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It was my daughter, aged 14 at the time, who first pronounced Wrigley Field as unfit for human habitation. Never mind that the Friendly Confines is the second oldest in the majors, dating back to 1914 (Boston’s Fenway Park opened in 1912).
“It smells like urine,” she sniffed, as she walked the concourse holding her nose.
As the home of the Milwaukee Brewers has a retractable roof, there was no chance of a rain delay. We did, however, pick the very night again the home team chose to honor its newest inductees into its Wall of Honor. Since the Brewers’ former stars were always thorns in the side of the Cubs (or the White Sox when the Brew Crew was in the American League) I was not inclined to celebrate the likes of Ricky Weeks, J.J. Hardy or Trevor Hoffman.
One thing I’ve learned as a result of my quest to visit all 30 major league ballparks is how much less enjoyable a baseball game is compared to watching them one after another all day and night with the volume on mute, while reading, writing or just lying half-dazed on a couch.
First, there’s the presence of people -tens of thousands of them – milling aimlessly about looking for things to eat and drink, as dentists and gastroenterologists gaze smilingly at their soon-to-be-expanding revenue streams. My question is why is red and blue cotton candy not sold in grocery stores if it’s such a seemingly popular snack food? Same goes for nachos and soft serve sold in batting helmets?