Sweet Home Chicago

What up world,

I lived in Chicago for three years, most of that time within the shadow of Wrigley Field. I wandered the streets of Wrigleyville, enjoying the restaurants, the bars, and the general atmosphere of the area. Although I never became a full fledged Cubs fan, I will admit to owning a hat and offering my silent support to the team. I desperately wanted the Cubs to advance deep into the postseason, just to see the response of the neighborhood, and to have an excuse to get drunk and party.

I had no issues with the team other than being annoyed with the intoxicated, middle aged white guys that took over Clark St. on game days. They play in the National League, they generally fair pretty well against the Bitch Sox in interleague play, and are a fairly loveable team. Derrick Lee seems awesome. I can admire the scrappiness of The Riot. Ryan Dempster has crazy wrists, and Ted Lilly looks like he's constantly on the verge of tears.

In addition to this, the ballpark is awesome. It looks like it was put together with scraps of various building material and it seems to be constantly on the verge of collapse. However, it's located in the center of the city, with bars across the street, and homes that offer a view of the field of play from their rooftop. Going to a Cubs game is an event for the entire hood. Since moving there, I was always envious that Minneapolis didn't possess a similar feel. I'm hoping that Target Field will come close, but I don't know if you can ever match the atmosphere of Chicago's north side.

Through the magic of WGN, I was able to watch the Twins/Cubs series this weekend. Instead of being overjoyed that I was able to watch the games live, I became extremely jealous. I had heard from a variety of friends that were heading to Wrigley to watch the games. I had lived near the field for two years, and never had the chance to watch the Twins play there. I wanted to be chanting Joe Mauer's name with the rest of the crowd while on the verge of screaming like a pre-teen girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. I wanted to drink Old Style in the bleachers, taunting Milton Bradley for his bonehead play. I wanted to tell Go Go that I still loved him, even though he has a permanent ass-bat, and then go crazy when he hit his home run on Sunday.

Instead, I was dog sitting for friends, trying to formulate plans to see the team in LA. The combination of the Twins at Wrigley, the start of the Chicago dodgeball season, and too many shifts at work caused me to miss the mid-west more than ever before.

To recover from this, I spent the day at the beach yesterday, trying to quell the feeling of homesickness with crashing surf and bright sunshine. Although this helped, I still need to feel a little better. The solution? Maybe a sweep of the Pirates? I think so.

-Sota