Holy cow!
It was the favourite expression of legendary Chicago Cubs broadcaster Harry Caray, and it nicely summed up my sentiments after experiencing the hallowed halls of the Cubs’ famed home ballpark—Wrigley Field—last weekend.
A Windy City landmark since 1914, Wrigley is the last of a dying breed of baseball stadiums that were created in the early 20th century and so far have managed to avoid the wrecking ball usually swung in the name of modern convenience.
Only Fenway Park in Boston is older (by two years), and along with Yankee Stadium in New York, this trio of old-era stadiums are all that’s left of the game’s architectural golden age.
These days, the major league landscape is littered with stadiums 20 years old or younger that look like they came out of the How-To-Build-A-Boring-Ballpark handbook.
The beautiful Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore and the Ballpark in Arlington, which hosts the Texas Rangers, are rare exceptions.
The stark contrast between traditional charm and antiseptic disillusionment even can be found right in Chicago.
Wrigley’s warmth and sartorial splendor on the city’s north side is balanced out by the cold, sterile blandness of U.S. Cellular Field (the name just sends shivers down the spines of opposition players, I’m sure), which houses the favourite sons of the South Side, the White Sox.
The Friendly Confines vs. the Cell? It’s no contest.
As I neared the stadium, which I had seen on WGN broadcasts and sports highlights reels for decades, I felt a rush of adrenaline similar, but different, from what went through me when I approached Coors Field in Denver two years ago for my only other in-person major league game.
Both times were exciting, but while Coors Field was spectacular with its brilliant freshness and Rocky Mountain background, you could almost hear the palpable roar of history emanating from Wrigley’s tired, proud bones.
This was the venue where legend has it (and I prefer to believe the legend, thank you) that Babe Ruth, the Bambino himself, “called his shot” in Game 3 of the 1932 World Series by pointing to a spot in the outfield bleachers and then promptly parking the ball in that exact area off Cubs’ pitcher Charlie Root.
This was where Cubs catcher Gabby Hartnett hit the “Homer in the Gloamin’” off Pittsburgh Pirates’ hurler Mace Brown to win a game in the bottom of the ninth late in the 1938 regular season.
The blast was so named because it was hit into the prevailing evening darkness that had umpires ready to call the game after Hartnett’s at-bat.
The victory, while only putting Chicago up half-a-game in the standings with four days left to play, for all intents and purposes buried the Pirates’ season and boosted the Cubs to their third National League pennant of the decade.
I’m a Toronto Blue Jays fan at heart, but for the purposes of enjoying the day to its fullest and preserving my health, I decided to convert and become a Cubs cheerleader for the day.
After the obligatory picture of me taken beside the statue of Caray, whose call of “Cubs win! Cubs win! Holy cow!” is part of baseball broadcasting lore, I purchased a Cubs cap from a sidewalk vendor and entered the venerable facility.
Then after acquiring my free Cubs T-shirt for simply filling out a credit card application (I should remember to request free stuff every time credit card solicitors phone and bother me at home), I entered Wrigley Field and was immediately taken aback by the sense of history that literally oozed from the building.
All along the concourse, there were banners hanging from the ceiling portraying black and white images of beloved Cub stars of the past. I felt a surge of national pride when I took a picture of the Ferguson Jenkins’ banner (the only Canadian inducted into the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame).
The interior was fairly well-worn and not particularly well-lit, but then, this is a ballpark, not a shopping mall. If I wanted overwhelming fluorescent light and pristine surroundings, I would have taken a side trip to Bloomingdale’s during my Chicago stay.
I purchased my scorecard, my hotdog (onions and mustard, no ketchup on top—allegedly, the proper way to consume a Wrigley dog), and headed up the stairs to the stands area.
When the field came into full view, it was like living a dream, literally. I remember vividly once dreaming about taking in a game at Wrigley and, eerily, sitting along the third base line—exactly where my seat ended up being.
The grass was immaculate. The famed bleacher seats already were almost full. The ivy-covered walls were even more beautiful in person than they look on TV.
Towering above centre field was the manual scoreboard made famous in the 1984 classic “The Natural,” when Roy Hobbs (Robert Redford) broke out of a hitting slump by destroying the clock with a monster home run.
Even more amazing was the buildings across the street from the stadium, or rather, what was on top of them. More bleachers had been erected on the rooftops which rose majestically above Wrigley Field—and those also were quickly filling up.
It’s the rare franchise that elicits such intense fan support that people would pay money to sit a mile high and a mile away from home plate just to watch their team compete. And this for a team that has gone the longest of any team in baseball since winning a World Series (1908).
The game itself was a barnburner, played amid humid weather conditions that threatened rain but never produced any precipitation. The Cubs jumped to a 4-1 lead over the Cincinnati Reds, let the Ohio crew tie it, took a one-run lead again, and then fell behind by one to trail 6-5.
But then, the magic which seems to make its presence known in all classic sporting arenas came to the forefront again. After a lively sing-a-long of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” by the almost 40,000 people in attendance during the seventh-inning stretch (another tradition Wrigley Field is renowned for), the Cubbies struck for four runs in the bottom of the frame to grab a 9-6 lead.
Chicago superstar Sammy Sosa, he of the 66 home runs in 1998 and the corked bat earlier this year, went 2-for-4 on the day with two singles, but it was Cubs first baseman Eric Karros who stole the show with four RBIs.
The Cubs have their first legitimate shot at the post-season in many a year this season, and every win is enormous at this point to their faithful supporters.
When Chicago’s ace reliever Joe Borowski struck out the Reds’ Russell Branyan to end the game, the explosion shook the rafters above my head in Section 215. It was pure joy taken to the umpteenth level.
I ended my experience with more pictures of me by the waist-high brick wall at field level near home plate, and a final look around this fabulous creation to savour the atmosphere and lock in the memories of what had been an incredible day in the life of this sports fan.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not abandoning the Jays. But forgive me if there’s a little part of me root, root, rooting for the Cubbies for the rest of this season. It would be impossible not to.
Here’s to you, Wrigley Field. May your ivy never die and your walls never crumble.
Fort Frances Times
Local News from Across the Rainy River District
