Friday Five takes an artistic turn

I almost didn't get in.

After waiting months for the double-bill of Switchfoot and Anberlin at Calvin College, I walked up to the ticket booth as the student worker was setting things up.

“You've got tickets, right?” I asked. I wasn't worried. Once I attended a concert at Calvin, and it was a gathering of John Reuben and about 50 friends.

“We've got two.”

I smiled.

“No, I'm serious. We have two tickets, and that's only because someone turned them in. Don't move from that spot."

So after purchasing half of the available tickets I enjoyed an awesome concert featuring two of my favorite bands – and met some new friends, too.

Many miles on treadmill and trail have been logged to the sound of Switchfoot's “Hello Hurricane” since it was released in 2009.

Anberlin was a more recent discovery, true to my practice of being about 5 years behind the times musically.

The show was the highlight of an arts-centric Deezo Friday Five.

Switchfoot

Calvin's Hoogeboom Arena was set up with wooden bleachers on the sides and standing room on the floor. I opted for the bleachers near the side because I am too old for the mosh pit.

Lead singer Jon Foreman was interacting with the crowd a lot, leaning over the stage, leaning in to the out-stretched hands. But during “The War Inside” he jumped off the stage and into the crowd and walked along the beachers, then turned and started stepping up – right toward me.

Foreman looked up and extended his hand, then used mine to pull himself up into the row and sang the rest of the song two spaces away. Cool!

Anberlin

Anberlin's sound was pretty muddy until the acoustic songs – including “The Unwinding Cable Car” was a great surprise.

Andrew likes to collect set lists after the show, and we've begged roadies of many groups for the paper, which usually is duct-taped to the stage floor.

But this time I was walking past the sound board and saw the Amberlin set list just sitting there. The guy working behind the board said I could have it. Sweet!



Atomic Tom

It's not easy being the opening act. Usually the best thing people will say is “They didn't suck,” and the biggest applause typically comes after the singer says, “We've got one more song for you.”

But I liked Atomic Tom. Sure, they got points after saying they were from Brooklyn. But their rocking cover of Human League's “Don't You Want Me” was a nice surprise, and the rest of the set was a nice mix of power pop – with the emphasis on power – and straightforward rock.

“Take Me Out” sounded familiar and I liked “The Moment,” the title cut from their CD. I went to meet the band at the merch table after the show, and snagged the last CD they had. Nice guys.

The CD has been steadily playing in the car since the concert, and I found their apparently famous video of “Take Me Out” played and filmed entirely with iPhones on a subway.

“Catching Hell”

I got an email out of the blue last winter from someone who said he was working with a documentary producer and was interested in using two photos he found on the blog.

The post was about Will and I going to see the Mets lose at Wrigley. As will once explained to a Comiskey vendor as I snapped a shot of him preparing my hot dog, “He documents everything.”

And on this particular adventure, we located the seat where infamous Cubs fan Steve Bartman was sitting when he prevented Moises Alou from catching a foul ball in the 2003 playoffs. Or not. It's not really clear whether Bartman actually got a hand on the ball, and the Cubs proceeded to allow 8 runs in the rest of inning, all without Bartman's help.

But this was Chicago and Cub losses are blamed on curses and not incompetence, so Bartman has been forced into exile.

We found the seat, and some goofball was sitting there, preventing others from taking in the view. I documented him.


Then I recreated the Bartman alleged near catch and Will documented that because that, too, is what we do.

The producer wanted to use both of those, and I happily consented.

The documentary aired Tuesday and was called, “Catching Hell,” focusing on the treatment of Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner after the glorious 1986 Mets World Series comeback and Bartman.

And, about 90 minutes into the show, you will see the goofball and me in a montage of fans recreating the moment, which must have been a surprise to the goofball, had he been watching. I get a photo credit, too!


ArtPrize

Grand Rapids is filled with art of all shapes, sizes and quality this week for the third annual ArtPrize competition.

People spend the first two weeks voting thumbs up or down on each pieces, and the ten with the most votes continue into a second round, where the winner gets a nice pile of cash.

As you can imagine, high-brow art people are horrified – horrified – at the kind of stuff that lands in the top 10. It's like when music critics tell us how we should love some artists when we all just want to hear Foreigner.

Confession: I like Foreigner, and I like the stuff that sends the hoity-toity people into a frenzy. This year, artist have figured out the kind of stuff that voters like and have been accused of pandering more than a politician in Iowa a week before the primary.

The arts version of “Hot Blooded” is called “Gerald Ford Goes to ArtPrize,” and kind of looks like a wax museum version of the native son pondering a bronze bust of himself.

The same artist last year created an ultra life-like sculpture of a monk which was praised mightily but did not get a ton of votes. This year's version is in the top 10.

I wanted to vote for it just because A) it is pretty cool, and B) the high brow folks would go ballistic. Alas, with just one vote to cast, there were great negotiations within the family. We voted for “Rusty,” the giant dog made from car scraps and tree stumps.

Maybe a little more "I Want to Know What Love Is" than "Double Vision," but still pretty cool.

Postcard tour: Wonderful Wrigley

We're resuming the postcard tour, but not leaving Chicago -- which I swear is just a coincidence, as we're operating alphabetically.

Being a Windy City icon, there are plenty of opportunities to send loved ones an image of the bricks and ivy, though postcard styles certainly have changed over the years.

Given the park's age, I'm sure there are some classic Wrigley linen postcards out there, I just haven't come across them. My collection starts with the epic ballpark road trip Rich and I took in 1988, and the blue-bordered cards we picked up then remain among my favorites.


Note that one of them is from the era before Wrigley had lights.

We did have some neat adventures at the park over the years. In the 1990s I was a leader of the church's high school youth group, and a friend in the congregation through it would be good for the kids to see the Lutheran world headquarters in Chicago. And, of course, we thought the kids should see a game at Wrigley, too. Properly training teenagers to appreciate a good ballpark should be a requirement for such positions.



Adventures continued through our most recent visit. Late in the game, we had a chance to meet Tom Ricketts, the Cubs new owner. He was walking around the upper deck, just meeting fans and posing for photos.

Ricketts seems to be a smart man. I was wearing my Cubs jersey, so he assumed I was a fan. He didn't jump st my suggestion that the Cubs try to acquire Jason Bay from the Mets.

More recent cards seem to be moving away from using classic ballpark photos and relying more on graphics.

While the ballpark isn't the complete focus of this card, the 3-D effect makes it kind of fun.
Next we'll head to the South Side for the strange tale of two ballparks.

Bartman legacy lives on in Wrigley adventure

I've learned that the Steve Bartman curse is real.

My daughter and I spent the weekend in Chicago visiting otters, scaling tall buildings and doing other things tourists do, and capped off the vacation with Sunday night's Cubs game against the Cardinals.

Wrigley is, if nothing else, an interesting place to see a game, and my daughter learned many things.

I told about some of my past adventures there, including the afternoon when I was sure a Cubs fan died in my lap.

I told her about the ivy and the billy goat, and pointed out how the once quaint tradition of neighbors watching games in lawn chairs atop their roof has been replaced by multi-decked stadium seating owned by corporations.

We visited the statues of Ernie Banks, Billy Williams and Ron Santo – and couldn't find where the team has moved the strange monument to Harry Caray.

I also explained the Cubs fans Will calls “Tylers and Trixies” who arrive in the third inning after partying at Murphy's, Sluggers or any of the other Wrigleyville establishments, walk around the park with drink in hand and leave after a former Cub or another Chicago notable sings “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

But I also told her about the plight of Steve Bartman, the fan who did what any other fan would do when a foul ball came his way. Of course, Bartman reached up for a ball at a pivotal point in the 2003 playoffs, possibly preventing Moises Alou from catching a ball and opening the door for another epic collapse.



You know you're in Wrigley when you see ivy on the wall and generations of sad fans.

I bear no ill-will toward Mr. Bartman, now somewhere in exile. The loss allowed the Florida Marlins to head to the World Series, where they became the second expansion team in three years to deny the Yankees a championship.

During batting practice, we made out way over to the left field corner and pointed out the general area where I thought the now infamous Bartman incident occurred. I had an idea where this was because Will and I posed for photos reenacting the scene, and two of those shots are going to be included in an HBO documentary scheduled to be aired before or during the World Series. True story.

“This is the one, right here,” an usher said as he pointed to the exact seat, numbered 113.

I will say this: The Wrigley ushers are the most friendly, helpful collection of senior citizens anywhere. Several offered to take photos of my daughter and me, and one directed us to a booth near the gift shop where Caroline would be given a certificate saluting her first time at the ballpark.

I was sitting right in the Bartman seat when a ball hit by a Cardinal batter taking his cuts came bouncing our way. I reached out, felt the ball in my outstretched hand – only to have it knocked out by the fan behind me, dropping to the field where neither an usher or Cardinal shagging flies would bestow it upon us. Apparently such duties are reserved for Manny Acosta.


Caroline recreates the Bartman moment. The doof behind her in the jersey is the guy who knocked the ball out of my hand.


We were denied our prize – just like Bartman. The Cubs, of course, went to blow the actual game, 6-2, though no one sought to blame us.

I'm pretty sure Cubs pitcher Rodrigo Lopez gets the blame, especially after surrendering back-to-back homers to John Jay and Yadier “Bleeping” Molina. Both balls were tossed back on the field, which I explained was a Wrigley tradition, and a stupid one at that.

We were pleasantly surprised when Albert Pujols launched a bomb into the bleachers in the fifth inning, and this time the fan held on to it.

From our perch in the upper deck, we could see and hear the abuse the fan was being subjected to. But even a Cubs fan realized that a home run ball hit by the best player in the game is worth holding on to.

Baseball Place No. 53: Frank Navin's resting spot; and No. 53A: "Dead" Cubs fan at Wrigly Field, seats behind home plate

Josh Pahigian comes right here to Michigan, and I confess it’s to a spot I’ve never visited.

He picks former Tigers owner Frank Navin’s crypt at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Southfield as spot No. 52 in the “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

I’m sure he picked Navin’s crypt because of the two Tiger statues standing guard. But doing a little research, I learned the cemetery has as many Tigers interred than are standing on the Comerica Park Field during gametime.

Aside from Navin, fellow owner Walter Briggs also has a crypt, sans the statues. Tiger Stadium once was called both Navin Field and Briggs Stadium.

Then you have Hall-of-Famers Charlie Gehringer and Harry Heilmann. Rounding out the roster are Vic Wertz, Dick Radatz, Billy Rogell, Barney McCosky, Steve Gromek and Al Cicotte.

“Leaping Mike” Menosky never played for the Tigers, but he’s buried there, too. Golfer Walter Hagen rests there as well.

So someday I’ll have to make it over there and pay respects to this fine gathering of ballplayers.

I did spend time with someone at Wrigley who I thought was about to join these guys in the great beyond.

Alternative place No. 52A: Wrigley Field, seats behind home plate.


Here’s another tale from the archives!

My assignment was to check out a charter school in Chicago that was run by a company setting up a similar school in Flint, where I worked at the time.

It was just a coincidence that the Cubs were in town on the day we were scheduled to be there.It also was just a coincidence that I wrapped up the last interview in time to make it to Wrigley before the first pitch.

These things happen.

What also happened that day was one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen at a ballpark.

Since I was buying just one ticket, the Cubs were able to sell me a seat about five rows right behind home plate — among the best seats I’ve ever scored. Chris Berman of ESPN was in the next section.

It was a beautiful May day, and Jon Leiber was throwing against the Braves and future Hall-of-Famer Tom Glavine.

Glavine was not at his best that day, giving up five runs including a blast from Sammy before being chased in the fifth. Not that we Mets fans have ever seen anything like that from Glavine.

But the real story took place in the seat in front of mine.

Early in the game, a guy wandered to his seat with a beer in each hand. He looked a lot like the Jim Belushi character in "...About Last Night," wearing a Starter red Bulls jacket and sweat pants.

He didn’t spend much time in his seat, disappearing for an inning at a time to buy more beer and smoke in the concourse — which was fine with me. I was enjoying the unobstructed view of Chipper Jones taking a collar with two strikeouts.

Later in the game, the guy came back and slumped down in his seat to take a nap. I remember thinking, "What a waste of one of the best seats in Wrigley."

As this guy slept, he apparently tried to get more comfortable, stretching out instead of slumping. His arms went out over the seats on either side of him. Keep in mind, Wrigley is an old ballpark with small seats and narrow rows. His head now stretched back so far into my personal space that I had a hard time keeping score in my program.

This went on for an inning or so, with people sitting around me making jokes.

Suddenly the guy’s arms started shaking and bubbly spittle was forming on his lips. I knew this wasn’t good.

Then we heard something spilling and saw a puddle forming under his seat. Did he knock over his beer? No. He was wetting himself.

Now, one of the things I remember best from Mr. Ousteckey’s eighth-grade science class is that the first thing you do after dying is wet your pants — the body just releases everything.

I remember thinking, "This guy is dead. There is a dead Cub fan practically in my lap."

The guy in the seat next to me started freaking out, waving frantically for an usher. One came over and radioed for the paramedic on duty. A lot of people in the section were trying to move away.

I was scared, but apparently had the presence of mind to continue keeping score, as my program would indicate.

The paramedic was pretty calm. He leaned over the guy, poked him a little and said. "Hey, chief. I work for the Cubs. Let’s go for a walk."

The guy -- apparently not dead -- woke up, groggily stood up and started walking with the paramedic. Then he stopped, turned around and went back for the half a cup of beer in the cup holder. He walked off, oblivious to what had transpired. Someone came by with a cup of water to pour under his seat and dilute the puddle.

Apparently these guys have some experience with drunken Cub fans.

Baseball Place No. 20: Rose Park Wiffle Ball Complex, and Place 20A) Wrigley Field Wiffle Ball spot

Josh Pahigian takes us to Mishawaka, Ind. for some serious Wiffle Ball action.

The Rose Park Wiffle Ball Complex on the outskirts of South Bend – No. 20 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out” -- has 22 fields and an annual tournament for five-person teams.

I’m sure it’s fun. But it sounds pretty complicated. Maybe that’s why they call it a complex.

But Will and I used to have less-organized games in far grander locations. I offer:

Alternative Place No. 20A) Wrigley Field Wiffle Ball Court.

Will winds up against a "major-leaguer."

Here’s a neat story from the archives.

We were in Chicago to cover the final game at Comiskey Park, and arrived the day before because we snagged tickets for the final night game as well.

With some time on our hands before the game, we headed to Wrigley Field to check out the souvenir shops. To our great glee, we discovered a perfect strike zone painted on stadium wall along Waveland Avenue near Kenmore.

We were happily breaking off curves like Greg Maddux from the center of the street when two guys came up to us, amazed that we would be playing Wiffle Ball alongside Wrigley Field.

If he shows me a first pitch fastball, I'm taking him downtown.

They wanted to play, and when we hesitated they tried to impress us. One was tall and stocky, and claimed to have a cup of coffee with the 1987 World Champion Minnesota Twins, even flashed what appeared to be a championship ring.

The other was slender and dark, and claimed to be an actor with a role in "Bull Durham."Reporters are skeptical by nature, of course.I didn’t recognize the name of the guy who claimed to be a former Twin.

I had a pretty good knowledge of major leaguers since baseball card companies at the time issued extensive sets that included just about every player in the bigs as well as even minor prospects from the minors.
Hey, where are all the rooftop fans to watch our big game?

And Will is a walking baseball encyclopedia. In fact, if there was a contradiction between Will and the official baseball encyclopedia, I’d believe Will. And he didn’t recognize the name, either.

The guy did have a 1987 Twins ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was a player. Teams give rings to a lot of employees.

The other guy claimed to be an infielder in "Bull Durham," one of the guys on the mound when one of Nuke’s eyelids is clogged, Jose needs a live chicken to sacrifice and no one knows what to get Jimmy and Millie for their wedding. "Candle sticks," of course, was coach Larry Hockett’s answer.

The guy had the lines down pat, and we didn’t have any photos from the movie in hand for comparison purposes.This was a little icky. It seemed like the kind of lines guys would be spouting trying to pick up girls over a bottle of Bud at the Cubby Bear after the game.

We told them we were in town for the final Comiskey games — a very big deal, the hottest ticket in town — and they didn’t seem to believe us, either.

Will and I exchanged some skeptical glances. It’s not like we could openly debate this in front of them. Lacking proof, we decided to let them play. We even took some photos — just in case they were legit.

Although I must say the alleged Major-Leaguer couldn’t hit my nasty Wiffle knuckleball, making his claim that much more dubious. Note the photo, the knuckler is on the way!

He's getting the knuckler, taught to me by the master.

After playing for a while, the guys moved on, presumably to hoist those brews at the Cubby Bear.

"What do you think. Were they telling the truth?" I asked Will."Who knows?" Will said. "They may be lying. But we know for sure that we really are going to the final game at Comiskey.”

The Cubs have since renovated the bleaches and outside walls, and to our horror, we discovered that the strike zone is gone.

But that’s not to say you can’t bring some chalk – I said chalk, people – and make a new one. Just don’t hit any of the Tylers and Trixies. And be very suspect of guys who claim to be ballplayers and actors, but can’t hit a knuckleball.

Place No. 12: Wrigleyville

Wrigleyville was a lot more fun before it became Wrigleyville, Inc.

Josh Pahigian picks the clubs and shops surrounding the Chicago Cubs’ home as his No. 12 place in the “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

But I think he clings to a romanticized view of boisterous little pubs filled with diehard fans hoisting a Bud in Harry’s name as they drown their sorrows after another loss.

I suspect he thinks those pubs are surrounded by mom and pop stores selling Cubs caps and t-shirts, with old Keith Moreland pins alongside those showing Sammy and Carlos Zambrano.

He no doubt remembers the people living across the street who drag their lawn chairs up to the roof to get a view of the game that’s closer and better than what you’d get in the upper deck at any modern multipurpose stadium.

And all of that was true – at one time.



Today those buildings across the street have metal bleachers on the roof and are rented out to groups for thousands of dollars, like skyboxes. I checked, some want up to $10,000 for a group of 50, and another wanted up to $150 per person.

The Cubs for a while erected screens to block the view, saying people were making big money off their product, and it was hard to argue with them.

The shops have been replaced by big-budget souvenir superstores that I praise for their completeness of the latest gear, but mourn that they have none of the ancient or quirky items that made the old stores so much fun.

As for the clubs, I don’t think a real Cubs fan would be caught getting a Bud at a place like Murphy’s Bleachers, even if he could make his way through the crowds into the door.

I wouldn’t be surprised to see a Hard Rock Wrigley or an ESPN Zone to pop up there.

Some where, some how the sad sack Cubbies became trendy. Wrigley is a place to see and be seen.

Will refers to the people there as the “Tyler and Trixie Crowd.” “They’re here to watch a game, but it’s not baseball,” he said.

I’ve seen these people up close. Will’s taken me to see the Mets play the Cubs in each of the last two years.

Both time, “fans” in the seats next us arrived late, beers in hand, stayed for an inning or two, disappeared for another couple innings, came back with more beers and left before the game was over, no doubt to get a spot inside The Cubby Bear or one of the other bars.

It seemed different when Rich, Mark and I made Wrigley our first stop on the glorious baseball road trip in 1989.

We made it down to the neighborhood hours before the game, had lunch on the roof of a sandwich place with a view of the park, explored some stores, and then went to a bar called “Sluggers.” The lower level is a bar, and the upper floor is filled with batting cages, arcade games and “Hi-Ball,” which is like two-player basketball on a trampoline.

After the game we walked across the street to Murphy’s Bleachers, and some drinks and threw peanuts on the floor.

A person could probably do some of those things today, but probably not all of them because of the crowds.

I don’t want to pooh-pooh all of it, because walking around Wrigleyville is still a lot of fun. There is still an atmosphere you are just not going to get in a stadium surrounded by acres of parking lots.


It’s just no longer authentic. This is not to say it’s bad, but you have to know what it is going in. This is from a guy who would rather go to the EPCOT version of Morocco.

There are still street vendors with all kinds of things, and you are going to see some very unusual people, some of them sober. You’ll also see apartments in the surrounding blocks with their Cubs flags, especially the white W banners if the team wins.

We’ve even had some adventures there in the off-season. Walking by one day – on our honeymoon, actually – I noticed the center field gate wide open, and a worker said I could walk out into centerfield to take a photo.

And in 1991 we walked up and saw what looked like old-fashioned billboards across the street, replacing the Budweiser ads that were always there.

Then we saw a sign mimicking the Wrigley Field sign, but calling it “Harvey Field.” And there was an old bus with Rockford Peaches” written on the side. Only later did we realize they were filming “A League of Our Own” inside.



So if you’re headed to see the Cubs, by all means walk around and see what there is to see. Just because it’s become corporate doesn’t mean you can’t have adventures.

And say “Hi” to Trixie and Tyler, but don’t ask them to tell you the score.

A Windy City drive leads to a Friday Five

I’m practically a Windy City resident after two trips to Chicago this week.

You already know about the streak-extending trip to Wrigley on Monday. I returned Wednesday for a two-day education writers conference, where we learned all sorts of neat things about covering teachers unions.

I also learned all sorts of things about the three-hour, three-state trek between Grand Rapids and the Second City. So here is a special, my-kind-of-town Deezo Friday Five.

1) Any good Long Islander has a special place in his heart for White Castle. While there are some in Michigan, my part of the state is shamefully lacking.

Luckily, there is one in Michigan City, Indiana, where I needed to stop for gas. Normally, my family prevents me from making a nostalgic visit. But traveling solo, I figured I could swing through the drive-thru for a little snack.

I used to eat 10 “belly bombs” as a teen-ager. I thought three would be a nice snack. That was about 2.5 more than I should have eaten. Luckily, I discovered the next item.

2) The Illinois toll roads have dramatically renovated their “Oasis” rest stops. Not only are they bright and clean with a decent rest rooms, but they have some pretty sweet penny-squishing machines, too!

3) When I got to Chicago, Will took me to get a burger that might have actual beef in it. Moody’s Pub is one of his favorite places, and was as good as he described – and so big of a feast that I had only a Wrigley pretzel for the remainder of the day. In fact, I passed on the onions and only made a dent in the fries. That was one big burger.

4) Walking to the game we saw the Church of Wrigleyville, which boasts that it is the “unofficial” church of the Chicago Cubs. Considering the team has been cursed by a goat, I’m not sure this is a place I want to be.

5) If my TomTom played music, it might edge out the iPod as the most essential appliance of my lifetime.

The device cleared the “obscure rural road” test long ago. This time Mandy effortlessly guided me through the zillion lanes of the Dan Ryan, and does everything but say, “Stop looking at the Sears Tower and keep your eyes on the road.”

Seriously, driving to new places is so much less stressful. Heck, you can even program it to find White Castles! Or so I’ve heard.

Cubs, Tigers and extending shameful streaks

The only thing worse than watching the Mets lose in person is not watching the Mets in person at all.

I pretty much have to adopt this as my credo. Because it appears that the Mets are going to lose whenever I show up. As those close to me know, the last time I witnessed a Mets victory was all the way back on July 21, 1991, when the Mets beat the Dodgers at Shea.

Correct. We’re talking 17 years. Here is my streak of shame:

7/26/1995 Cardinals 3, Mets 2 in St. Louis

9/24/1995 Marlins 4, Mets 3 in Miami

6/17/1997 Yankees 6, Mets 3 in the Bronx

6/30/1997 Tigers 14, Mets 0 in Detroit

4/5/1999 Marlins 6, Mets 2 in Miami

6/10/2007 Tigers 15, Mets 7 in Detroit

8/4/2007 Cubs 6, Mets 2 in Chicago

Extending the streak was Monday’s debacle at Wrigley Field.

4/21 2008 Cubs 7, Mets 1 in Chicago

First, thanks are in order to my buddy Will and his lovely sidekick Laurie, who gave up her seat so I could go. Naturally, she’s a Cubs fan, and she knows how to ensure a victory for her team.

Final score aside, there’s nothing bad about seeing a game in the Friendly Confines. It’s a true neighborhood event, with houses for blocks and blocks showing their Cubs banners.

Inside, you can’t get closer to the players in too many other places. I was hanging out near the Mets bullpen watching Oliver Perez throw, and I bet he was less than five feet away.

And I was pretty impressed by the Cubbie vendors. Keep in mind I was proudly wearing enemy colors. Yet several ushers cheerfully offered to take our photos, and both the food and concession vendors I dealt with seemed to go out of their way to be nice.

You already know about the game, which was a great pitchers’ duel until our bullpen decided to let the Cubs batters pad their stats.

Sadly for many Cubs “fans,” they were already back at Sluggers and Murphy’s by the time game got out of hand.

So I thought you might like a photo tour of our adventures.

The blocks around Wrigley are filled with street vendors selling Cubsware.

Some their wares are of questionable legality and taste. Check out the Japanese headbands.

Will and I checked out the new Ernie Banks statue. Naturally I have my sweet new Shea Final Season t-shirt.

Part of the new Walk of Fame is a tribute to Bill Buckner, who was wearing a Cubs batting glove when Mookie's ball rolled between his legs in the glorious 1986 series.

It was nice to see Mets fans at the game -- even delusional ones.

Just like my game at Wrigley last year, Oliver Perez was throwing in the bullpen.

Derek Lee collected his Gold Glove Award prior to the game.

Cubs fans know how to party. I have no idea what the hats were about. Will says there are a lot of people there who are interested in a game, but it has nothing to do with the events on the field.

It's a little hard to see, but that's Cubs legend Ron Santo singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

With the game over and the streak of shame extended, I sought comfort in the fact that the Cubs have an even longer streak of shame. We celebrated this by reenacting the infamous Steve Bartman moment from the 2003 playoffs.

As we were going Bartman, I heard a voice saying "Nice try, but you're in the wrong spot." This guy said he was sitting in the actual seat, and was "reversing the curse" by sitting there after the game. Not sure how he was doing that, but he was having fun.

In other news...

I now have a favorite Tiger.

Sometimes my job takes me to cool places, and sometimes cool people come to my job.

Tuesday morning we got a press release saying that Curtis Granderson, the Tigers centefielder rehabbing here in Grand Rapids with the Whitecaps, was appearing at a middle school.

I suddenly became the most territorial reporter in the newsroom.

Curtis Granderson meets the local media.

I have to say that Granderson was impressive. I learned that he asked the Whitecaps to call the schools and said he had a couple hours of free time before the game, and offered to speak to students.

He spoke about how both of his parents and his sister are teachers, and that classmates are like teammates who you can call on for help. He's one of just 30 major-leaguers with a college degree, proudly discussing his business degrees from University of Illinois - Chicago.

We talked for a little bit after his time with the students, and he told me the event is just something he enjoys doing.

Here's my full story: http://blog.mlive.com/grpress/2008/04/curtis_granderson_comes_to_gra.html