Wrigley is Wonderland!

It is chilly outside, with a light drizzle. Yet the fans of the game are gathering at the local watering holes to celebrate the start of the summer game. It has been 99 years since the local team has won the championship, the greatest championship. I know this because it is called the World Series.

As I cross the nation, Canada and overseas, I find it much easier to identify myself as living “about two miles from Wrigley Field” than in the city that the team is named for. Then there is no confusion with people in Schaumburg (home of the Flyers), Rockford (home of the Riverhawks) or Gary (home of the Steelheads) that I live in the greatest neighborhood in the world.

Like many holidays, say St. Patrick’s Day, the purpose of the day is lost. Game? What game? We are gathered to celebrate the public urination, clogged streets and drunken tourists who make my neighborhood the greatest neighborhood in the world.

That my dear wife, Jane, whose injury about ten days ago has prevented my from keeping up with my blogs in a push to do the laundry, clean-up after her cats and generally take care of her, is a hated New York Yankees fan is clearly remembered today. As she irons her perfect pinstriped jersey to wear about the house and flaunt in the windows to the tearful eyes of the children of fans whose parents’ parents’ do not remember the team’s last championship ring.

Ronnie Woo Woo is outside, his jersey freshly laundered, his arm pumping against the morning rain, cheering on the fans, who at this hour, are headed to the many well-proportioned bars lining Clark Street.

It is a day of hope and dreams in the greatest neighborhood on the planet. As the song says, Wrigley is Wonderland. Let’s Go Cubs!