Part Eleven...
Part Eleven
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“The Cubs ain’t gonna win no more. The Cubs will never win a World Series so long as a goat is not allowed in Wrigley Field.”
–William “Billy” Sainis, 1945
CHICAGO— More important than the history of nearly 100 years of baseball, the legendary scoreboard, and the charming ivy covering the brick outfield walls, Wrigley Field was home to the single greatest event in the history of professional sports: The Curse of the Billy Goat.
In 1945, according to legend, William “Billy” Sainis, a Greek immigrant and owner of Billy Goat Tavern in Chicago, cursed the Cubs eternally for not allowing his goat, Billy, entrance to game 4 of the 1945 World Series versus the Detroit Tigers…a reasonable request, in my opinion. While the actual accounts surrounding the curse are not completely clear, one thing is certain: The Cubs have not on a World Series since, and if you believe the curse like I do; they never will as long as they discriminate against law-abiding goats.
This wonderful curse seems to rears its ugly head every year the Cubs fail to make it to the World Series, which seems fairly common these days. …And for that, I thank you, Chicago. Not because I don’t like the Cubs --I’m 100% indifferent -- but because anything that involves a curse AND a “stinky” goat is gold!
I’ve never really looked into the details of what I used to think was a myth, but since I was going to at the scene of the crime (guilty), I decided to spend thirty minutes on Wikipedia, the website of the Billy Goat Tavern and a few other credible (not really) websites to come to my own conclusion. And my hypothesis: The Chicago Cubs, specifically P.K. Wrigley, mishandled the situation and deserve to lose until they officially adopt a goat as their mascot.
By the way, the exchange in 1945, according to the Billy Goat Tavern website, went something like this.
An usher: (Stopping Sainis and his goat) “No animals allowed!”
Billy Sainis: (Frustrated, appeals to Cubs owner, P.K. Wrigley)
P.K. Wrigley: “Let Billy in, but not the goat”
Billy Sainis: “Why not the goat?”
P.K Wrigley: “Because the goat stinks.”
Billy Sainis: (Peeved as all get out) “The Cubs ain’t gonna win no more. The Cubs will never win a World Series so long as a goat is not allowed in Wrigley Field.”
After the Cubs lost game four 4-1, Sainis purportedly sent a brilliantly composed telegram to P.K. Wrigley that read, “Who stinks now?!” Enough said!
The Cubs eventually lost the World Series in seven games and haven’t won a championship since.
Do I believe in something as illogical as a curse? Of course …Why wouldn’t I? Who am I to question a goat and his handler? And, for the record, if I’m going to believe in the curse, I’m going to trust the goat was also sincerely upset over the actions by P.K. Wrigley, as Billy Sainis alleged.
The passion of Billy Sainis is evident everywhere in Chicago, a city were championships used to be commonplace. This is a place where fans love to express their obsession for the game, and that includes all demographics. During my visit, the cross-town “South Siders” (White Sox) were playing an inter-league game against the Cubbies. Knowing the fervor was going to be rich, I had my stupid note pad and pencil ready to document the bitter exchanges. Here are a few:
Drunken male Sox fan: “The Cubs are (expletive) and they can (expletive) a (expletive)!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “I hope someone sucker punches that idiot...”
Drunken male Cubs fan: “Shove a (expletive) up your (expletive), you (expletive)”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “This is nuts…”
Drunken female Sox fan: “(Double expletive), you’re an (expletive) and you have a (expletive)for a brain, you (expletive)!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “That chick is foul, but I like it…”
Drunken male Cubs fan: “Shut your (expletive) face or I’ll smash your (expletive) mouth to(expletive), got it?!!!”
Sober male Sox fan: “HEY, watch your mouth; there are women and children here, you(expletive)!”
Me: (Whispering quietly)”Wow, he just defended the kids but dropped a (expletive) bomb!
Sober older female Cubs fan: “Up yours!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “That lady is like 65 yrs old. Nice!”
And that was all at 12:38p.m.on the bus to the stadium. I knew things wouldn’t get much better at the stadium, and I couldn’t wait. I was like a child at Christmas, waiting for my little brother to look at a neatly wrapped gift and say, “To Andrew, from Santa.”
I arrived at the stadium, geeked up and ready to see a fist fight, just minutes before the first pitch; I grabbed an ice cold Old Style, a local favorite in Chicago, scanned the crowds for anything weird and interesting, and then found my seat in the Upper deck with thousands of fanatical Chicagoans. To my surprise, the visiting Sox had a sizable fan base, clad in black Sox garb, and they were loud and critical of the Cubs, their own team and, for no reason, someone hated the beer vendor.
Vendor: “ICE COLD BEER…ICE COLD BEER HERE!”
Male Sox fan: “Hey, (expletive), over here!”
Vendor: (Turns around) “WHERE? WHO WANTED A BEER?”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “oh man, this is priceless…”
Male Sox fan: (Stands up and waves) “Over here, (expletive) face!”
Vendor: “WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?!”
Male Sox fan: “My (expletive) problem is I’m dying of thirst!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Sweet, a fight…”
Vendor: “NO PROBLEM. THAT’LL BE $6.50!”
Male Sox fan: “Great! Thanks!”
Vendor: “MY PLEASURE!”
Male Sox fan: (As vendor walks away) “Stupid (expletive)”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “I would’ve paid $50.00 to see them throw hooks…”
Apparently the White Sox fans in my section were not just unhappy with the beer vendor; they also had serious issues with Paul Konerko, Sox 1st baseman. I overheard this from people sitting to my right:
Female Sox fan: “YOU SUCK, PAUL!”
Male Sox fan: “YEAH, GO BACK TO DOUBLE-A!!!”
Me: (Quietly encouraging an outraged fan) “Heard someone say Konerko is a bum. Is that true?”
Female Sox fan: “YEAH, YOU’RE A BUM, PAULY!!!”
Male Sox fan: “A BUM, PAULY, A BUM!!!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Oh man, you gotta be kidding me…”
Male Sox fan: “(EXPLETIVE), PAUL … YOU ARE AN (EXPLETIVE) AND YOU LOOK LIKE A DONKEY!!!”
Me: (Quietly encouraging an outraged fan) “Ever notice he runs like a rhinoceros…”
Female fan: “YOU’RE A RHINO’S (EXPLETTIVE)!!!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Awesome…I want more”
I was having the time of my life; it doesn’t get any better than this…I knew Chicago was going to have a knowledgeable but tough fan base, but this exceeded my expectations. The only thing I was missing was an all out brawl, old school Chicago style. That wouldn’t happen in my presence, unfortunately, but I’m sure somewhere in the stadium there were plenty of fisticuffs occurring.
The Cubs looked disinterested and extremely sleepy during the game, and the fans were none too happy. Sox fan may be a little rough around the edges when it comes to their zeal but Cub fan can hold their own, too.
Milton Bradley, Cubs right fielder, is not a fan favorite in my section.
Male Cub fan: “Hey, Bradley, you run like your (expletive) right leg is shorter than your left!!!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Lame…”
Female Cub fan: (Bradley takes a strike) “Way to watch the ball you (expletive). What the(expletive) is your problem!”
Male Cub fan: “Trade ‘em, NOW!!!”
Male Cub fan: “What are you thinking Bradley?!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Sox fan is much louder. What’s wrong with Cub fan…?”
Male Cub fan: “Stick to board games, Bradley!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Better…”
Male Cub fan: “I HATE YOU BRADLEY!!!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) “Now we’re talking…”
Male Cub fan: “(DOUBLE EXPLETIVE) YOU (EXPLETIVE) AND YOU CAN (EXPLETIVE) FORVER!!!”
Me: (Whispering quietly) Awesome...”
Male Cub fan: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
Me: (Whispering quietly)” I think that guys head is going to explode…”
The White Sox won with the help of a couple Cubs blunders, and a tremendous pitching effort by Danks. Danks went 7 innings, gave up 1 earned run on 5 hits and struck out 9, and Sox fan let Cub fan have an earful.
I left Wrigley Field thoroughly entertained and impressed with the condition of the 96 year old stadium. My favorite part of the stadium, aside from the crazed fans, was the manual scoreboard. Unlike every stadium I’ve visited, Wrigley doesn’t have a humongous scoreboard flashing player stats, instant replays and ketchup, mustard and relish races during the 7th inning stretch. Nope, it’s just pure baseball without any distractions, save for the 5,000 expletives I heard.
When you own a small business in Chicago, you have to be very careful about publicly declaring your allegiance to the Sox or Cubs. For example, I was desperate for a haircut and decided to go to a small barbershop down the street from my hotel. The place was nondescript, but my conversation was as colorful as the red, white and blue barber’s pole out front.
Barber: “Have a seat, young man.”
Me: “Morning.
Barber: “Morning.”
Me: “You like the Cubs or Sox?”
Barber: “Depends, who do you like?”
Me: “Arizona.”
Barber: “Arizona? Then why did you ask?”
Me: “Just curious.”
Barber: (Mumbles as he nicks my ear with clippers) “White Sox, but don’t tell no one.”
Me: “Why?”
Barber: “I’ve had people yell at me and walk out when they found out I like the Sox.”
Me: “I promise I won’t tell anyone…unless you give me a bad haircut, then all bets are off.”
Barber: “That’s not funny!”
Me: “I was just joking…easy. Besides, who am I going to tell? I live in Arizona and no one there cares about the Cubs or Sox.”
Barber: “That’s not funny; people get hurt talking that way.” (He starts jamming the clippers into the back of my head)
Me: (inaudible)
Barber: “What?”
Me: “I said, ‘not too much off the back …just wanted a trim.'”
Barber: “You said to round off the back, right?”
Me: “Yes, but…”
Barber: “I’m rounding it off.”
Me: (inaudible)
Barber: “Here, take a look.” (Hands me the mirror as her turns the chair around)
Me: (Thinking about the “people get hurt” comment) “Sweet! Looks fantastic!”
Barber: “That enough or you want more off?”
Me: (My hairline is now about 4” above the normal place) “No thanks. I’m in a hurry. Where can I get the best Chicago dog in town?”
Barber: “Superdawg. Just down the road that way.” (Points that way)
Me: “Yeah, I’ve seen that place on TV, supposed to be the best in Chicago.”
Barber: “That’s what I told you a second ago, son!”
Me: (inaudible)
The barber, despite giving me a reverse bowl haircut, was spot on about Superdawg. Superdawg, built in 1948, is a drive-in restaurant and Chicago legend. At 11:00a.m., the parking lot was filled with cars and the walk-up window had a long line of hungry patrons waiting their fix. At a price of $4.95, the Superdawg with Superfries is the best value in the world.
NEXT STOP: South Bend Silver Hawks (Diamondbacks single-A affiliate)
Links:
Photos: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/album.php?aid=5893&id=1684643878&op=6
Wrigley Field: http://chicago.cubs.mlb.com/chc/ballpark/index.jsp
Chicago Cubs: http://chicago.cubs.mlb.com/index.jsp?c_id=chc
Superdawg: http://www.superdawg.com/
Old Style Beer: http://www.oldstylebeer.com/
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