Even more frustrating than my level of play are the people who take the game way too seriously. These are the people who show up to the field with eye black, Oakley sunglasses, batting gloves carefully situated in the back pocket of their pinstriped baseball pants, and various assortments of wrist and forearm bands. On the Nyack Indians such players are referred to as Baseball Dicks; guys who take the greatest pains to make sure they look the part of a baseball player. However seeing as how this term doesn't apply to my new sport, I've taken to calling them Soft Dicks. Between the Soft Dicks and my chronic inability to get a hit with runners in scoring position, softball hasn't been quite the carefree activity I'd hoped it would be.
However, with the Yankees coming to town last weekend, I finally had something to look forward to other than softball. I travelled to the Southside on Thursday to see the Bombers square off against the White Sox, yet before doing so I warmed up with a Cubs day game at Wrigley. With 18 innings of baseball, six bars, and a bike crash, I figured this day was worthy of recounting in detail. So what follows is an account of my day of baseball and booze.
10:30 am - I leave my house and get on my bike to make the 2 mile ride to Wrigley.
10:32 - I run back up the three flights of stairs to my apartment to rilfle through my medicine cabinet. I find the medicine bottle containing roughly 50 immodium capsules. Generally speaking I'll drop a deuce just about anywhere, be it the porta-potties at a musical festival or the woods on the side of the Saw Mill Parkway. However, if I'm going to be drinking and eating to excess all day, I'd rather not have to make an emergency use of the facilties at Wrigley or US Cellular Field. For some reason I draw the line at deuces in ballparks. So I decide to err on the side of caution and pop four preemptive pills and put the rest of the bottle in my backpack.
10:45 - I ride into Wrigleyville and I get a text from my friend Jackson informing me that he is still 10-15 minutes away. Our plan was to get to the bleachers around 11 o'clock so as to save seats for Jackson's father and our friend Jeffrey. With the prospect of paying exhorbitant beer prices for a full two hours before first pitch, I decide its prudent to get a good buzz going before reaching the bleachers. I sit down at Sluggers and promptly order the special of the day (a Jim Beam and Coke) and an Old Stlye tall boy.
10:50 - Jackson texts me to inform that he has arrived sooner than expected and is waiting for me outside the Bleacher's entrance. I chug both the Beam and Coke and the Old Style, and I immediately regret the fact that I didn't eat breakfast.
10:53 - The bartender informs me that to pay with credit card I must spend a minimum of 20 dollars. Rather then pay cash, I order two shots of Jameson to push my bill to 22 dollars.
10:55 - I'm momentarily blinded by the sunlight after emerging from the dank and dim bar. I've always had a fondness for that sensation. Its almost as if the sunlight and my blood alcohol content combine to give me a kind of giddiness that can only come with day drinking (or morning drinking as the case may be).
11:00 - I meet Jackson on the corner of Sheffield and Addison. He tells me that the Bleachers are filling up slower than usual. This affords us the opportunity to drink some more outside of the stadium before heading in to save seats. We buy a six pack of Old Stlye tall boys and a pint of Beam and make our way to his friend's house around the corner so we can drink on his stoop. Jackson grew up in the cornfields of Iowa and has a wholesome look to him that you would expect of an Iowa farmboy. You would certainly not expect him to collaborate on one of the raunchiest hip-hop albums of all time. But alas he is indeed partially responsible for the smash single "Crazy-Ass Nympho with Daddy Issues." This song is so catchy it immediately replaced the "Go Cubs Go" as the song on constant loop in my head. Download it (track nine) for free here and give it a listen.
11:30 - As we talk Hawkeye football, I reach into the bag for my third beer only to discover that Jackson has lapped me. He claims that he needed to catch up, citing my two shots of Jameson, but I vow never to allow him to lap me again nonetheless.
12:10 - In certain circles Cubs fans have a reputation of being short on baseball intelligence and passion. Their detractors claim that Cubs fans are only interested in getting drunk and working on their tans. This stereotype is fueled by the frat-type environment that the bleachers produce. I'm excited to take part in this party atmosphere, so I'm dismayed when as many as three families take seats in our immediate vicinity. After the guy in front of me makes an off-color remark concerning the size of Carlos Lee's ass, the mother behind me instructs her daughter to "forget everything you hear today." However, I'm confident that as the game wears on and my inhibitions come under increasing attack, I'll be less concerned with offending the families. With my buzz making a swift transition to full-on drunkeness, I pray that I can just avoid making my "Can I take a picture of your kids, they'd look great on my web-site" joke (What's interesting about this joke is that parents never seem to find it quite as funny as I do. I guess all I can do is wait for the time when it is socially accepatable to joke about child pornogaphy).
12:50 - A trio of drunken white high-school students plop down in front of us. I immediately get the feeling that the bleacher creatures will antagonize these kids far more viciously than they will Lee, the Astro's leftfielder.
1:05 - Sure enough, the drunk high-school kids attempt to razz Lee, immediately drawing the ire of those around them. Its not so much the razzing that bothers the crowd but rather the manner in which the razzing is being conducted. The main kid, let's call him Ferris (for he is toting a cute girl and an oafish looking friend), is yelling at Lee, in Spanish, with an annoyingly high-pitched squeal. Are they teaching this kind of smack talk in AP Spanish these days? I wouldn't be surprised, what with the infusion of Latin ball players in the MLB since I graduated from high school.
1:15 - The shrieking Spanish smack talk continues.
1:20 - As the crowd grows increasingly restless with these kids, Jackson leans over and offers them some sage advice. He suggests that there are still 8 innings to go and that they may want to consider conserving some energy.
1:21 - Jackson's advice goes unheeded.
1:45 - The shrieking continues.
1:55 - Eating my first brat of the day, I compliment the Abe Froeman impostor on the quality of his encased meats.
2:15 - Security comes to see why Ferris and his crew are so rowdy. While escorting the intoxicated youths out, the security guard notices a bulge in Jackson's pocket. He confiscates the Beam that we had been saving for after beer sales ended and Jackson's double-header is immediately in jeopardy.
2:20 - Jackson's father is forced to vouch for his son so he can remain in the stadium. The following conversation ensues:
"Is this your son?"
"Yes."
"Are you gonna keep him in line?"
"Of course! I'm gonna whup the sh*t out of him when we get home! I can't believe he bought that swill. He should have tried to sneak in something better than Beam."
2:30 - With the Beam gone, we decide to intensify our beer drinking efforts before last call.
2:30 - 4:00 - With Ferris and his crew gone, the rest of the game passes without much incident. The Cubs thumped the Stro's and I broke out a great John Sterling impression "Yankees win, thhhheeeeeee Yankeeeeeeeeeessssssssss win," prompting Soriano to look up at the scoreboard, only to discover that the Yanks are playing a night game. I think I saw tear in his eye, obviously recalling his days as Jeter's double-play partner.
4:00 - 6:00 - Jackson goes to have dinner with his parents while Jeffrey and I continue to drink at a German bar in Wrigleyville called Uberstein. I drink a bunch of ubersteins and soon feel like an ubermensch.
6:00- 1:00 am - Things start to get a little fuzzy at this point. I know for a fact that A-Rod's purple lip gloss is visible from the right field foul pole, the Yankees lost a heartbreaker, and I saw more mullets at U.S. Celluar field than at the try-outs for a Saskatchewan Junior League hockey team.
So all in all, it was successful day and by far one of the highlights of my Summer. However, August should prove to be far more interesting with Lollapalooza, a Phish show, and a vacation in the works. More to come on each of these events in the coming weeks.
