Throughout my youth I have been a Sox fan. Sure, I'm a North Sider, indeed, but when those Black and White Striped players take the field, all loyalties fall South. Naturally. When my five siblings and I were kids, growing up in Lake Forest, we were sort of knocked about for being Sox fans, which fueled the flames of Sox rage even more. I'm sure this is a common life experience for Sox fans, what else could explain the anger? Anyway, this past week that pot reached boiling point when my sister Colleen and two of my brothers, Sean and Timmy, and I went to the Cubs/Houston game at Wrigley.
All of us in our more mature twenties, we decided, why not go to Cubs game? We like baseball. We like hotdogs. We like a happy atmosphere as much as the next guy. So we did. Our dad gave us some tickets typically donned out to his clients, as a special treat for Colleen's homecoming from LA, which was nice. But we had no idea what would lie before us once entering "The Friendly Confines."
About the third inning in, we get to the park and Immediately Colleen and I head to the beer stand to purchase a round. Then we pop down to our seats meeting Sean and Tim there. The guys in the seats behind us are your typical Cub fans, belligerent and loud, heckling the players from three tiers up in hopes of rousing the opposing team. Annoying. As the innings progressed, they turned on whoever was closest (ie the foursome in front of them. Us.) Somehow Colleen had let it slip we were actually Sox fans, an easy thing to detect as none of us had any Cubs gear on. So, we may not have looked the part, but the older couple seated below us, Pete and Randi we'd later come to learn, certainly did, making up for our lackluster baseball appearance. The pair have had Cubs season tickets since 1981, my oldest brother's birth year to put it in perspective). Randi was decked out in a Cubs white polo, a classic blue baseball cap and white pants with the cutest pair of faux golf shoes I've ever seen adorned on a senior citizen. Pete, wearing a complimenting red polo and khaki pants, didn't quite match up Randi in parfanelia, but he gave it his best shot. And, Randi keeps the stats of all Cub games.
Every few minutes Pete would turn around and make conversation with us about how much he hated the guys behind us: "I've already made a formal complaint," and "I just want to beat those guys in the head" being my favorites of the night. About mid the 5th inning, after the guys returned with a fresh round of brews, Sean gets into it with me, of course involving health insurance and the collapse of modern healthcare. [Note, I have the worst health insurance ever. My brother has helped me out with this, but it's really a problem with the system. Our relationship has suffered as a result. He is an insurance agent.] Randi literally turns around and tells us to shut it. Noting that, "This is a baseball game." I went to the restroom (a story in itself) and came back. The jerks behind us were in full form. In my absence they began screaming, "Go Back to the Suburbs" to us and the crowd around us.
In fury, I turned to Colleen and told her, wouldn't it be nice if the guys behind us would stop spitting on the back of our necks with every insult spew? She proceeds to ask them.
Response: "It must be nice to have your daddy's season tickets."
To which Tim relishes: "Oh, yeah, it's great. I'm really thankful. You know, we've got Sox tickets too."
Timmy, love him, but probably a dick-move in retrospect.
Pete makes another complaint. He's really a great guy. The section overseer comes down to let the two chotches behind us know that they've received a noise complaint.
Jerks: "But, sir, their Sox fans."
Cub Employee: "I don't care who they're rooting for, they could be rooting for the Packers. I want you to shut up."
Jerks: "Sir, do you know Adam? He's our neighbor. Yeah, he works here."
Cub Employee, now rolling his eyes: "Great."
Jerks: "Hey, you should get him down here."
This is not working for them. Adam never comes down.
Then, Soriano has to go and knock out a homer. Everyone stands up in excitement. We're thinking, hey! Maybe this game is looking up. Woo!
The crowd goes wild and asshole behind me drops his beer — all over my back, my white t-shirt soaked. Classy. I turn around, and no, I do not know containment. The inner White Sox fan in all of us gets loose. Between Col, Tim, Sean and I, we drop at least 15 F-bombs.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"
"WHAT ARE YOU IN COLLEGE?"
Tim chimes in, "God, more like high school, asshole."
A Slew of profanities ensues.
One jerk: "It slipped outta my hand." [Mostly slurring, giving a shrug and taking another sip of Old Style]
It's all a blur for about 4 minutes.
I've stomped up to the top of the section, cry to the old guy who's in charge of the section. I'm crying, and the crowd is still going wild thanks to Soriano. I guess homers don't happen too often. [Note here: The Cubs eventually lose after holding the lead most of the game. Typical.]
When the guy gets his manager down to our seats minutes later, we're still in rage mode. The guys have sat down at this point, Colleen has ripped into them, and Sean looks like he might break someone's face.
I'm a little shocked that my siblings care about me, given the health insurance quarrel not three innings ago.
Colleen has demanded that the guys make amends in the form of nachos and beers. "Get up. Yeah, you, get her some nachos!"
I'm red-faced and yelling: "It's not our fault we're from the suburbs. Gees, you're probably from Mount Prospect. That doesn't make us bad people. What's your problem?!"
Meanwhile, my voice, which was already hoarse, completely disappears into a strained whisper.
Randi tells me to settle down, I tell her to stop yelling at me.
The jerks are ousted.
Colleen finds out the crowd around us, save for Pete and Randi, is experiencing their first Cubs game. One guy attempts to buy a round of beers in celebration at the end of the 7th. After standing in line for 20 minutes, the cashier says, "Sorry, it's the 7th, these are the things you learn."
He settles on Cotton Candy for everyone instead. Hilarious.
And even after all of the mayhem, a woman, who might have been a little off, sits on the steps next to my seat, turns to me, and says, "I don't like you. You're an ugly person. You got those two boys kicked out."
Yikes. She is excorted out by a friend. Pete invites us back to his club stadium seats after the 8th, the longest inning ever, Randi declares that this was indeed the worst baseball game she's been to, and then we run into our cousin Maureen and her husband. Pete loads us up with a round of drinks, then another, and as the stadium shuts down Randi says she can't be the last to leave the park! We learn Pete is an ex-FBI agent, and he offers to get us old badges to flash at anyone who attempts to mess with us in the future. We find out Randi used to be a Chicago Judge, and she knows our whole family. Seriously. Margaret, Judge Quinn, Attorney Bill Quinlan, cousins upon cousins.
Small world. All brought together over the love of baseball, hotdogs, and beer. The American past-time.
No comments:
Post a Comment