Heavenly Tour, Contd.

I took Clare to her first game at Wrigley Field when she was eleven.  We saw the Brewers and Cubs, with a healthy (!) Mark Pryor striking out 16 in eight innings only to have the bullpen lose it in the ninth.  Hate the team but love the park, I advised, which Clare has done all the times since on her visits to Clark and Addison.

So, I do go to the enemy’s lair from time to time and hope to God that this Ricketts’ “renovation” doesn’t ruin the wonder of the place.  If it does, at least there are plenty of old pics and clips on the Internet to remind everyone of what once was.  I stumbled on one this morning, a home movie showing what was probably Opening Day 1938.  The newly planted ivy had yet to bloom, nor had the two lines of potted trees (yes, really) angling down beneath either side of the scoreboard.   

As ever, one thing led to another after that until I found myself looking at a clip of the Cubs-Yankees World Series of 1932, game one, I think, at Yankee Stadium.  Again, hate the team but love the park, how your grandfather—or my daughter—could pull the ball down the lines (originally 295’ in right, 281’ in left) while not even Paul Bunyan could take it out to dead center (490’).  Marvel at the incredibly close-in second, or mezzanine, of the three decks and the copper frieze that hung from the roof.  Then ask why such a thing of beauty had to be torn down.

What George Steinbrenner said is not what the pictures show, but what do I know?