A Futile and Stupid Gesture: Part II

When we last left our heroes back in the Spring of 2007, against all better judgment, they had decided to embark on a two city, two stadium tour to watch and root on the Chicago Cubs -- the team they both had the shared misfortune of rooting for. So this might make more sense if you read this part first.

When it was first announced that Lou Pinella would be taking over the recently terminated Dusty Baker, the small group of baseball enthusiasts I pal around with were already working on the over/under for how many games into the season it would be before "Mt. Lou" erupted. Over his long and storied career as a baseball manager, Sweet Lou has been involved in many memorable outbursts and dust-ups. And when the Cubs stumbled badly out of the gate in '07, floundering and stinking up the bottom of the NL Central, it seemed that the only thing to look forward to was the inevitable explosion from their volatile new manager. At the time, we had hoped the volcano would remain dormant until August when we saw the Cubs play the Rockies. And when that was scuttled, replaced by this new adventure, we hoped the pending blast would at least wait until the weekend of June 2; D-Day for our two day double-header.

Somehow, I got roped into tracking down tickets and hotels for this expedition. (Thanks, Bob.) And after a few panicky online attempts at reservations of several Chicago Hotels, I finally managed to find one way out by O'Hare. Not to worry, Bob said. He'd navigated the L-Trains from the airport to Wrigley Field before -- I typed ominously. We don't call him Scout-Master Bob for nothing, folks. The sidewalk Magellan who has a bad habit of circling several blocks to find a location right next door to the starting point, was to be our navigator. Tickets proved just as tricky. Both of us wanted to sit in the Wrigley Field Bleachers at least once before we died, so bleacher seats it would be. Since it was pretty well into the season, I jumped on the first batch of tickets found on eBay and paid waaay too much money. But, you only live once. What the hell. Matching bleacher seats for Miller Park soon followed, and with horrific mathematical computations on what gas would probably cost us, we were ready to roll.

The plan was to drive to Chicago on Saturday, check into the hotel, and then head downtown for some pizza at Gino's East and then a few beers at the famed Billy Goat Tavern. (Famous for "The Curse" and providing the inspiration for the old Belushi "cheezboiger, cheezeboiger" SNL skit.) Sunday we had a day game, then a tour of several Wrigleyville watering holes where we would probably drown our sorrows over another ugly loss. One more night at the Best Western, then off to Milwaukee on Monday for a night game. And when that concluded, the plan was to head out of town and trust to luck in finding accommodations somewhere between Wisconsin and home when we or the car ran out of gas.

When the big week arrived and we ticked off the final days until our Futile and Stupid Gesture Tour embarked (and man, we need to get T-shirts for that), the Cubs started their annual June Swoon a little earlier than normal. The final two weeks of May had been pretty wretched, even for the Cubs. They had lost five straight and eleven of thirteen by the day before we were to leave. Another game and another loss was pretty much cemented when it happened. No, not Lou losing it. I'm referring to pitcher Carlos Zambrano beating the hell out of his catcher, Michael Barret, in the dugout after giving up a two-run homer. I'm telling ya, it makes a guy wanna start rooting for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. Could it get any uglier than that? Well, yeah; it could. But, even as bad as they were, there was still an outside chance we could see Mt. Lou erupt.

This was my eighth trip to Chicago, second to the Friendly Confines, so do the math and most of the trips were in the dead of winter with horrible weather and bitter cold as I sojurned to B-Fest -- a 24 hour bad movie festival. (Details here.) Welcomed sunny skies shone on us all the way, we were making great time, and by the time we hit Illinois and turned onto I-88, we picked up WGN and listened to Ronnie and Pat call the latest series of fiascoes between the chalk lines. The Cubs were losing. Again. To quote Mr. Santo: "Awww, man. Awww. That's just awful..."

But then, what's this -- a rally? No way. But it didn't last very long, ending with a real close play at third base when Angel Pagan was thrown out.

And then it happened:



Missed it by one damn day. One DAMN day!!! Bob and I were both incredulous as the spectacle played out on the radio. And as bad as these guys were stinking it up, the only thing to really look forward to, baseball wise, had already happened. And to make matters worse, it was starting to drizzle -- and it wasn't supposed to stop raining until the middle of the week. Ah well, I hear Gino's has got some great pizza.

One. Damn. Day.

What happens next? Stay tuned for Pizza tails, train rides, biblical rain, and adventures into the bowels of downtown Chicago in A Futile and Stupid Gesture: Part III.