A Futile and Stupid Gesture on Our Part: Part I

It was almost one year ago when I set out on one of those great life adventures, filled with fun, peril, biblical rain, and copious amounts of beer, but in truth, the origins of this tale can be traced back to October of 2003, back during the Chicago Cubs improbable playoff run that, like always, ended in disaster. Up three games to two against the Marlins in the NLCS, the night before the meltdown in Game Six and the inevitable loss in Game Seven (...hmmm, disasters...inevitable...Inevitable DIsasters?), a good buddy of mine named Bob and I were sitting in a bar, slightly lubricated -- OK, a lot lubricated, and deluded, which is why, then and there, we decided, tickets or no World Series tickets, we were gonna head to Chicago -- just to be there.

Man, I'm telling ya, when they won, we were gonna GO!

But, as we all know, they didn't. So we didn't either.

But man, I'm tellin' ya, we were gonna go...

Now jump a head to March of last year -- St. Patrick's Day to be precise, and in between the tequila shooters at the Glass Bar (financed by an aborted attempt to sell my 'I'm With Stupid' T-Shirt to some very intoxicated co-eds) and the 4-foot tower of green beer at the Alibi, me and Bob, depressed that our annual trip to Denver and Coors Field for another Cubs/Rockies dust-up was scuttled due to every wedding/birthday party known to man happening on that very same weekend in August, hit upon a plan. And not just any plan: a two city, two ballpark tour featuring the same crappy team that we have the misfortune to root for.

Man, it was gonna be awesome!

After sobering up the next day, a quick check of the schedule showed it was possible, and probable, but not very economical -- !!@%*#!! $3.50 gas. We kicked the idea around all of April and most of May -- and tack on the fact that the Cubs had already imploded, had lost five straight and eleven of thirteen, one had to ask one's self -- "Just what in the hell are you guys thinking?"

The answer? It's simple: It's baseball. It's ball park brats. It's stadium beer. It's sunny skies and the smell of fresh cut grass. It's Wrigley Field. Bleacher seats. And Miller Park and Bernie the Brewer and Sausage races. Old Styles and Pabst Blue Ribbon. We got Cubs/Braves on Sunday afternoon in Chicago, and Cubs/Brewers in Milwaukee on Monday.

Honestly, I couldn't afford it. Neither could Bob. But, as Bob pointed out -- quoting Otter from Animal House, despite all the omens and ominous portents facing us, "No, I think we have to go all out. I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part."

And we're just the guys to do it.

Find out what happened next in A Futile and Stupid Gesture: Part II.