Primarily I went to Chicago to visit friends and family. The trip had nothing to do with baseball, but as so much in my life, I found some time for baseball. I booked my trip and only hours later bought four tickets to see the White Sox play. It was slim picking for baseball in Chicago. The Cubs were out of town, and the Kansas City Royals were in town..
The last time I was at a MLB professional ballpark that wasn't Fenway was in 2006. I went to Wrigley right after Nomar got traded. I saw the Red Sox battle the Oakland As away, as well as the Angels. But this was new territory. And I was hoping for all an out of towner would hope for, a no hitter, and an Ozzie flip out.
Neither happened. It was a relatively normal game of baseball. I almost shook when I mistook fireworks for a South Side shooting. I missed the accents of vendors in Boston. I could not believe my eyes when a vendor walked by our bleacher seats with a Margarita backpack. What was even more amusing was the men a few rows in front of us who bought what the Magarrtabuster called "happy juice" and I saw it was bright pink. Now this was truly a thing of pink hats.
As the first hit crushed a hit off Danks, my hopes of a no-hitter were also crushed. And with the four run lead, it seemed unlikely that Ozzie would start anything. The game ended, and we took pictures of the Chicago skyline. But I wasn't ready to be finished with baseball for the day. I told my friends, if they really wanted me to move to Chicago, I would need to find a spot to watch a Red Sox game. And not just any spot, a good spot.
We got on the L with a set destination in mind. Nic and Dinos Tripoli Tavern. Two friends displaced from Framingham who had set up a Boston sports bar. On the L we had to tolerate the loud voices of, wait for it, Yankee fans. Finally, we got off and walked to the Tavern.
I could see a Bruins flag and a Red Sox flag gleaming in the sunlight. We rushed in to catch the last full inning of the game. We had already seen the Sox get behind with Wake pitching on the fancy scoreboard at the White Sox game. But we were hoping for a comeback. People around us were in Sox hats. We watched the Sox lose, but somehow it was fulfilling, drinking Harpoon IPA. Unfortunatetely, the Sam summer had been switched to Octoberfest, but losing with each other around, hardly felt like losing. We only planned to stay for one.
But every time we got ready to leave another fresh pint was in our view. First by a local, who seemed enchanted by our baseball obsession. And then by Nick, who seemed to enjoy being in the presence of people who couldn't hear his accent. Well, at least, I couldn't hear his accent, until it was pointed out to me. We talked baseball. And for a few seconds, I started to believe Boston was not the center of the universe.
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