Wrigley on a cocktail napkin
Amidst the wash of "7"'s & "33"'s, of beatific sun and sky, of city mist, and the two wins over the Chicago Cubs I had the pleasure to experience at Wrigley Field this weekend, there was also a potentially salient epiphany that there is something atmospheric at the Dome which Wrigley actually lacks.
More on that in a moment.
As other Minnesotans can no doubt attest: the overt and active presence of thousands upon thousands of Twins fans storming Chicago's North Side in recent days was, in a word: astounding. A Twin presence was felt, heard, bemoaned (by a few sore losers), and remarked upon both
throughout Wrigleyville saloons, and about the ivy and brick of the Friendly Confines.
Said presence not only spoke toward Minnesotans penchant for good-time baseball and tavern revelry; the appearance of so many on the visitor's side also roared loudly toward Twins fans unquestioned and unquenched thirst for outdoor baseball.
But alas, gentle reader, while atmosphere is a fundamental, foundational, and necessary part of the game (as my party so gladly experienced), I'll briefly pose the query herein - At what price?
For, as the four knucklehead dudes sitting behind us at Saturday's game evidenced: the cost of stimuli comes at the expense of attention span. These dudes spent three damn hours talking about fricking volleyball while Anthony Swarzak mastered their Cub batsmen with vet-laden control.
These guys weren't alone in their lack of attention, and such is the rip on Wrigley: people don't watch the game. Yet, inversely, do we ever hear this about the Metrodome - "Yeah, the place is aestheticallybrutal, but damn how people watch the game there."
And it's true. We do. And perhaps it's because of a lack of nothing else (i.e., sky, sun, gentle breeze, a gal's tan & supple shoulder) to compete for our senses. Our stimuli are dulled at the Dome. There's noting else to do but watch baseball.
Now, none of this is to suggest that Target Filed will suddenly find Minnesotans with eyes wayward and chatter engendering three-hour volleyball conversations. Our baseball aspirations - and our club - are no doubt better than that.
So drink up, I say. Have a hell of a time, enjoy and feel how our ensuing baseball environs make the Twin Cities a more communal place. But while one eye wanders toward the clouds, never let the other stray too far from the true jewel that is the diamond.
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