All Good Things Must Come to an End: Cubs-Reds Game (7/1)

I've spent a fair amount of time harping about how the Cubs never lose when I'm in attendance, and they should consider giving me season tickets if they want to contend every year. Well, yesterday's 3-2 loss in ten innings took me down a peg. All good things must come to an end as they say. My overall Cubs record is now 8-3, not nearly as robust as a 9-2 mark would have looked.
First I'd like to thank Ron Santo, not for his lighthearted, substance-lacking analysis on the radio, but for being such a great player. The Cubs have been offering ten dollar bleacher seats this entire week in honor of Ron (he wore number 10).
Needless to say, I wanted to go to at least one more game this year. The original intention was a Thursday afternoon game against the Padres, but I couldn't pass up on the price. Substituting the NL West division leader for the NL Central division leader, I was determined to help my team gain a game in the standings.
First order of business was deciding where in left field to sit. There was no question between left and right, my girlfriend enjoyed Soriano's hand gestures so much last game that we had to go back. We got there "late" this time around. Late as in two hours before the game, when the gates are open. If you haven't been to Wrigley Field, it's truly an amazing sight watching how fast the bleachers fill up. I know it's first come first serve, but when you arrive two hours before a game and there's a line for left field bending around the stadium, that's impressive. Especially considering the game was on a Thursday and the team was ten games under .500.
Both teams must have started batting practice late because we actually saw both teams take some swings. The Reds put on a show, hitting more bombs than I could count, including two off of the left field foul pole.
One guys says, "I miss Sammy, he'd hit out 30 every batting practice."
I agree. If there was one thing Sosa was good for, it was that he entertained the crowds. I remember watching him in batting practice and he didn't subscribe to the notion that players should work on bunting, hitting the ball to left and right, up the middle, etc. No, he swung for the fences every time.
The one and only ball I've ever brought home from a game was a Sosa home run in batting practice. I was sitting a few rows back from the front in right field. The ball took a bounce over the entire crowd in the front row, and basically fell into my lap. Which odds are greater? That a ball would fall into your lap in batting practice, or that Sosa would hit a batting practice home run to right?
Nothing interesting happened until the 7th inning. I mean that. Carlos Silva gave up a run in the 1st and that was all that happened. He got himself out of a jam every inning. I mean that. The Reds should have put this game away by the 5th inning.
I remember looking up at the scoreboard in the top of the 7th. Reds had outhit the Cubs 9 to 1, yet the score was still only 1-0. It didn't feel like only a run though. Actually it felt insurmountable the way we were swinging the bat. There's something about witnessing a sporting event live that just intensifies how you feel about the moment. The Cubs offense looked so much uglier in person. Hits directly at the outfielders, strike outs, weak groundouts, all looked worse in person.
Best (and worst) moment of the game happened after the Reds third out of the 7th inning. Soriano catches the last out and is looking to throw it into the stands.

Let me preface this by saying I was sitting between two jackasses. People to the right of me were from Tennessee. The guy was really loud and unoriginal. He must have said "31, you suck" at least 25 times during the game. 31 was Reds left fielder Johnny Gomes. If I'm Gomes I'm laughing because my name is on the back of my jersey. How hard is it to read the back of a player's jersey and call them by that instead of by number? He was also bragging about how his son pitched for Middle Tennessee State and all that.
Person to the left of me looked like a guy who would greet you as you walk into Urban Outfitters. He was drinking margaritas (more on that later) and had a towel that he kept hanging over the rail. He did it so many times one of the security guards? bleacher patrol? whatever they're called had to step on my face to get to him and tell him he was going to be thrown out if he did that again. As a matter of fact he was also warned about putting his drink on the rail. Did I mention he had a piercing, feminine-like scream? My girlfriend got the brunt of that directly in her left ear drum.
So after the last out, I'm the first one to stand up. I point at Soriano and let him know we're in this together. He gives me the nod and points back and throws the ball. I get a little nervous because I was acknowledged by a player making more than 130 million dollars. I'm assuming my pupils began to swell with excitement as the ball approached me.
It's about ten feet away and I notice Soriano didn't put a lot on it. NO...it starts to tail to the right. I desperately try to will it into by bare hands but it's too far. It hits the guy next to me in his stone hands. He drops it and it ends up in the basket. I'm convinced I could have caught that lollipop. A man put his five year old son into the basket to retrieve the ball. I can't be that mad, a kid got the ball. I would have left the ballpark devastated if I hadn't got that Sosa home run many years before.
Back to the margaritas. Two (kind of) drastic changes have occurred at Wrigley Field since last year, as far as I know. The serving of margaritas and other vodka themed drinks, and the switch from organ music to introduce batters to pre-taped songs. One I can deal with, the other I can't.
First to the pre-taped music. I realize that Wrigley is so set on keeping tradition that they're way behind the rest of baseball when it comes to updates in anything stadium related. The scoreboard still isn't digital, more and more ads are creeping up after the place was free of them for a century, the clubhouses (even the home clubhouse) are small and uncomfortable, and until mid-June they still used an organ, instead of recorded music. At Wrigley, we party like it's 1899!
As far as the player's at-bat music, I don't have a problem with it, as long as I can hear it. As of now, that's the main problem, I have no idea which song is being played. I know Jeff Baker was introduced with the Beastie Boys "Sure Shot" and Derrek Lee with what I think is Jay Z's "A Star is Born." I don't think it really takes away anything from the Wrigley Field experience to play pre-taped music, most of the people complaining are old and boring and looking for something to complain about. But as of now, the the sound system needs to be reconfigured so us good folks in the bleachers can clearly hear the songs we most likely won't recognize anyway.

As far as serving margaritas at a baseball game, I'm completely against it. Serving any alcoholic beverage other than beer I'm completely against. Beer to me is synonymous with sports. Margaritas and vodka are synonymous with college girls getting drunk at costume-themed frat parties. A third of the crowd would probably be more interested in attending a costume-themed frat party than a sporting event, so I guess they're just giving the people what they want.
A glimmer of hope came in the bottom of the 8th when Tyler Colvin hit a one out single to tie the game. Next batter is pinch hitter Mike Fontenot, who singles. Men on first and third, one out, Derrek Lee at the plate. At this point, the Reds have outhit the Cubs 11 to 4. I begin to think we can actually win this game despite how terribly we've played. I stand up and emphatically yell, "They can't lose when I'm here!"
Lee grounds into a double play. The worst thing he could have done, he did. That's when I knew we were not going to win this game. Carlos Marmol came pitched the 9th and made it really interesting. Striking out Orlando Cabrera and Joey Votto (each had some silly looking swings in their at-bat) with bases loaded to get out of the inning.
Bob Howry comes in to pitch the 10th and that spelled the end. The guy from Tennessee yells that "He hates this team." He also called for Marmol to be taken out when Sean Marshall was pitching. And then called for Marmol to be put back in after Marshall gave up a single to the first batter he faced.
Riding the packed L train isn't the same after a loss. It's like a tightly packed ball of depression. No one says a word to each other. I also notice that I got another sunburn that will make me look stupid(er) for the next week. The worst of it is red streak underneath my right eye, making it look like I got punched in the face. After this game, it felt like I did.