CHICAGO — From 15 rows behind the Chicago Cubs’ dugout, it was easy to envy the folks in the right-field bleachers. They were keeping warm in the sun during batting practice late Sunday afternoon, while I shivered in the shade.
Even as my teeth chattered on the last day of May, it was hard to keep from grinning ear to ear. This was my first trip to Wrigley Field, a place that represents all that is right with why we play and watch sports with so much passion.
Most things in life don’t live up to the hype, but Wrigley Field does. It really is that special, from the no-frills layout to the ivy to the old scoreboard to the bars and restaurants all around it in Wrigleyville.
As I looked around the place, located at 1060 West Addison — an address I’ve known for about 30 years, since I first saw “The Blues Brothers” — it was impossible not to appreciate the history of the old stadium.
Just as I’d rather have a Ford Mustang from the 1960s than one that just came off the assembly line, I’ll take an old, neighborhood park like Wrigley or Fenway in Boston over the perk-heavy, personality-free suburban stadiums that are found throughout the major leagues.
I’ll take a place with character and a few ghosts every time.
I didn’t see my grandfather’s ghost Sunday as I watched the Los Angeles Dodgers crush the Cubs 8-2, but I was sure thinking about him.
G. Howard “Jack” Smith died nearly 22 years ago, when I was just 15. At family gatherings, we spent most of our time together playing gin and watching the Atlanta Braves on TBS.
Baseball has never been my favorite sport — I’ll take a Champions League soccer game over the World Series — but I’ve always felt a connection to it because of my grandfather. He played at Alabama Polytechnic Institute (now Auburn University), and after graduating in 1919 he played minor league ball around the South for several years, including a stint with the Chattanooga Lookouts.
On the subject of the Lookouts, in right field Sunday for the Dodgers was Jamie Hoffmann, who hit .307 in 29 games for Chattanooga before being called up to Hollywood. He was 0-for-4 with an RBI on Sunday.
My grandfather eventually settled down in Rome, Ga., where he worked for West Point Pepperell Manufacturing for more than 40 years. On family vacations to the beach, Jack Jack, as his five grandkids called him, wasn’t much for playing in the sand and surf. But he would gladly have us sit beside him on the porch or when he was watching the Braves.
He’d talk, during commercials, about his playing days and about how he once saw Babe Ruth play at Yankee Stadium. His fondness for those memories was evident, as was, I hope, my fondness for him and his stories.
There was no player even close to Ruth’s stature on the field Sunday — especially with the Dodgers’ Manny Ramirez suspended for trying to get pregnant, if I understand the facts of his case correctly.
For the Cubs, as the diehard fans sitting around me said and sometimes screamed, there’s not a lot of star power (or batters hitting above .240) in their lineup. The mix of fatalism and pessimism in so many Cubs fans is a wonderfully entertaining combination.
After the first five batters singled off Cubs pitcher Sean Marshall in the top of the first inning,the exasperated fan next to me said the game was over, and then listed a dozen reasons why - all of which proved to be on the money.
The fans, so faithful yet so pessimistic, were a big part of what I came to see. They didn’t leave satisfied Sunday night, but I sure did.
