As I explained in Eccolo Amico Mio, one of my favorite places on the planet is Cinque Terre, a group of five fishing villages in the Italian Riviera. Another top choice (which is considerably more accessible) is the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, the home of the Chicago Cubs.
Wrigley Field is the second oldest park in Major League Baseball –two years newer than Fenway Park in Boston. Nestled in the heart of the Windy City’s North Side, this iconic baseball stadium is renowned for its ivy-covered outfield walls, historic manual scoreboard, and the vibrant atmosphere of the surrounding neighborhood. Wrigley Field feels like the color green —offering fans a nostalgic and intimate baseball experience with its distinctive features like the rooftop seats on neighboring buildings. It is a cherished landmark not just for Cubs fans, but for baseball enthusiasts everywhere, like me. It is a throwback to years past, a working museum.
As a child growing up in Jackson, Mississippi, one of the few out-of-market cable television channels on the tube was WGN Chicago. As the first night game did not take place at Wrigley until 1988, all the Cubs’ baseball activity during my adolescence happened during the day. Ernie Banks, who was arguably the best Cubs player of all time said, “I played all my home games under one light, God’s light.”
Most of the Cubs’ games start at 1:20 p.m., so when I would get home from elementary school in the early afternoons, Harry Carry would have a good beer buzz going and the Cubs were usually losing. I watched while eating grilled chesses made from white bread, margarine and Velveeta cheese. My heroes were the Cubs of the 80’s —like Ryne Sandberg, Mark Grace, Shawon Dunston and Andre Dawson. They are the reason I spent most of my youth at the ballpark. A home run onto Waveland Avenue in left field or Sheffield in right field was commemorated with a “Holy Cow!” from the iconic Cubs’ broadcaster, and I would sing along from my living room as he belted out Take Me Out to the Ballgame between the top and bottom of the seventh inning. You know it…
Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don’t care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don’t win, it’s a shame.
For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out,
At the old ball game.
Rachel and I recently took a quick trip to Chi-Town, which included a Friday game at Wrigley. Start time was, of course, 1:20 p.m. Because I rarely attend big league games, I splurged on seats. When we arrived on the 9th row of section 121, located one section up from home plate on the first base side of the stadium, we settled in next to two men who were keeping score. Spending a good bit of time on the bench in the last two years of my playing days, I was very familiar with the scorekeeping process, so I struck up a conversation with these gents, who were clearly big fans.
The man to my immediate right was Bob. Actually, I don’t remember his name, so that is what I am going to call him. Bob was wearing a blue t-shirt which celebrated the 2016 Cubs’ World Series Championship, the club’s first in 108 years. His thinning gray hair was slicked back, and his matching beard was unkept. He had written the Cubs’ starting lineup in pencil on his scorecard, like my fellow Mississippian James Earl Jones’ character did in the 1989 film Field of Dreams. According to Bob, he has hundreds of scorecards from games at Wrigley dating back as far as he could remember. To Bob’s right was his friend, Pete. Pete was wearing a fitted Cubs hat and an Ernie Bank’s jersey. Banks wore number 14, which were also the digits on my back my first two years of high school on Coach Willis Steenhuis’ squad. My daughter, Emma, went on to don the same jersey number during her volleyball playing days.
As the game went on, I learned both men were attorneys, like me, and the connecting point in their over sixty-year friendship was their love of baseball, the Cubs, and The Friendly Confines. Wrigley Field is called “The Friendly Confines” due to its welcoming ambiance and intimate setting, which fosters a link between fans and the baseball activity. The opposing side finds the north side venue friendly too, because the Cubs have lost more than they have won in the last 50 years.
My new acquaintances explained that as boys, they would skip school in the afternoons and pay a quarter to sit in the outfield bleachers, taking off their shirts to bathe in the elusive spring sun. Over time, their seats got better and considerably more expensive. They built careers and families, like you and me. Bob proudly told us about bringing his children to the ballpark and how they would eat popcorn and drink Coca-Cola—enjoying watching spectators until they realized a sport was being played on the grass in front of them. I imagine as the Cubs were losing, the friends would talk about the practice of law, navigating their marriages, and the mysteries of parenting. Over time, their bodies and focuses of attention would change, but the constant in their relationship was Wrigley and the Cubs’ style of baseball.
Witnessing their friendship made me happy.
As Bob and Pete got to know us, they asked questions about our life back home. Bob showed me a picture of his grandson in, of course, a Cubs’ jersey. They were also interested in hearing about my baseball playing days too, somewhat impressed I played a few years of college ball. Bob even asked me to mind his scorecard during bathroom breaks, probably because Pete was there to guide me. I took the assignment seriously, and I think I did okay.
We drank a beer, ate peanuts and crackerjacks, and we rooted for the home team —just like the song says. The guys were interested in our plans, specifically where we intended to eat. They took their restaurant recommendations as seriously as a big court case, making phone calls to their kids and debating the available options in our hotel’s neighborhood.
They eventually landed on Gene & Georgetti, Chicago’s oldest steakhouse, which was founded in 1941 by Gene Michelotti and Alfredo “Georgetti” Federighi. Gene, originally from Lucca, Italy, moved to the states at 15 and worked various jobs before partnering with Alfredo, a chef. The duo established a reputation for excellence, with Gene as the front man and bar manager and Alfredo in the kitchen serving traditional Tuscan fare. After Alfredo’s death in 1969, Gene continued as the sole proprietor until his death in 1989. Bob handled the estate work for the family. Now in its 83rd year, the restaurant is managed by the third generation, who uphold the family’s traditions and rich Italian heritage. Legends like Frank Sinatra, Bob Hope and Lucille Ball have dined in this establishment, along with many of Chicago’s most infamous mobsters. It also proudly boasts a legion of regular customers, some going back more than 50 years, like Bob and Pete.
It was fabulous.
During the seventh inning stretch, audio and video of Harry Carry singing his song was broadcast, which was like a time machine to my youth. Bob and Pete sang along with us. Rachel was smiling from ear to ear. The sun was shining. The temperature was mild. It was perfect.
Baseball games are won and lost. Indeed, Cubs’ fans see more L’s than W’s. Our time with Bob and Pete reminded me of the importance of community, and the transcendent significance of shared experiences —even one as trivial as watching grown men in pinstriped tights throwing around a ball. It is these shared experiences which are the raw materials and binding agents for the exchange of ideas, creating opportunities for life-on-life connection —which is everything. I was reminded about loyalty during my brief time with these old friends. Loyalty to a a team and a place, but more importantly to other people. Unfortunately, in life we must often let go of relationships that no longer serve us, and even the most special and sacred of human connections will end on this side of eternity. But like the ups and downs of a decades-long marriage, or a love affair with a game, it is truly special to experience when something —anything, stands the test of time… like Wrigley Field, Harry Carry’s song, Gene & Georgetti’s and a friendship like that of Bob and Pete.
Craig Robertson is the founder of Robertson + Easterling. For over 25 years, he has practiced exclusively high net worth divorce and complicated family law in Mississippi. Over the course of his career, he has worked with several professional athletes and their families. You will want him in your corner because he believes every case is his most important, and he knows the things you care about deeply are at stake –family, safety, and security. He is strategic, collaborative, creative and a proud former walk-on baseball player at Mississippi State University.
