As no exception to this eons-old rite of passion, I couldn’t stand the drought any longer, and on Wednesday night I ventured on over to my neighborhood cathedral: the ever tantalizing, the ever teasing, the ever titillating Sox Park.
I scored like no man has ever scored before.
Scorecards tell stories — great, fantastic stories that can be pieced together with digits and asterisks and squiggly lines. Each one is unique — each scorer different from the next, yet universally similar enough to enlighten anyone else willing to read them.
When I was a kid I found scorecards from the ’60s an uncle of mine had kept. There I was, decades later, in a dark basement in the dead of winter, recreating the majesty of Ken Boyer and Bob Gibson and Tim McCarver on a hot July afternoon… in my head.
So go ahead, take a gander… and try not to drool (click image to enlarge):
Hate me ‘cuz you’re allowed to, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sometimes ya just run in to somethin’ and have no choice but to say:
Hate me ‘cuz I made you look at that, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Image via Skull Swap)
Oh, I know… cover the Clark and Addison entrance with a giant picture of Lou Piniella’s distended belly.
It’s historic. It’s sentimental. It’s old timey.
Where else can you pay ten times the market price for a 20 ounce can of Old Style? Where else can you gather around a trough with a hundred other men and urinate in drunken unison? Where else can you go to hear D-list celebrities butcher a classic song by singing out of tune?
Only at Wrigley Field.
I was p!ssed when they added the Bud Light Bleachers (bleacher tickets should not be $44 a piece, people)… I was p!ssed when they added the Captain Morgan Club… and with the addition of these gaudy action portraits, I am beyond p!ssed at the team I love to hate.
People like Wrigley because it’s authentic. It’s classic. It’s historic.
And because the Cubs lose there.
But slowly, as they add an advertisement here, a sports bar there and a fully functioning urinal there, Wrigley Field is slowly becoming just like every place else…
Not Wrigley Field.
So don’t hate me… ‘cuz I’m right.
Besides Chinatown flea markets and the out-of-this-world chili at Ramova Grill, the best part about living on the Southside of Chicago is having the White Sox play in my own backyard.
Because as a Cardinals fan far removed from my old Busch Stadium stomping grounds, I know I can always find good, learned, baseball-lovin’ folk at New Comiskey (only newbies and yuppies call it The Cell — so I’m told).
And on Monday night, Southsiders came out to the park in droves. It was hot. It was humid. The rain was coming down hard. But Mark Buehrle was on the mound and it’s no secret that White Sox fans love them some Mark Buehrle. Over 36,000 people came out to see him duel the Royals’ Brian Bannister… yes, 36,000! On a Monday night. With an hour long rain delayed start. Against the Royals.
Now that, dear readers, is some serious dedication.
Perhaps the influx of fans was due to the high hopes of a pitcher’s duel.
Well, we didn’t get it.
‘Cuz when Yuniesky Betancourt goes yard, you know the pitching ain’t so great.
Indeed, it was a back and forth battle throughout, until the Sox broke it open in the 7th inning and appeared to have the game in hand.
But Scott Linebrink seemed focused on tempting the Royals’ scouts, who seem to go after the poorest of performers. Yes, Linebrink’s Kyle Farnsworth impression was brilliantly played by blowing a 3 run lead in the 8th on a Mike Jacobs rocket launch over the right field wall.
Fade to black?
Not so fast. Alex Rios walked to start the bottom of the 8th. Scott Podsednik continued his 2005 renaissance with a go-ahead run-scoring double… and then later Ozzie Guillen brought in the Fat Man to seal the deal.
Sure, it was a great game and all… but the whole time I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy sitting in front of me:
Don’t hate ’em ‘cuz they’re right.
Don’t believe me? Just ask Kevin Gregg.