First I wanted to post this and worry about the future of our world.
As the clouds roll in right now I hark back to Saturday. A friend had extra tickets to ther Cubs game and needed a fourth, so I eagerly accepted his invitation. Now the forecast said that it would be partly cloudy and 75 that day, and as I boarded ther Orange line at Halsted it looked like that would be a fair assessment.
I transfer to the Red line at Roosevelt and settle in for the twenty minute trek to Wrigley Field. Since three-quarters of the trip is underground, I was wholly unexpected for the downturn in weather when I disembarked at Addison.
I only wore two shirts and shorts. I made it to Murphy's Bleachers jsut as the wind picked up and set nipples rising all around. It got so cold outside that it hurt to hold my beer; I was very concerned about risking frostbite.
The game itself was uneventful, except for the prevailing sense that the fans attending the games are now holding up this team to the level expected of a $93 million payroll. This team is underachieving, but it wasn't built to win a division to start. It's capable of 85 wins, which, given the strength of the NL east, will not earn a wild card.
I was struck by the collective lack of heart the Cubbies were playing with- as though they expected something to happen for them to lose the game. It brought to mind the "lollygagging" rant from "Bull Durham." It is a simple game- you hit the ball. You throw the ball. You catch the ball.
$93 million should buy you at least that.
I had an impromptu evening of drinks at Puffers' with my neighbor and good friend Anne last night. She and two other friends went to the Skylark Friday night and passed this quote to me:
"It was like being in Wicker Park ten years ago."
And it got me to thinking about hipster culture. It always seems to be in stasis. It never changes; never gets too mainstream; never falls too far out of favor. Hipsters ten years ago dressed and acted the same as today's hipsters. It's like they're trapped in a vacuum.
Or, more appropriately, a mass Dorian Gray portrait.