Wrigley Field
Posted: March 31, 2006 3:31 pm
naming Rights to the Bleachers were sold to A-B and they will now be the "Bud Light Bleachers" rumors are circulating throughout Chicago that a 50 year naming rights deal is in the works with a prominant Chicago Furniture chain. I for one hate this. Following is a piece I have submitted to the Chicago Sun Times that may or may not be in this Sunday:
1969 and 1970 baseball seasons, the seasons on either side of my 7th grade year. I still have 56 bleacher ticket stubs from those wonderful, heartbreaking summers. I would mow lawns: for my brother; Marilyn, the widow-down the block and about 3 other families in Morton Grove and Skokie for the tidy sum of $3.00 each.
No sooner was I done and cleaned up, I was on the Skokie Swift.( north end of the line for the "L") 45 cents with a transfer, 50 cents to get in the bleachers and I could eat my fill with the remaining money. Right field, first row, last seat before the hitters background. I always got in line for the bleachers before ten, so I almost always got that seat. Many of the red helmet clad "Right Field Bleacher Bums" knew me, not by name, it was always, "Hey Kid", but they knew me. "Hey kid, we missed ya yesterday, wazzamatter, grass not growing fast enough?" I would watch intently as the first of the Cubs would straggle out of the locker-room in the left field corner. I almost always had my scorecard dangling over the wall on a piece of twine for autographs. Sometimes I would be early enough to watch the gray uniformed grounds crew finish mowing the sacred carpet. I was there for Willie Smiths game winning homer on opening day and Kenny Holtzmans no hitter. And yes I was there for the Labor Day double header when Willie Stargel's homers signaled the beginning of the end. Being a 30 year "Parrothead", I like to think that some of those guys who always said "Hi" were Jimmy Buffett or Steve Goodman, hey I can pretend they were.
Years later the bleachers took on a different tone for me. When the Wrigley people would allow you to bring food and "picnic jugs" into the park, mine and my college friends would be filled with cheap Gallo wine, or vodka and lemonade. I was thrown out of the bleachers only once. When a prominant and hated St Louis Cardinal came back from drug rehab (coke), we greeted him by shaking out a five lb. bag of flour as he took his left field position.
In August of '82, I bought two Budweiser's, drew on my courage and joined the shirtless man, with the big straw hat, using the knee joint of his artificial leg for an ashtray in the centerfield bleachers. Because of that move, I was to go on to a 12 year career in Minor League Baseball management, thanks to Bill Veeck's guidance. By the way, he never did let me talk about working in baseball that day. He was more interested in the books I was reading, college life, college parties and my confession that yes I was part of the crew that called in the middle of the night from parties at Illinois State University. Bill was always in the phone book.
Now the bleachers are expanded and named. One day will cost more than those 56 ticket stubs combined. But in my minds eye, it will always be 50 cents and Irving the vendor is still hustling "Frosty Malts" through his four teeth and some guy in a red helmet is greeting me with a "Hey kid".
1969 and 1970 baseball seasons, the seasons on either side of my 7th grade year. I still have 56 bleacher ticket stubs from those wonderful, heartbreaking summers. I would mow lawns: for my brother; Marilyn, the widow-down the block and about 3 other families in Morton Grove and Skokie for the tidy sum of $3.00 each.
No sooner was I done and cleaned up, I was on the Skokie Swift.( north end of the line for the "L") 45 cents with a transfer, 50 cents to get in the bleachers and I could eat my fill with the remaining money. Right field, first row, last seat before the hitters background. I always got in line for the bleachers before ten, so I almost always got that seat. Many of the red helmet clad "Right Field Bleacher Bums" knew me, not by name, it was always, "Hey Kid", but they knew me. "Hey kid, we missed ya yesterday, wazzamatter, grass not growing fast enough?" I would watch intently as the first of the Cubs would straggle out of the locker-room in the left field corner. I almost always had my scorecard dangling over the wall on a piece of twine for autographs. Sometimes I would be early enough to watch the gray uniformed grounds crew finish mowing the sacred carpet. I was there for Willie Smiths game winning homer on opening day and Kenny Holtzmans no hitter. And yes I was there for the Labor Day double header when Willie Stargel's homers signaled the beginning of the end. Being a 30 year "Parrothead", I like to think that some of those guys who always said "Hi" were Jimmy Buffett or Steve Goodman, hey I can pretend they were.
Years later the bleachers took on a different tone for me. When the Wrigley people would allow you to bring food and "picnic jugs" into the park, mine and my college friends would be filled with cheap Gallo wine, or vodka and lemonade. I was thrown out of the bleachers only once. When a prominant and hated St Louis Cardinal came back from drug rehab (coke), we greeted him by shaking out a five lb. bag of flour as he took his left field position.
In August of '82, I bought two Budweiser's, drew on my courage and joined the shirtless man, with the big straw hat, using the knee joint of his artificial leg for an ashtray in the centerfield bleachers. Because of that move, I was to go on to a 12 year career in Minor League Baseball management, thanks to Bill Veeck's guidance. By the way, he never did let me talk about working in baseball that day. He was more interested in the books I was reading, college life, college parties and my confession that yes I was part of the crew that called in the middle of the night from parties at Illinois State University. Bill was always in the phone book.
Now the bleachers are expanded and named. One day will cost more than those 56 ticket stubs combined. But in my minds eye, it will always be 50 cents and Irving the vendor is still hustling "Frosty Malts" through his four teeth and some guy in a red helmet is greeting me with a "Hey kid".
you must have it too. 
Thanks for another trip down your memory lane Bill. I always enjoy the trip!