RevSpork

Disorder in the court!

We have 72 more hours until Moving Day, the Girlfriend is a tight ball of stress, and I'm washing our blankies.  And I've been summoned to jury duty.

On the move again

The Girlfriend and I are looking to move again.  The rent we pay at our current domicile is bad enough, but we got killed by the heating bills this winter, and we would rather not sell our blood plasma again next winter to keep warm.  We need something cheaper so we can do radical things like pay down our debts and (Dare we dream?  Dare!  Dare!) save money for a house or condo or tropical island or whatever the hell we want to live in.  Of course, this means we have to [argh] look for another apartment.

Why do I do this to myself every year?

In less than ten hours, Chicago Cubs tickets go on sale.  Why don't I just buy tickets to a minor league game? It's so much cheaper, and it's pretty much the same game.  I'm no baseball fan; players don't mean much to me. 

But it's not the Cubs, it's not the city, it's not the game: it's Wrigley Field itself.  I've never watched a sports game in a prettier stadium.  When I'm sitting in my seat, eating a hot dog and sipping a soda, I find myself more a part of Chicago than I am any other time.  For those few hours, I belong here.  I cheer on the Cubbies because for those few hours, I'm a true fan.  I would cheer the team on if they were about to lose their 140th game of the season.  The team, the crowd, and I are one, our emotions plugged in to the throw, the hit, the run, the catch.  Outside of Wrigley, the Cubs are just another sports team, Chicago just another overly loud, obnoxious city. 

So tomorrow morning I'll log on, Visa on my desk, reading a book while waiting for my chance to buy tickets.  It will be boring, and frustrating as hell, but I know the future dividends will be worth it.

Oh, the weather outside SUCKS!

I arrived in Chicago in mid-2001, a few months after the city got socked by a nasty, snowy winter.  What followed were three straight mild winters.  For example, the winter of 2001-02 didn't see a Chicago snowstorm until mid-January.  Last winter featured a few small snowstorms and a couple nasty cold snaps, but nothing major.  This year was destined to be different, and your Reverend knew it, predicting a nasty winter as early as August.  Sure, we didn't get a major snowstorm right after Election Day as I predicted, but then Chicago was so depressed over the election that we wouldn't have noticed an alien invasion, let alone a blizzard, so it may very well have occurred right under our noses. 

Let me repeat this: I *told* you folks we were going to get socked with an ugly winter.  I warned you.  You could be in Hawaii right now with the intelligent people, but NOOOOO!  All those excuses about jobs, kids, house repair et al, seem mighty flimsy now that you're up to your armpits in snowdrifts.  I think Chicago owes me an apology for ignoring my warnings. 

Uptown Saturday Night

I was returning home via the Red Line just before 1am, exhausted from the day’s work.  Saturday is retail’s busiest day, no matter what product you’re selling, and at 1am, my only desire, besides slipping into bed with my sleeping girlfriend, was to ride home with the maximum level of silence a train can accommodate and still continue to operate.  The first several stops south of Howard were consistent in this vein until Granville, when a swarm of drunk college students entered, making their presence known in the only way drunken college students know how: perverse squealing and chattering about their night at the bars.  This species annoyed me even when I attended college; ten years later, their noise still burns my ears. 

Screw waiting until next year!

Last Wednesday, the Girlfriend and I were at Wrigley Field for a third time this season, watching in horror as the Cubs did everything they could to lose.  Although they were eliminated from playoff contention three days later, it was that game which convinced their fans that the Cubs' season was about to end.  The Cubs left 12 men on base, including three times when they ended the inning with the bases loaded and no runs.  They lost 2-1 in 12 innings, but the season was over as well. 

And the Wrigley hot dogs gave me stomach cramps later that night.  Talk about adding insult to injury.

Another baseball season over.  Another six months before the Girlfriend and I wait impatiently in the electronic ticket parlor to buy seats.  We could use the vacation.

Choking off mass transit

Illinois, like most of the other 49 states, is suffering from a budget crisis.  And like the other 49 states, Illinois has to make some tough decisions.  Education, transportation, police...all feel the pinch.  But the budget cut that will hurt me, and thousands of Chicagoans, the most: gutting the CTA, the city's mass transit system and economic lifeline for folks like me.  Without the CTA, I wouldn't have a job.  And if the service cuts come to pass next year, I won't be the only one who'd have to take a taxi from work at 1am. 

A day at Wrigley Field

There's something about a game at Wrigley Field that even visitors who aren't fans admit is exciting once they attend a game there.  Maybe it's because it offers an idealized picture of what America used to be.  That is, if you divide all the prices by 20.  When you have to cough up $2.75 for a hot dog (an even four bucks for an all-dressed Chicago), $3 for a bottled water (which probably didn't even exist in old-time baseball fields), and two bucks for a pretzel, we're talking a looooong way from the olden days. 

Hunger

In every sport, from football to beach volleyball, there is a requirement not just to be good, but to be great: hunger.  You can have a team packed with Hall-of-Famers and still never win the championship.  Case in point: The U.S. Olympic basketball team, a team composed of some of the greatest athletes in the world, but so complacent, they couldn't beat teams inferior in talent, but superior in drive.  The real surprise was not that they only received a bronze medal, or even that they received a medal at all, but that fans actually expected them to win without trying. 

In every sport, there are two types of groups worth mentioning.  The so-called "Cinderella teams," those who were not expected to perform very well but through a combination of team effort, luck, and hunger, surprise everyone.  These teams rarely win a championship, but their efforts generate attention and excitement for those who love underdogs and sports fans in general. 

Then there are their opposities, those teams with that curse called "infinite potential," but for various reasons never live up to it.  My favorite NFL team, the Kansas City Chiefs, had one of the best won-loss records in the 1990's, yet never reached a Super Bowl during the decade.   They were good, but fed by illusions of Super Bowl glory, allowed themselves to be dominated by those more willing to work for a championship than fantasize about it.

And there there are the Chicago Cubs.  Predicted by many sports writers to reach the World Series this season, the Cubs are currently in third place, hanging on to the possibility of a wild-card berth.  Of all the playoff-caliber teams, the Cubs were blessed with the easiest September schedule, yet cannot defeat last-place teams like the Montreal Expos, whom they lost two of three to this week.  Although still in the playoff race, the Cubs, unlike last season, have become listless and tired.  Sure, they've been hit with plenty of injuries this season, but ultimately, that's no excuse.  The great teams shrug off injuries.  Worst of all, the Cubs aren't hungry.

The blame for this lack of "hunger"  cannot be laid upon the Cubs alone.  Much of it can be placed on Chicago itself, who are so used to a losing team, it's considered a tradition.  The Cubs, no matter how badly they play, will always be loved.  They will sell out their games.  They will have the support of the much of the city no matter what.  That's why the team isn't hungry: if you can go nearly a century without winning a championship and *still* be widely loved, why try?  Besides, losing sports teams is a cherished Chicago tradition.  The Bulls may have had their time in the NBA sun, the Bears had their Super Bowl trophy, but overall Chicago is a city of bad teams, and that's the way the population likes it.  Why mess with tradition?

Of course the Girlfriend and I will cheer the Cubs on next Wednesday when we see them play the Pirates, but we're going to cheer for them to win, not because they're the Cubs.  Sad to say, we'll probably be in the minority at Wrigley.

Dog Days of Summer?

Far be it for me to look a gift summer in the mouth. I hate hot and humid weather, and this summer has had almost none of this, being downright cool and pleasant most of the time. However, as I shiver under two light blankets - in August - and the temperature fails to reach seventy degrees today, one thing comes to mind: it's gonna be one cold, ugly winter. Mark my words, Chicago is going to have its first major snowstorm right after Election Day. Just you wait.