A sporting interlude

Needing a break from the rigors of blogging about the sorry state of American politics, your humble narrator ventured out to the cathedral at the corner of Clark and Addison streets in Chicago to engage in a little mid-afternoon meditation.


As you can tell by the flapping flags atop the historic Wrigley Field scoreboard, it was a warm and blustery day at the friendly confines, and that meant lots of home runs and ensuing frivolity for the gathered Cubs fans. The north side national leaguers are in first place with a handful of games left, so the crowd was already verging on giddy.


My good friend Jim made the journey down from Madison, WI to join us in a late season bit of merry making. The double fisted chap is my brother-in-law Chris, as always keeping things festive.


Jim brought a couple other Illinois refugees down with him from Dairyland. Chris, pictured below, hadn't been to a game since she was a kid, and was soaking up the atmosphere at the ballpark. Liz is a south sider by birth and inclination, so she maintained a low profile in order to protect her White Sox street cred.


Also making a renewed acquaintance with the old ball yard was my good friend George who rediscovered his Cub roots after having strayed into Yankee territory. Maybe he and Lou Piniella are bringing some of that Bronx magic to Wrigleyville.


It was such a nice day that even yours truly was caught cracking a smile ... or at least a smirk. Check back with me when they actually win the whole thing.

It was a banner day for all involved as the Cubbies vanquished the Pirates 13 runs to 8. I'll be back to my usual blog antics tomorrow.

Memories of the 1st Wrigley nite game: Hoping for a wash out

Nineteen years ago on this date (the easy to remember 8-8-88), the Chicago Cubs were scheduled to face the Philadelphia Phillies in the first ever night baseball game at historic Wrigley Field. Although the house was packed with local glitterati basking in the glow of the newly mounted light standards, I was taking in the action on TV at a tavern across the street from the ballpark. As the crowd was eager to cheer on the succession of moonlit firsts taking place that night (pitch, out, hit, home run), my friends and I were rooting for a quite different outcome .... a rain out.

Kevin, a good friend and fellow Cubs fanatic, had been able to snag seats for the next evening's game, so if we could just coax the clouds to open up, we'd be witnessing the first official Wrigley night game on 8-9-88 (not as easy to remember, but we were being selfish). As it turned out, the rains did come (as forecast, for once) with the Cubs leading 3-1, but before the game had gone far enough to make it into the record books.

My favorite former play-by-play man Harry Caray used to always say, "wishing won't make it so!" But on this one night a group of committed Cubs fans (or at least ones deserving of being committed to the nearest mental hospital) were able to will a washout, and we were in attendance the next evening for the first official night game against the New York Mets.

Among the memorable moments of that night was seeing the opponent's centerfielder (Lenny Dykstra, if I recall correctly), getting a beer dumped on him as he leaped after a ball hit into the vines of the outfield wall. It was a bit of bad sportsmanship on the part of the hometown fans, but also a very fitting show of childish joy at someone else's expense, considering our own revelling in the misfortune of the previous night's crowd (and a good illustration of the concept of schadenfreude). Not a proud moment, but still one that makes me chuckle years later.