Wrigley Field is a dump.There’s no way to get around it.
Even most Cubs fans will admit that if you look at the old ballpark objectively, it should have been demolished years ago.
The scoreboard doesn’t have a JumboTron and its numbers are changed by actual people sitting behind the board, cramped and hot.
The seating sections are literally marked by handwritten chalk on the banisters.
And the sound system is so outdated that a beautiful rendition of the national anthem is nearly incomprehensible.
But despite its atrocious appearance and complete lack of luxury, Wrigley Field still has one thing that Southern California sports venues don’t.
Wrigley Field still has its magic.
A family vacation to Chicago helped remind me if this simple truth. And while visiting with relatives can prove tiresome, our trip to see the first-place Cubs was refreshing.
It reminded me why so many Americans love baseball, what a baseball game is and how badly we’ve screwed it up here in SoCal.
The question is reasonably simple: Why would a sell-out crowd spend their Sunday afternoon in hot and humid weather, baking in rickety bleacher seats for tickets they had to buy for $100 past retail?
But the answer is far more multifaceted.
It’s because, in Chicago, there are about a million modes of cheap and easy public transportation to ride. People look forward to getting on the “L” or on the bus where they can shoot the bull with another equally die-hard Cubs fan about everything from their favorite team to the city’s new gun law. Everyone is willing to be friendly and chat in the Windy City.
It’s because everyone, and I mean everyone, owns a Cubs shirt and wants to wear it as often as possible.
It’s because the fans care and are on time. There are the same number of fans in their seats at first pitch as there are for the final out. And that number often lingers slightly above 41,000 ““ a sellout. No one drove to the game anyway, so “getting out before the rush” is impossible and irrelevant.
It’s because Chicagoans still get excited about food. Ice cream, custard and gelato still hold dominion over frozen yogurt in these parts, and if that means fewer fans can fit in the small seats, so be it. The ball game means a food festival to Cubs fans, and Wrigley doesn’t mess around. It’s bratwurst, hot dogs and nachos for Cubs fans. For all they know, sushi is a special way to slice and prepare your Italian beef.
It’s because the fans are more than willing to high-five each other when a Cub hits a home run. And it’s because every fan gives the peanuts guy a $5 bill for a bag and doesn’t ask for change.
It’s because no one who is there is there on a date, and if they are, it’s equally understood that the romance and conversation is secondary to the baseball.
And it’s because, at the end of the game, when the Cubs win, there are no fancy fireworks, but rather the playing of a simple song called “Go, Cubs, Go.” It’s a song everyone knows, a song that 41,000 people all sing, and a song simple enough for even the most drunken fan to yell in a loud and belligerent manner.
This is what baseball is all about. This is why, no matter how much the Cubs stink, they still sell out that prehistoric building. This is why my cousin decided to blow $1,400 to make this the family outing and highlight of our trip.
He knew it’d be different than any Dodgers, Angels or Padres game, and he knew we’d have a good time.
Even though Wrigley is a dump.