Opening Day
“Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you
Woo, woo, woo
What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson?
Jolting Joe has left and gone away
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey”
“All of these people formed by language and climate and popular songs and breakfast foods and the jokes they tell and the cars they drive have never had anything in common so much as this”
I went to my first Opening Day with my Grandma Barnett, probably back in 1964. She was a longstanding Milwaukee Braves season ticket holder, with seats on the first base side in the lower grandstands just under the protection provided by the upper deck. The weather was so cold and dreary that we left shortly after the game started. This was a woman who slept in a yurt in Outer Mongolia several years later, so you know the weather was bad.
Long after Grandma Barnett became just an apparition, I headed out to County Stadium for my second Opening Day. I went with a couple of co-workers and their spouses. We had tickets in the upper deck just behind the right-field foul poll. The wind was blowing off Lake Michigan, along with a driving wet snow. As is typical (please don’t cancel me), the men would have sat in misery for the full nine innings but for the woman who had brought their unyielding common sense to the game, much to the relief of their husbands who begrudgingly admitted they were happy to leave as we made the long, icy trek back to the cars parked in the lot north of I-94..
It has been a few years since I’ve been to an Opening Day, so why not today? Here was an opportunity for a new experience in these moribund times. I had never been to a baseball game during a global pandemic. In Chicago, tickets for the first home game of the season are nearly impossible to procure unless you are a season-ticket holder or willing to pay an exorbitant price, but today there was no problem. The pandemic is an equal-opportunity scalper. Wrigley was locked up tight, with the dark green, iron bars separating the fans from the turnstiles, stadium concourses and the field. Undoubtedly a few lucky souls saw what an empty stadium looks like while the two teams played an entire game in the humid air hanging heavy over Wrigleyville, but most of us do not work in the front office of the Cubs, nor do we qualify as celebrity insiders.
Those green iron bars did not separate the fans from their Budweisers, however. The sheds lining Clark Street were open for business. Today, Mayor Lightfoot’s revised orders for the re-opening went into effect. Bars that do not sell food must close once again. Many a food critic would argue that what is served on Clark Street is better used as an industrial lubricant than ingested by humans, but the lawyers had advised that the greasy burgers and fries would suffice. Fans could drink their beers and enjoy Velveeta over chips while watching their beloved Cubs on large-screen TVs.
I assume the Mayor’s orders required social distancing and masks in the bars that remained open. From the street, I sensed some social distancing, but several bars were pushing the limits in terms of acceptable capacity. Most patrons were not wearing masks, which was also true for virtually all of the folks meandering along the sidewalks and mingling on street corners.
When the game came to an end, Addison was eerily empty. No crowds pouring into the streets. Just silence and an occasional car. I assume there was more activity on Clark Street at Sluggers, the Cubby Bear, and a number of other sports-crazy establishments.
Heading home, I opted for Halsted, which runs through the center of what is currently referred to as Boystown. I’ve lived two blocks from the epicenter of this community for 27 years. The name has always amused me, with its apparent reference to the Spencer Tracy—Mickey Rooney film of the same name. But humor is out of fashion these days. There is is now a petition to change the community’s name to something more gender neutral. The petitioners will most likely prevail on the North Halsted Business Alliance and the City, but whatever name is chosen will be as sticky in the public consciousness as Willis Tower. For those who live elsewhere, but who have visited Chicago, Willis Tower was “formerly” known as and still often referred to as the Sears Tower (unless the speaker is a news organization).
Setting aside political correctness, the folks who hang out at the corner of Halsted and Roscoe and the surrounding four or five blocks are certainly more mask-compliant than Cubs fans.
[Click on an Image to Enlarge It]
On the Fly Beer Stand
“Best Seat in the House”
Bars Barring the Fans
Closed
The Rooftops
Beer on a Hot, Humid Night in a Courtyard Adjacent to Wrigley Field
Backdrop for the Few Fans Hanging on Waveland
Mask On, Mask Off
Fauci Says, “I Gotta Work on My Curve”
Harry Lives Despite the Approaching End of Days
Waiting on Waveland for the Home Run Pitch
The Scoreboard as Obscured by the Ricketts
Headed to a Victory
Ballpark “L” Stop After the Victory
George Floyd Honored in Boystown
Masked in Boystown I
Masked in Boystown II
Roscoe’s, Where Mick Jagger Stopped in for a Drink in 2018
Post Scrip: Guthrie’s Tavern closed permanently yesterday. Located just three blocks west of Wrigley Field on Addison, Guthrie’s had been in business since 1986. One might think that it was a classic sports bar, given its proximity to Clark and Addison, but it wasn’t. Guthrie’s was known for its collection of board games, which included Battleship, Monopoly, Risk, Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, and Yahtzee. It became a place where people who had decided to take a risk using a dating app could meet for the first time in a neutral environment. Many of those dates resulted in engagements and marriages.
It was quite the institution, as evidenced by two articles in the Chicago Tribune noting its closing. Like over 2,400 other Chicago businesses, Guthrie’s was a victim of Covid-19. The final nail in its coffin came last Monday when Mayor Lightfoot announced the revision to the rules for bars that do not serve food.
Guthrie’s is located about ten blocks from my house. I must confess that I never stopped in. I did, however, drive past it hundreds of times. It always looked like an inviting establishment.
Guthrie’s was kitty-corner from Yesterday, a memorabilia shop that recently closed following the death of its owner (pre-pandemic). I made a point of checking out what was left of that establishment when I visited Guthrie’s Wednesday morning. Two freestanding cyclone-fence gates protected the front of what appears to be an empty building, although there is a picture of Robert Kennedy hanging in the window and some visible rubble. I doubt whether Yesterday will return. Most likely, the rickety storefront will be torn down to make way for a new apartment building. I am not so sure about Guthrie’s. Given its loyal following, maybe it will be revived when life returns to normal. I hope it is plugged into a ventilator.
34 Years Comes to a Covid Ending
Good Times Were Had By All
