Saturday I attended possibly the most enjoyable baseball game I have ever seen in person. My father-in-law was in town. Our family schedule parted as miraculously as the Red Sea and living within walking distance of the park, I proposed going to see the Cubs versus our crosstown rivals the Sox. Nevermind that we didn’t have tickets. Nevermind that it was the nicest day for a baseball game all season. Never mind that it was the first series with the Sox. We figured we’d get taken by scalpers, but in fact the Cubs have a licensed reseller (read: official scalper) selling gameday tickets on location. We got tix four rows from the field on the Cubs side. Cost: um, more than face.

It was perfection. Suffice to say that the wind was blowing out, no one held a lead for very long, and a certain beloved Lee (not Elia, bless his profane heart) who was on the bench with a neck spasm emerged from the dugout to bewildered but deafening applause, whiffed once, sat on three, and then smacked one into the bleachers. Oh, also the bases were loaded. (A pinch hit grand salami, for goodness sake. Can anyone tell me the last time that happened with the Cubs?) Good times.

But what I really want to talk about here is drinking beer at Wrigley. Admittedly I’ve only been to a few other parks in my life, but I have to think the culture of beer is stronger in The Friendly Confines. Hell, it is the only park to have baseball cards for every single beer vendor.

So there’s a whole set of unwritten rules regarding buying from beer vendors at Wrigley. Here is the obligatory How To (Digg front page, here I come!):

1. Yell “Hey Old Style!” like you’re picking a fight or sheepishly flag down the Bud guy.
2. As he works his way up or down the rows serving other fans remind him of your order periodically by throwing peanuts his way and waving the number of beers you want his direction. Actually, don’t throw peanuts.
3. When he gets to your row he’ll normally hold his index finger and thumb like he’s holding your ID. This means send it down the row.
4. Do the math. $6 times the number of beers requested. Pass this and a little more plus your ID to the person next to you for delivery down the row.
5. Watch as every person handles your ID, looks at your photo, and basically learns who you are.*
6. Wait for the beers to be passed down to you while enduring the obligatory “sip charge!” heckling from those having to pass them.
7. Flash the number of dollars you want back, implying the tip, to the vendor. Remember, he has your ID and he hasn’t spit in your beer (yet).
8. Enjoy beer.

[*] Does anyone find it odd that the park is now carding people this way? I’m not opposed to enforcing the age limit, but in what other circumstance would I be forced to put one of my most important identification documents in the hands of a row full of total strangers? Privacy nuts are obviously not ballpark beer drinkers.

To make matters worse, my ID is actually cracked at the top from where the top of it pokes out of the sleeve in my wallet. Apparently consistent ass-pressure over the years has made it so. The vendor in the stands told me that he couldn’t sell me another one with an ID like that and, sure enough, when I went to get more after a potty break under the stands I was rejected. (Luckily, a nearby seatmate stranger — part of an earlier pass-the-money pass-the-beer bucket brigade — was in line right next to me. So he bought my beer.) But still, the policy is no altered, broken, or frayed ID’s will be accepted. Altered, ok. But broken or frayed? Do they think we keep our ID’s in some kind of Centers for Disease Control white room? It is under our ass 70% of the day, for god’s sake!

I’ll leave you with the completely unrelated but absolutely hilarious rant by the Sox head coach, Ozzie Guillen, the day the series started. Idiot.

When it comes to Wrigley Field lots of people talk about how great it is to see a ballgame smack in the middle of a vibrant neighborhood. Not as many talk about what this means for the neighbors. It is of course a boon to the merchants and businesses in very close proximity to the field, but the neighborhood also serves as the stadium’s parking lot (the only one, really) and as a mile-square urinal for the ocean of over-served fans who spill out at game’s end.

The Cubs have in recent years made a special effort to win the good will of the people who live in the community, specifically the area known as Lakeview. This includes spiffing up local parks, appearances of hall of fame players in the area, and free bike lock-up for games. But the coolest perk has to be Wrigleyville Neighbors Day. Each year the Cubs hold a lottery for residents in Lakeview to come to the park for 90 minutes of free food and drinks (alcohol too) and to play catch, picnic, or just lounge on the field. We’ve lost out the last two years but got it this year. One person per address plus guest. I took my son.

We were close to the front of the line of about 100 people so when we entered the field from the service door in the outfield it was like the park was ours alone. We ran out onto the grass with our mitts, one five-year-old boy and his five-year-old father. At first we just ran around because we could. We played catch. We ran the bases (four times) and just lounged in the outfield. It was extraordinary. A wonderful, memorable way to spend an afternoon. Thanks, Cubs. Well done.

This is classic.

From ChicagoSports.com:

The Lilly-Piniella incident was one for the books. Lilly [the pitcher] had slipped on a bunt attempt for the second time when Piniella [the coach] gave him some unsolicited advice.

[Lilly recalls the walk to the mound.] “I suggested to him, almost like football, ‘You better change your spikes,’ ” Piniella said. “Then I went out there and he said, ‘Skip, your zipper is down.’ ”

A quick check by Piniella revealed Lilly was correct.

If you’re gonna get yanked from the game for sucking you might as well needle the man in charge, no?

And if you’re wondering where all the posts have gone of late, fear not. The Italy adventure is consuming much of my time … and soon will yours.