My sweet sickness

Turning the corner, "Nuts on Clark"catches my eye and it is at that moment the feeling hits me again like a ton of ivy clad bricks. My sweet sickness returns like an old friend who's been sick with worry over my absence. As the light turns green, I take my focus off the car-ass-elbow traffic for a moment to look to the end of the block...and just like that, she appears; Wrigley Field, home of MY Chicago Cubs. And once again...I'm home.

Every square inch of the neighborhood is crawling with that which makes Wrigleyville what it is. From the stumbling, bumbling frat boys on a bender to the little old ladies in full-on Cubby Blue, everywhere you look the celebration bumps and grinds to it's own multitude of beats. Noise and laughter, horns and the stench of stale beer from the taverns that dot this landscape, all combine to flavor the imagination. From the front main gate to the left and right bleachers, the top of the flagpole to the gum on the sidewalk, every square inch of Wrigley exudes some intangible that only a true Cub fan can ever appreciate. To her legions of fans, Wrigley is home. From the far reaches of the earth, Cub fans talk of her majestic simplicity, her legend and her beloved ivy.

Before going in I double check my ticket and begin a simple ritual that started accidentally years ago. As a boy, I watched Dave Kingman smash a home run so high and far I never thought it would land. I watched as it left the ballpark and bounce off a building across the street. Since then, I look to that spot and smile. Today is no different, and as the smile crosses my face a drag my fingers along the outfield bricks and slip into the bleacher gate, raising my arms for security guards one and two.

Security guards? Here? Please. What a horrible idea, that someone would dare besmirch the sanctity that is Wrigley Field, nay...of the institution that is baseball, with a threat any greater than public intoxication. All for the best, I suppose. But still...
Now inside, the moment of truth. Right field, or left. Purists will tell you that this is never a question...a true fan chooses this early on in his life and that becomes as important as any ritual here. For some, this is true, but for me another factor comes into play...nostalgia.

A few years a go Jill and I sat left field and watched the Cubs clinch the wildcard. We met some great folks, watched and amazing game and had one of the greatest outings in our history together. Left field has its place etched in my mind, but not tonight...tonight felt right field, and so up the ramp I went, stopping for the important first Beer of the evening. Finally able to take a deep breath, the moment I look forward to the most at each game is only moments away. I turn and continue up the ramp, noting that the old girl could use some paint here and there. And at least one "I" beam has been rusted through for as long as I can remember. The cheering gets louder and I take a good swig off the top foam of my beer and soak in the moment...

Stepping into the dimming sunlight from the dark recesses of any ballpark can be a cathartic experience, but at Wrigley, It's pure freaking magic. As the expanse of the greenest, most perfectly manicured grass on the face of the earth widens in my view, the the noise from the crowd becomes fully appreciated. I step to the side and stare out across the diamond. As the National Anthem plays I give the old girl a once over. Things have changed quite a bit...but not too much. Not yet anyway. Above the crowd on either side of the park hang a pair of huge computerized score boards, replacing the older analog kind. The neighborhood is practically all new, with rooftop clubs on every building across from a good view. The Torco sign, once seemingly part of Wrigley, has been replaced with a rather obnoxious beer billboard referring to some curse or another. And then theres the flag waving from the left field foul pole. "RON SANTO" it says...and a number 10...perhaps one of the best additions ever made to this grand old park.

But none of that matters right now, for at this moment...the Chicago Cubs are taking the field, and we have a game to play. I take a long, deep drink of my beer, set it down and applaud as thay race to thier positions. It's a perfect day turning into a perfect night, and My sweet sickness is going full force...Cub fans..."let's play two!"
-K