Angel and Alex anticipate the start of a ball game.
We interrupt this series of serious messages for some old-fashioned American holiday fun.
Well, to be honest. I’m talking about yesterday, July 3. Following great American tradition, I took two grandsons, Angel, 14, and Alex, 9, to their first Chicago Cubs game at Wrigley Field. Observing Cubs tradition, it was a day game, beginning at 1:20 p.m. Observing Chicago tradition, we arrived via CTA, taking the Blue Line downtown and the Red Line from there to Addison, walking one block to one of the most iconic stadiums in America. One special aspect of Chicago, even with two teams, is that the Red Line will get you to either the White Sox or the Cubs, and as the train moves along, the ride becomes a communal experience as growing numbers of fans enter, easily identifiable by their team paraphernalia. It is quite different from many stadiums elsewhere with huge parking lots and fans pouring out of their individual cars and SUVs. It may be crowded, but you are part of a crowd on a mission. It is fun just getting there.
Apparently, we took too long or left too late because they were no longer passing out free Cubs t-shirts to the first 10,000 people through the turnstiles, even though we arrived almost an hour before game time. That misjudgment is on me. The least I could do inside was get the boys lunch and a drink. One had nachos, one had a chicken sandwich, and I opted for bratwurst because, well, this is Chicago. What I could not accept was the idea of paying $10 for a Budweiser, so I opted for lemonade. If the vendors at least had a respectable microbrew on tap, maybe, just perhaps, I could have splurged for that beer. But not for Bud. (Sorry to offend any Budweiser lovers, but please. I just bought a six-pack of Bohemia this morning for two dollars less.)
Anyway, we enjoyed our upper-deck seats to the right of home plate in part because they were shaded on a 90+-degree day, unlike those more enviable and expensive but sun-splashed seats below us. My new Arizona hat became largely unnecessary. We were comfortable, if a little more removed from the action. By the time the game started, I had used my new iPhone to text harassing messages to my long-time friend and colleague Rich Roths, who hails from Michigan and bears the burden of a Tigers fan, despite decades of life in the Chicago suburbs. The Cubs were playing Detroit, in case I need to put a finer point on the reason for my friendly needling.
Alex fell asleep in the second inning, a source of mild amusement to Angel and myself, but he missed little from a Cubs perspective as starter Kyle Hendricks gave up three runs in five innings before the Cubs finally revved their offensive engines for a nice, three-run rally in the bottom of the fifth. By then, Alex was awake, and while he does not yet understand all the nuances of the game, he began to catch on that the Cubs were coming back from a deficit. On the way home later, I suggested to him that some day he could sit and watch a game on television with me, and I would carefully explain many of the rules and intricacies of the game so that he had a better appreciation of what was happening. To my surprise, he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up signal. One thing about Alex: He likes to learn new things.
As for that fifth-inning rally—it was classic never-say-die Cubs-style baseball. Tommy La Stella pinch-hit for Hendricks, whose time was up, and smacked a double well into the left-field ivy. Albert Almora followed with a second double, driving him home. Jason Heyward must have decided that copycat was a fine form of baseball because he powered a third double and scored Almora. Now it was 3-2, with no outs until Ben Zobrist grounded out, but that allowed Heyward to move to third. That was all first-baseman Anthony Rizzo needed to score him with a single, tying the game.
Nothing more followed in that inning, but it was enough to reassure fans that the day was far from over. In fact, today the Cubs won their sixth in a row in a home stand after falling behind early in each game. Our Cubs are not to be easily written off. In the top of the seventh, Alex decided he needed a snow cone but, unwilling to take my eyes off the action, I indicated only that I would get him one if a vendor arrived, which never happened. But Alex soon found other ways to rivet his attention. Another run scored in the bottom of the seventh on a pair of singles and a fielder’s choice, and in the eighth slugger Kyle Schwarber nailed a home run in the right-field bleachers to provide some insurance for a 5-3 lead that held firmly in the top of the ninth.
The music started as the fans filed out:
Go Cubs go, go Cubs go!
Hey Chicago, what do you say?
Cubs are gonna win today!
When we once again emerged from the shadows into the sunlight of Clark and Addison, I had the boys pose in front of the statue of Ernie Banks. They obliged, as you can see, Alex engaging in some dancing shenanigans as he did so. God bless America. George Washington may not have invented baseball, but that’s only because he was too busy liberating his country from the British Empire, so left the job to Abner Doubleday. I’m glad I chose the Independence Day holiday week for our outing. Baseball and America are just a part of each other, the “Home of the Brave.”
Jim Schwab