Elegy for a Season past
In the early summer of 2000, the year I graduated from college, two of my roommates, one of my fraternity brothers and I packed into my old Explorer at the crack of dawn, and drove to Chicago to see the Cubs play the Astros. Dan, John, Mike and I had gotten tickets in the bleachers the previous day, having brainstormed this idea. It was a Thursday day game, and only one of us had a class to miss, so Mike blew off his psych class, and drove to Chicago with us.
The drive to Chicago is not a short one. It took us about six hours, driving through Columbus and Indianapolis, then up toward the city itself. We had picked a perfect day, sunny with puffy white clouds, and mild temperatures, perfect for sitting outdoors. We parked somewhere in Wrigleyville and wandered toward Waveland and Addison, where the façade of the bleachers rises above this residential neighborhood. The was a crowd at the bar at the corner. Dan went in and bought us all Killian's to drink while I wandered around the front of the stadium to pick up the tickets.
With four bleacher tickets in hand, we climbed into Wrigley Field under the sun, the green expanse of the outfield grass and the wrought iron and steel of the grandstand laid bare before us. Quickly we had Old Style in plastic cups and hot dogs and seats in the right field bleachers. I had my scorebook and scratched in the lineups, though it was a lost cause due to the Old Style by the fifth inning.
What a day that was. I remember us spilling on to the streets after the game, Mike and Dan sloshed, John pretty well sleepy, and me just getting ready for the long, sunburned drive back to campus. I picked up a Right Field Bleachers shirt that vanished from my wardrobe last summer, inscribed with the words, "Shut Up and Drink Your Beer" on the back. It was my very favorite t-shirt that spring, and even just seeing it would bring back the memory of sunshine, beer, hotdogs, and Sammy Sosa sprinting to right.
That is the memory I will take with me into the off-season this year. Not the memory of Oakland losing three straight, nor the Cubs doing the same, but rather a moment of mid-season, when the game is at its lazy best, game after game, under the azure sky in the spring sunshine.
Goodnight, baseball, I will see you when you wake in February.
Sleep well.
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http://www.josephfinn.net/mt/archives/001696.html
And speaking of a certain North Side team, Tom Bridge has some good thoughs in his Elegy for a Season
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