My Starcrossed Trip to Chicago.

As I may have mentioned, I started a tradition of going to a baseball game on my birthday annually, no matter where it was. This year, I turned 24 on an off day, and since the next game was on a Friday, I decided it was time for a trip to Chicago to watch the Twins play the White Sox. Earlier this year, I had tried to find a way to get to Kansas City and Philadelphia for basketball games, but those plans fell through. This year, I had a ticket for Chicago Midway, a ticket to the game from Steve over at Es Deportes? and things were ready to rock and roll. What could go wrong?
The first sign of trouble came from Detroit on Thursday. The Tigers and Blue Jays cancelled their game due to cold weather. The temperature was 30 in Michigan that day. The forecast for Chicago was in the mid thirties.
Mostly excited and a little anxious because I hate flying, I walked the entire airport, through all of the concourses (most crowded flight? Minneapolis to Anchorage) to wear myself out and settle my nerves. MSP doesn’t have a Cinnabon any more, I found out, much to my dismay. Anyways, I got to my gate and saw a plethora of Twins apparel waiting in the G terminal. This was going to be awesome. Of course, away from these Twins fans I hadn’t yet heard the news. The game had just been cancelled.
I found out as soon as I got to my seat and right after I ripped my jacket. The trip was off to a rousing start. When I got to Midway and flipped on my phone, my dad called me immediately, just so he could give me the bad news. He figured I would have called for a ride home and not bothered to go to Chicago at all. I did, because I payed a lot of money for those tickets. Steve then called to see if I was in Chicago yet, and I had to break him the news. It was heartwrenching. Worst of all, we had this built up vitriol and competetiveness we had to let off some how. What were we to do?
We went drinking of course. First we went to a sports bar, because they had real live baseball games on the TVs there, and it irked Steve to watch the Cubbies. Win-win for me. This was also the closest we got to seeing anyone associated with the game we intended on watching. I believe the gentleman in the picture is the real Paul Konerko. Our waitress had a thick, John Goodman worshipping Ditka type Chicago accent, asking if she could “get yous anything to drink?” Think Elwood Blues with a nose ring. I had a delicious plate of spinach ravioli alfredo, as well as three whiskey sours (one on the house) before we left to find something competetive to do. We were on a mission from God.
We then went in search of a bowling alley, and finding one, we learned it was too full for us to get into, so instead, we went to a bar known locally as the “Midget Bar”. It was in fact owned and operated by a couple members of the vertically challenged community. They even had a shorter bar off to the side that was build to cater to said community.
A local band, The Leftovers, took the stage not long after we arrived. They played mostly classic and grunge rock. That was where things got interesting. We started competing to figure out who played what songs originally. It was tough. Unfortunately, I lost that little game, as my Stone Temple Pilots knowledge is less than adequate. At least we were able to get some of those competetive feelings out of our system.
The next morning, I flew home deflated, exhausted and hungover, still wearing that stinky Twins shirt I had worn all day on Friday. I’ll get ’em next year.