I don't like the Cubs. I've never pretended to like the Cubs. When I first lived in Chicago, in the summer after my junior year of college, I may have tolerated them, but, unquestionably, the Cubs have never been my favorite baseball team.
When I first moved to Chicago for good, in August of 2007, I moved into an apartment I'd never seen before. I'd opted to stay at camp for another three weeks that summer and make a little more money before I became a starving artist, so I'd left the burden of finding a place to live on my roommates to be, two friends of mine from college. I figured whatever they got would be fine, it would be a transitional apartment more than anything, since all of us were planning to move out the following year. In fact, I remember I even told them I wanted to live near the stadium, because it was also right near the iO (formerly Improv Olympic) Theater where I'd be taking classes.
Boy. Big mistake.
Here's the McDonald's across the street from Wrigley Field.
Okay. See the corner of that white house on the right side of the picture? Yep. That was my spot.
Now, common opinion of the Cubs tells us that they're lovable losers. A team who just can't catch a break, with the most die hard fans in the world, fans waiting over 100 years for a championship. Okay, ready world? Here's the truth. The Cubs are a joke of a professional franchise, a team full of players who know they don't have to try (and don't), with a fan base consisting of an army of drunkards who treat Wrigley Field like a giant bar where a baseball game might occasionally break out. Of course, it doesn't help that up and down Clark Street by the field is a string of some of the nation's top douchebag bars (see I Hate Clark Street) to help Cubby fans get liquored up before they watch their team lose.
So imagine it, for a while, if you will. During Cubs season, Clark and Addison is basically like a zombie movie. But replace all the zombies with drunk people in Cubs clothing. And right in the middle of it, is my little two bedroom apartment. Oh yeah, and at this point, I can't freakin' STAND the Cubs.
Here's a favorite anecdote of mine, probably the best one from my stay at 1113 West Patterson Avenue. Now, another thing you have to understand about Patterson Avenue, the street on which I lived, is that it's not an avenue at all. It's an alley. That's not an overstatement. The entire street is an alley behind the McDonald's. So people would frequently wander drunkenly down said alley, looking for...well, whatever drunk morons look for.
So on St Patrick's day, 2008, which might as well be calle "Get Drunk Enough to Beat Your Girlfriend in Public Day" in Chicago, I'm having a debate with my roommate about just how harmless the hoards of drunk people who have overtaken my neighborhood actually are. She's saying how "they're just having fun," when we look out the window, and see three drunk gentlemen strolling by our place. The one in the middle has his fly open, and holds his penis in his right hand. As he walks, he produces a stream of urine in front of himself. His friends are giving this no thought, as they all stare straight ahead, walking aimlessly. As he urinated. In front of my house.
Needless to say, I moved out as soon as possible (a month early) and really love my new place. It's quiet, has better restaurants nearby, and less Cub fans. And I haven't seen any live urination since.
And so we witness the end.
3 years ago