Chicago In Pictures
You can always try to get away, but there's no escape. During my brief stay in Chicago, I saw more than enough people sporting Carolina hats. I was giving one some grief as I walked past him on the street (I may have had a few seven drinks at this point), and he pulled out a "Jordan went to Carolina" excuse. Dude, please.
(Strangely enough, in addition to the lot of UNC pseudo-fans, I saw some guy sporting a Wake Forest hat at the Sox game on Monday. That's like spotting an animal that was thought to be extinct.)
Those unsolicited reminders of home aside, I had a good time. I wore my White Sox hat to Wrigley on Sunday, which made for an interesting experience. Having been provided with little ammunition by this year's White Sox team, I was left to pathetically point at the "World Series 2005" patch on the side of my hat. I kind of wanted to obnoxiously cheer for the Braves, but seeing as how they were lifeless from the game's first pitch, that was never an option. Mark DeRosa hit a grand slam in the bottom of the first inning and the Cubs never looked back.
At one point early on, these fellas sauntered down and sat down right next to us in section 138. I come for the baseball, but I stay for the sweet, sweet music:
The game itself was, as I mentioned earlier, a total yawner, though I know the Cubs were happy to take it. But just being there was the point; what happened on the field was immaterial.
Here, Jeff Francoeur and Matt Diaz discuss how much they will suck today:
Alfonso Soriano did very much not suck, finishing a double short of the cycle:
Ron Santo sang "Take Me Out To The Ballgame," Kerry Wood boogied down in a bar afterward, there were many drinks. It's a hell of a party on the north side. I look at these photos and I'm ready to go right back.
The next two nights were spent at US Cellular Field watching the White Sox continue their struggle to mimic a Major League Baseball team. You can't trip in Wrigleyville without stumbling into a bar, but finding refreshments at the other end of town is more of a challenge. On Monday we made the mistake of heading down early in hopes of doing just that (note to self: never take your cabby at his word), and the result was a modest success. We found a bar--not as adjacent to the Cell as we'd been led to believe--and drinks were had. The atmosphere I cannot compliment, however.
Pitching in Roger Clemens's stead was Matt DeSalvo; the White Sox loaded the bases in the second and third innings, and, in typical fashion, refused to break the game open. It's June and the Sox are last in the AL in runs scored, average, on base percentage, and slugging percentage. A joy to watch, really. (With each passing day, I'm increasingly thankful that I bought that $120 MLB.tv subscription.)
Fortunately, Jon Garland pitched well, limiting the Yankees to a couple of runs in 8+ innings.
Rick Sutcliffe sipping a drink before the game, no doubt telling everyone around him how George Clooney is up there with the Congress, trying to get everybody to go over there and solve that thing:
Somebody's pouty because Jon Garland struck him out twice--and Jon Garland couldn't strike out the headless corpse of Ted Williams:
On Tuesday, the Yankees bounced back and had little trouble with Mark Buehrle, ultimately winning 7-3. As I left, I thought of the players who wouldn't be in a Chicago uniform even if I came back in September. Each loss brings us a day closer to the trade deadline, a day closer to the fire sale that now feels imminent. (Buy one Podsednik get one Erstad free!)