A Strictly Subjective Take on Today's Game

I arrived at Wrigley about an hour and a half before the game.  A beautiful time to be at the field.  It's 3/4 empty, the LA Dodgers are on display, stretching, taking batting practice, the general warm up.

I have a fabulous seat.  On the aisle, about 20 rows up from Pink Hat Guy, just behind home plate.  I bless my luck and the fact that it doesn't look like it's going to rain any time soon.  Out comes the camera and I take a few good shots.

The section's Crowd Management Control (CMC -- I think of her more as a cross between Section Manager and Ticket Police) woman comes over to chat.  I learn that she's just retired from a career as an elementary school assistant principal.  "There are a lot of teachers who work here part time," she says.  I tell her I come from a long line of teachers and her eyes light up. 

Just as I'm truly soaking in Wrigley and settling into sheer delight in the moment, a group of four decidedly middle aged men arrive to sit in the row in front of me.  I'm thinking, "OK, don't prejudge, they aren't the howdy rowdy crowd.  Give them the benefit of the doubt."  They immediately flag down the beer guy.  Then they stand and continue to stand for the next bloody 90 minutes.  I'm not feeling so charitable.  Well, the game hasn't started, I'm not going to stress.

The six seats next to me remain empty until 2 minutes before game start.  Then six curvalicious 20-somethings arrive.  They're good folk, clearly here for the atmosphere and, as I eavesdrop, from Florida and in town to celebrate one of their birthdays.  The Boomer men in front quickly take notice.  CMC woman and I exchange glances.

The game begins.  Thankfully, the men sit down.  It still doesn't help because what I quickly discover is I can't see a bloody thing.  Being on the aisle, the beer vendors, sweet moms with adorable kids, and those with minuscule bladders clog the view.  My head bobs up, down, around and sideways trying every which way to keep the batter in sight.  CMC woman says, "This is the first time I've worked this section and I see now you have the worst seat here."  She's terrific and spends the rest of the game trying to scope out a better seat.  Too bad this is the third most popular game of the year. Options are few.

Meanwhile, I discover the beefy Boomer boys are from LA.  They got tickets because one of their offspring works for the Dodgers.  They are beer-an-inning-and-then-some guys.  About beer 4 the guy directly in front of me decides he's hot enough for the bombshell beside me.  He strikes up a conversation, hanging half over his seat, half in my lap in lascivious search of hers.  As luck would have it she's a cute chatty type and welcomes the opportunity to interact.  I lean far out into the aisle in order to catch the action. CMC woman continues to scout alternative seating.

By this point I get Zen.  Hell, we're ahead by 2.  We're looking good, so wotthehell.  I get annoyed on a couple of bases loaded situations but luckily the deluded men in front easily take gentle direction.  "Um... could you turn around?  The bases are loaded?"  He manages to put his tongue back in his mouth and comply.

Ah, it doesn't matter.  It's a good day.  I know the Cubs are going to win.  We're all happy.  It's Memorial Day, the beginning of summer.  It's 82 degrees.  We're at Wrigley. And, best of all, for the first time, I'm able to sing "Go Cubs Go" with 42,000 other people at Wrigley.  Post game I get to exchange my golf club cover thingie swag with ballhawk for a gen-u-ine MLB ball.  Life could be much worse.

It's going to be a good year. Go Cubs Go!