I have some things to say to Chicago after my husband and I visited recently.
Thank you for making our stay special. From the Sankofa conference for chaplaincy, to the indoor Putt Shack we enjoyed halfway through our vacation, every moment was a joy.
In particular, I want to share the profound impact Wrigley Field had on a couple of outsiders.
My husband and I arrived a day early for the Sankofa conference at the Oak Brook Marriott, and we quickly prepared for a game with little time to spare. Exhausted from flying, I fell asleep in the Uber next to my husband, Tim, and woke up to the hustle and bustle of Chicago coming alive.
The neon lights on Wrigley beckoned every Cubbies fan to gather in brotherhood and share one of America’s greatest experiences — baseball. Though we had attended MLB games out West, this was different. Electricity was in the air as thousands of fans connected through shared history; the bond between Chicago and baseball fans was one I had never felt before.
The smell of food tantalized before we even entered the gates. Sidewalks were remarkably clean; fans took care to find receptacles out of respect for the stadium. Beholding Wrigley, I felt a sense of reverence and understood why this sport is akin to a religion. Walking through those gates was a spiritual experience, and we made our way to Section 12, counting down to something sacred.
Our first concrete step up to our seats, the crowd cheered for something, and it felt like encouragement to take the next step. A little over halfway up, we heard the crowd cheer again, and my eagerness to be part of something greater took hold. I was in the embrace of this field of glory, and I hungered for what lay ahead.
“Holy snikes” was not quite what came out of my mouth, but you can guess my expression. I saw a beautifully groomed field of neon-green grass surrounded by rust-colored clay that was perfectly marked by white running lines. My feet carried me forward to our seats, and I was now lost in the game.
We had agreed we wouldn’t leave without a Chicago-style dog. Ecstatically, Tim ran to grab the iconic meal. The sparkle in his eyes as he indulged, and was transported to his youth, revealed a side to him I hadn’t seen.
Tim’s best friend in high school, Chris, was tragically killed in service. That heartbreaking loss shattered Tim, and I knew he still hadn’t fully recovered. The Cubs had been Chris’ favorite team. I understood on a deeper level why this experience held such significance for him.
Wrigley offered Tim a chance to connect with Chris one more time.
Taking a massive bite of his hot dog, Tim lit up like the Fourth of July. His heart was singing from his break as a nurse. Critical care nursing wears on the soul, and Wrigley became a spiritual restoration.
Alex Bregman became my favorite player. I love his theory behind wearing the No. 3 jersey — he wants that third championship! Tim fell hard for Nico Hoerner. Looking at Tim’s contentment, with a hot dog sticking out of his mouth, I could almost see Chris sitting next to him, smiling.
At one point, a player tossed a game ball over the third base line safety net. Since it was Tim’s first Cubs game, I wanted to get him a game ball. I made my way to the security guard, explaining we were from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and it was our first time here.
I learned Wrigley sold game balls and headed to the store, which was out. Heartbroken, I looked at the signed balls, knowing they would be out of my comfort zone financially.
“How much is a signed Hoerner baseball?” I asked.
“One-fifty.”
Determined to make this happen, I rummaged through my wallet. Unfortunately, I had left my needed card at home. I asked if I could split the payment. I began ruffling through my cards to figure out how to make it happen. Unbeknownst to me, a manager overheard our conversation. The Hoerner ball was removed from view, and I thought the deal had been overturned.
Another ball was placed on the counter — an opening night ball. I couldn’t believe it! The manager had found one.
“Please. Take it. I heard you were from Albuquerque and trying to do something nice for your husband. We want you to have a good time and remember this.”
It meant more than a signed ball; it was a memory that could not be replaced. I asked about the cost.
“This one’s on the house.”
Tears welled up; I was speechless. I had heard horror stories about the people of Chicago — all of it hogwash! We felt welcomed as outsiders, united by a love for baseball and the joy of the game. I am humbled to have been part of something greater and proud to witness 150 years of Cubbie love.
The Cubs won their game against the Phillies. The crowd erupted. If we had had the funds, we would have gotten tickets for every night of our stay! The final score was 5-1, and fans celebrated, dancing and high-fiving as the Cubs moved into second in the rankings. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Thank you to Chicago and the Cubs for converting us. It wasn’t just the game; it was the people making a difference, on and off the field.
The singing of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and the rallying song “Go, Cubs, Go” still make my heart swell with joy and adoration for the amazing culture at Wrigley.
I am your newest Cubbies fan, Chicago.
Charleen Richey is a resident of Albuquerque, New Mexico.
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