Last night, I had quite the inaugural Bleacher experience.
It started with me cranky and tired (as I am most days). Sunday, I spent too many hours drinking beers and cheering for the losing Blackhawks. Sunday was a perfect Memorial Day weekend. Crisp, sunny, full of sloshed jackasses (me included). But Monday, Monday I was exhausted a bit hungover and outside it was soggy and grey. Not a day (or night) that you want to sit outside and watch a baseball game. The kind of day when you want to sleep in and watch Tivo’d Hills episodes.
I was hoping the game would get rained out and that my girlfriends and I would grab a great dinner and drink a bottle of wine instead. Somewhere inside, where’s it’s warm.
But we dragged our cranky selves, complaining about the weather and commenting on our attempts to layer up and (for me) the decision to forsake fashion for warmth.
Living near Wrigley is both wonderful and horrific. When you want to go about your day and do simple things like walk up the street to a friends house or go shopping, it’s horrific to have thousands of drunk assholes from the ‘burbs crowding the sidewalks and the streets, vomiting on your doorstep, screaming to each other (or crying) on the corner. But, when you are in the mood for the game, being a part of it, it’s pretty great to walk only four blocks to the world’s largest bar, Wrigley Field. And let me be honest, I have been that drunk asshole crowding the sidewalk, yelling at my friends (maybe even crying on the corner). But I digress.
Wrigley, well, it sucks you in. We walked in the gates and Darcy said, “I wasn’t going to drink, but now that I’m here…” Yep, that’s Wrigley for you.
It started with me cranky and tired (as I am most days). Sunday, I spent too many hours drinking beers and cheering for the losing Blackhawks. Sunday was a perfect Memorial Day weekend. Crisp, sunny, full of sloshed jackasses (me included). But Monday, Monday I was exhausted a bit hungover and outside it was soggy and grey. Not a day (or night) that you want to sit outside and watch a baseball game. The kind of day when you want to sleep in and watch Tivo’d Hills episodes.
I was hoping the game would get rained out and that my girlfriends and I would grab a great dinner and drink a bottle of wine instead. Somewhere inside, where’s it’s warm.
But we dragged our cranky selves, complaining about the weather and commenting on our attempts to layer up and (for me) the decision to forsake fashion for warmth.
Living near Wrigley is both wonderful and horrific. When you want to go about your day and do simple things like walk up the street to a friends house or go shopping, it’s horrific to have thousands of drunk assholes from the ‘burbs crowding the sidewalks and the streets, vomiting on your doorstep, screaming to each other (or crying) on the corner. But, when you are in the mood for the game, being a part of it, it’s pretty great to walk only four blocks to the world’s largest bar, Wrigley Field. And let me be honest, I have been that drunk asshole crowding the sidewalk, yelling at my friends (maybe even crying on the corner). But I digress.
Wrigley, well, it sucks you in. We walked in the gates and Darcy said, “I wasn’t going to drink, but now that I’m here…” Yep, that’s Wrigley for you.
Here’s what was great about it:
· It was Memorial Day. I get a bit teary and emotional during the national anthem. Well it doubles on Memorial Day, especially when you throw a bald eagle into the mix. There was an Eagle named Challenger. During the last verse of the National Anthem he started a few rows behind us in the bleachers, circled the pitcher’s mound a few times and landed on the arm of his handler. I’m an emotional dork. I got teary eyed. It was pretty awesome.
· After Challenger’s performance, seagulls circled the park and Darcy said, “I know they are going to shit on me.”
· Mr. T threw out the first pitch. Mr. T. Seriously, Mr. T.
· The drama. Oh the drama in the bleachers. Overheard conversations: one woman telling another man that he and his wife should become swingers, another woman telling her friends that she connected with a former student on facebook and they are now dating.
· There was a couple making out. I mean full on sloppy drunk making out. Then they left, and ANOTHER couple sat in the same spot, and proceeded to make out. Oh and they also were kind enough to stand up at one point while they were making out, so that everyone could see better.
· British and Scottish Soccer (or in their words, football) players dressed in kilts with their faces painted. They were all ruckus and drunkenness, hitting on all the girls around us.
· Kelly kept mimicking and repeating the British phrases. She’s going to speak “British” this summer. I told her I think that’s “brilliant.”
· Mr. T sang the 7th inning stretch, finishing with “I pity the pirates.”
· The cubs lost, but that last inning they ALMOST had it. It was exciting. Except, well, they still lost.
· On the walk home, a driver in a car at the intersection of Sheffield/Clark/Cornelia was singing Opera, top of his lungs, full on Susan Boyle enthusiasm to himself.
Did I mention that I ate a hot dog and drank some beers? I maybe a vodka girl, but sometimes a beer is what’s needed.
