Good Sports

by Budd Glassberg

Reprinted with permission from the Zionsville Times Sentinel on May 2, 2007

Magic at Wrigley Field (part 1 of 2)

“Eighty-five percent of the bleepin world is working. The other fifteen percent come out here.” – Lee Elia referring to the day baseball fans at Wrigley Field 4/29/83

You can never tell when something magical will happen. Oh sure, you can plan and hope for a good time, but those enchanted moments are ones more often that happen when they are least expected. It is true that there must be some planning and some ability of the parties involved to allow the wonder to happen, but the spontaneity of the situation will dictate those rare moments. My daughter Elle and I experienced the delight of the unexpected last Wednesday in Chicago.

It began with a perfect storm (literally) of occurrences which seemed to inhibit any chance that we might have an enjoyable afternoon. Elle had emailed me from college that over her spring break she would like to go with me to a Cub game. I had purchased, over the internet, four upper deck box seat tickets to the game between the Milwaukee Brewers and the Chicago Cubs. The plan was we would each invite a friend to join us. The weather forecast for game day was cold, strong winds and rain all day. Due to those and other circumstances, it was just Elle and I heading up to Chicago. We decided to give it a try. The drive up was uneventful, although the weather was exactly as predicted.

Upon arriving near Wrigley Field, I overpaid for parking allowing an easy-out for my car in case the game was called due to rain. This would allow us to leave when we wanted rather than the risk the half price parking which jams cars tight into the lot where you must wait until the car on either side of you decides to leave (this can take a long time for Cub fans to end their drinking binges after a rainout).

The ticket broker I bought the tickets from was located about a block from the stadium. It was just above a bar. We walked up a darkened stairway into a room barren of anything on the walls and only containing two steel desks and two men speaking into headphones. I told them my name and to Elle’s surprise they had an envelope with my four tickets. We then headed through the rain to the park. I half heartedly tried to scalp the two extra tickets, but it was definitely a buyers market. I was banking on the game being called which would allow me four rain checks for a decent weather game.

Inside the park, we found our ninth row seats. They were extremely wet and exposed to a strong headwind. Almost none of the seats in front of us all the way down to the front row were taken. Elle and I were dressed somewhat warmly and each had a rain parka. We settled in for some good conversation and people watching while waiting out the hour and ten minutes of rain delay, hypnotically staring at the Cubs logo on the tarp covering the infield. We each had one hand warmer which we switched periodically between gloved hands. Elle was in need of hot chocolate. It took me four tries at different concession stands before I was able to procure a cup for her.

Elle left her seat for a while to warm up below in the souvenir shop. She missed the grounds crew bozos that were very entertaining attempting to remove the tarp as the rain stopped. The thin crowd cheered as they stumbled and booed as they wasted time getting the tarp off of the field. Chicago fans have learned to express their gratitude and dismay without reservation.

Once the game began, routine conversation ceased and I became the baseball maven mentor to my daughter’s part as the young inquisitive apprentice. As the wizard of baseball lore, statistics and general savvy, I versed my student on the finer aspects of a game that can only be appreciated once the nuances are pointed out by another. Elle, ever the anthropologist, made a quick study of the fans as well as the group dynamics of fans peculiar to the Wrigley Field crowd. We were engrossed in the subtleties and ever expanding amount of activity going on around us on and between each pitch. The magic had begun.

Next week Part Two: The Cubs Complied (For Once)

Budd Glassberg is a resident of Zionsville who is active in the local running community. Visit www.runz.com for reprints of all his columns. You can reach him by email at budd@runz.com.