Cubs Vs. Brewers, 9/18

9:37 PM | Comments (0) | by Chaim Witz

On Thursday, the wife and I played hooky from work and headed south to the Friendly Confines for one last regular season game. We would be sitting in the bleachers for the first time since the infamous 'Thunderfist' weekend back in August, when most of the bartenders were in town. The bleachers always seem to lend themselves to drunken shenanigans, and Thursday was no exception.

After a gluttonous breakfast of cinnamon rolls and other sugar-covered pastries at Ann Sather, we arrived at Wrigley in time to stake out some seats in the left field bleachers. Little did we know at the time, but we had just entered the Cougar Den.

Middle-aged woman, freed from the bonds of marriage, surrounded us. Fanny packs, big bangs, estrogen, tight tops and drunken professions of Sarah Palin-love assaulted us from every direction. There were two girls closer to our age sitting directly in front of us that Katy quickly befriended. When you're stuck in the Cougar Den, you need to adapt or die.

Seated directly in front us were 3 older gentlemen, right next to the two girls that Katy befriended. One of these older gentlemen clearly had a soft spot for young babes and he began to chat them up about his 30 year reunion. They humored him long enough for him to buy them multiple rounds of beers.

Later on, much the horror of my PG-lifestyle, he removed his shirt and tried to get the girls to paint 'WHS' on his chest. Wheeling High School. Yeah, cause everyone will know what that means. The girls were appropriately appalled, and left to his own devices, he fashioned a crude and barely readable WHS on his chest. The 'W' sweated through shortly there-after and ended up looking like 'VHS' instead.

"Look at this guy. He must really hate DVDs!"

There were also some younger guys a few rows up who were so inspired by WHS that they decided to paint various Cubs-related propaganda on their chest and back. The results were amateurish at best. One guy's friend wrote 'Lee' (as in Derek) on his buddy's back, but feeling that it lacked 'ooomph', added a crude drawing of male genitalia for good measure. I don't imagine that Derek Lee would approve of such imagery.

Oh, and then there's the game. It was one for the ages. The Cubs trailed 6-2 going into the bottom of the ninth and got 2 quick outs. A couple of hits later and it was a 6-3 game, with 2 runners on for Geovany Soto, who promptly deposited the first pitch he saw from Solomon Torres into the bleachers, tying the game at 6. Pandemonium ensued. Beer rained down from the sky, strangers were hugged and WHS guy had a mild heart attack. I even tried to high five one of the Palin Cougars, but she said 'thanks but no thanks' to that emotional bridge that I was trying to build.

The game went into extra innings and the Cubs won 7-6 on a two out single by Derek Lee in the 12th. I raised the roof. Off to the Gingerman Tavern after the game, where we celebrated the victory bellied up to the bar, laying waste to a couple pitchers of Pabst Blue Ribbon. A beer that's easy on the wallet, but hard on the digestive system.

Deciding that we needed something to eat since those cinnamon buns were a distant memory and the PBR wasn't doing us any favors, we headed across the street to Wrigleyville Dogs, a greasy spoon of epic proportions, where you can't order anything that is not either deep fried or covered in cheese. Most items are both. We settled on the cheese fries and Italian Beef, which given our impaired judgement, were deemed 'fantastic'. At this point I had put on a straw cowboy hat (over my Cubs hat) that we found lying on our table, so my judgement was questionable at best, potentially treasonous at worst.

We were the only ones in there, save for some completely inebriated guy who sat alone at a table, wondering where his life went. At one point, when Katy went up to the counter (to get us more cheese fries!), Joe Sixpack handed her his cell phone so that she could tell his buddy where exactly he was. The details of the conversation remain sketchy, but it ended with the guy getting mad at Katy, asking her if I was her 'BFF' and eventually hurling french fry at us from 3 tables away. Luckily my straw hat was able to guard against any further shrapnel that came our way.

Tired and sunburnt, our bellies full of cheese fries and cheap beer, we hopped on the Clark bus and headed home, where a soft bed and and a hungry cat lie in wait. The Cubs won. Straw hats won. But with a killer sunburn, indigestion and work the next day, one could argue that I had lost. But I didn't see it that way. Then again, as I mentioned previously, my judgement lost all merit once I threw that straw hat on. So let's call it a draw.

Someone threw this baseball into the air right as I was snapping a photo. Cool stuff.

Wheeling High School! Woooo!

His body is a canvas. A really, really crappy canvas.

Wrigleyville Dogs. Sunburnt, a mouth full of cheese fries and a Bret Michaels hat.

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