept building throughout the tour because I knew what was at the end: the chance to actually stand on the playing field. And while it was cool to sit in the press box, and walk past the very booth where the famous Harry Carey called Cubs games for as long as I could remember, I would have been perfectly happy to just fast forward to the last 10 minutes of the tour.
When the time came to go onto the field, we were given only two simple instructions: do not step beyond the rope, and do not pick up any dirt or grass. If you do either, you will be kicked out by security.
Fair enough.
With that, our tour guide led us to the Cubs dugout. Yes, the Cubs dugout. I immediately sat down on the bench where I figure Lou Pinella, Dusty Baker, and most recently Dale Sveum sat and managed the Cubs. The view was great. What I wouldn't give to watch a game from here. I looked up and down the bench as others on the tour took their turn sitting on the Cubs bench, then out at the ground's crew working on the field. How cool would it be to work here?
After a few minutes, I climbed the steps of the dugout and walked onto the field. The FIELD! The roped off area where we were allowed to walk was confined to the dirt in front of the backstop between the two dugouts. But let me tell you, it was enough.
I described this part of the trip as a quasi-religious experience, like gazing into the face of God himself. That's exactly what I did. I stood for a few minutes and just gazed. From the left field foul pole around the field to the right field foul pole. The infield dirt. The pitcher's mound. The ivy. The scoreboard in center field. The flags.
I took my time, felt the dirt under my feet, as I slowly walked towards the Cubs on deck circle. I stepped onto it and couldn't help but let my imagination take over as I pictured myself clad in Cubs pinstripes as I waited on deck for my turn to bat. That lasted a few seconds, then I returned to reality, and continued along the backstop dirt until I was directly behind home plate.
I could have, and would have, stayed their and just watched it all happen all day. The ground's crew was hard at work on the field and that probably would have been enough activity to keep me entertained. After a while though, the tour guide and the security guards started easing us back towards the stands so we could make our way out of the stadium. Determined to get my full $25 worth out of the tour, I lingered as long as I could out on the dirt of the backstop. Finally, when there were only myself and few other stragglers, the security guards were more firm in their request to make our way off the field. I got one of them to take one last photo of me standing by the dugout with the outfield and the center field scoreboard in the background. With that, the tour was over.
I thanked the tour guide as I left, told her this was probably the coolest part of my trip, and that I would be back for sure. I wasn't quite done though.
About two or three blocks north on Clark Street is a concert hall called The Metro, another Wrigleyville landmark with a deep meaning for me. My favourite band, The Smashing Pumpkins, got their start at The Metro some twenty-five years earlier, when I was barely old enough to remember watching baseball games on television with my dad. If Wrigley Field was my baseball mecca, The Metro was surely my music mecca.
I tried to arrange my trip so that I would be able to see a show, any show, at The Metro because being a concert hall meant that it would only be open if there was a show going on. Unfortunately, it didn't work out and I would be forced to settle for merely stopping in front and taking a look.
I snapped a few pictures and gave it a good look before heading back south in search of lunch. At one point along the way, I could actually see both by merely turning 180 degrees. I knew they were close together, but never did I expect I would be standing on a sidewalk along N Clark Street in Chicago and be able to see two of the locations that hold the deepest meaning in my life. All I could do was smile, take a moment to let it set in, and keep walking.
I walked a few more blocks south and found a pub to grab some lunch and sat mowing down a burger while reflecting on the morning's events.
The trip was winding down, I was leaving Chicago for Toronto the next morning, and during that hour when I sat eating my lunch. I was glad I ignored all my inhibitions that told me this trip was a bad idea and that heeded the encouragement of a girl I went on a date with back in February who told me about a similar solo trip she had taken to Boston.
For those who care, I never heard from her again.
I had wanted to take this exact trip for a long time, maybe an entire decade. I could never convinced anyone else to go with me. I never had the money. Being a small town Canadian I was always a little bit afraid of traveling alone in a big American city. And I'm always a bit hesitant doing anything the first time, especially by myself. But when I first got the inkling to parlay a trip home for one of my best friend's wedding into a full on trip to Chicago, everything fell into place so perfectly that I couldn't convince myself not to go.
The Brewers playing a day game on the holiday Monday, the Cubs being at home the whole week, the off day that would allow for a more complete stadium tour, the full day to travel before the wedding, the Jays being at home the week after. The stars were all aligned so perfectly that I was convinced that nothing could go wrong. Even when the hostel I was originally planning to stay at was full, the alternative I found appeared, and was, an even better choice.
It was a great trip, and even though I was headed back to the home turf, I would have been totally content to stay a while longer, or maybe even forever, but one thing is for certain. I will be back.
-matt
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