I’m in the Windy City and it is windy. Stiff breezes of 40mph rip off Lake Michigan and are sharp as a knife as they cut through the Chicago streets.
But today is benign. April weather warms and it’s a beautiful day for a ball game- the Chicago White Sox play host to the Oakland Athletics out of the West Coast.
Sport is the heartbeat of this town by the lake. The basketball team, the Bulls are 60 and 20 this year and are holding fast to the iconic legend of their now retired hero Michael Jordan. The Blackhawks are in the hockey play offs and the White Sox, who usually stumble somewhere along the way, seem solid in the opening fortnight of the baseball season. And the city’s other baseball franchise, the Cubs, are everyone’s cuddly pals who never win.
So, with sports in my heart, I’m off to the Sox. I take the Red Line subway to the stadium. It’s on the south side of town- once the ghetto land of the city’s black population when racism ruled the city before Obama and Oprah.
I follow the stream of folks as they pour out of the subway to the park. The crowds are out even though it’s a midweek no-count game in the 162 game-long season that runs into October.
I buy a sideline seat, called a box seat, for $65 (that’s about 40 pounds sterling).
The baseball field is emerald green and ringed with electronic information and I take my ringside box next to a bunch of guys and ladies, all tucking into their beer and huge Italian sausage sandwiches and nacho bowls. Food, beer and baseball all grow together into a delicious stew on this balmy afternoon as the White Sox take the field at exactly 1.10 in the afternoon.
The team reflects American baseball. It is Latino dominated- Ruiz, deJesus and Cruz are in the field and they play the game with an elegance and speed that is a picture of kinetic beauty.
Even the boss is Latino – the team is managed by Ozzie Guillen, a former Hispanic player known for his quick temper and ability to say exactly what he wants at press conferences.
Next to me in the box seats are Joe and Mike. Joe does something ununderstandable in telecommunications and is ‘playing hookie’ from work. Mike runs an Italian restaurant and has to be back to front of house by 5 pm.
Joe is a double for the larger than life actor John Goodman. Overweight, a bottle of beer in his hand, reflecto-sunglasses and never short of a word.
“I tell you Rich’ he says ‘that old England is something else. My dad loved Churchill and boy are we sucking in all that royal stuff.’
Mike leans over from his seat: ‘You English boys are OK. And that Manchester United. I mean I don’t know much about soccer, but I groove on that name. Now that’s a name for a team.’
Chicago is an open sociable town. Not like New York where you are an annoyance or Los Angeles where everyone is in a car and up their own sphincters. Chicago folks like to talk- and talk about the town they love. ‘The thing about here is..it’s the centre of the world to us. We don’t need New York or Hollywood. We got it all. And the weather is simple to figure out too. It’s either cold or rainy.’
Everyone laughs and agrees. Today isn’t either. The sun kisses our skin.
Joe gets his large glumpy frame out of his seat to get more to eat. ‘Want something Rich? Beer, food, more beer, more food?’
The game is halfway through. The Sox have a dandy pitcher who throws at 95 mph and the A’s can’t touch him.The Sox fans see a good season in front of them. ‘We’ll win 90 to 95 games this year. That’ll put us into the World Series play-offs.’ Mike explains.
Joe comes back with something huge on a paper plate.The beer guy who walks up and down the stands is there for something to drink and popcorn and peanuts.
Mike says: ‘See that guy, number seven on second base. That’s Gordy Beckham. He’s gonna do something serious in a couple of years when he learns a thing or two.’
‘Beckham?’ I ask
‘Yeah, Gordy Beckham.’ Mike says.
‘Does the name David Beckham mean anything here?” I ask.
‘Yeah.’ says Joe, ‘He’s married to Victoria.’
Mike adds: ‘She was one of The Spice Girls. Good looking babe, Victoria. She’s something else.’
‘Nuther beer? Joe asks me and gets up to find a pizza stand.
It’s baseball on the south side.