My body was covered head to toe in wet, sticky substances from walking all the way from Irving Park to Addison Street in the thick, hot air. I looked up at the blindingly bright blue sky, and prayed for some clouds as my gaze fell onto the enormous, screaming red sign with bold white letters pasted across the front letting everyone know that he or she had arrived at his or her destination. Ernie Banks gazed down on me with his crooked grin as I looked up at him and beamed in return. I was aware that it is impossible for him to acknowledge me, however I couldn’t help myself from smiling my toothy smile at everyone and everything I made eye contact with. Though the weather was horrifically humid, similar to every other summer here, this was the sight that I had longed for. Butterflies tingle and twirl within my core as I approached the colossal coliseum; I was ecstatic to be back! The woman at the gaping entrance glanced at me with her tired eyes and forced a smile as she collected my entrance permit from my clammy hands. Her gravelly voice wished me a good day, and off I went into the scrambled crowd of strangers reeking of B.O. I got tossed around in the confusion thus losing my family, and attempting to seek them out became the chore of finding a needle in a haystack. A paunchy man with the foul smell of alcohol seeping from his pores slammed into me with his Bud Light, which sloshed up in my face. He shot me an apologetic look with his snaggle tooth before swiftly rushing off to grab some scrumptious funnel cake and kettle corn. Though it may seem like a nuisance, I was too distracted by the thought of finally being in the stadium again to mind those rude smelly people. My mouth began to salivate as my mind wandered back to the treats that I saw the man dash over to earlier and giggled to myself as I saw the hectic clumps of morbidly obese fans skirmishing for the next spot in line. While scanning the area, I finally spotted my dads goofy grin. Reunited with my family again, we made our way to our assigned seats.

The instant my bottom made contact with my evergreen chair, I immediately collapsed into it. I gaped in awe at the 41,072 folks dressed in red, white and blue bustling around me as they found his or her seats. My hair was glued wildly to my face from the wind whipping it around under the beaming sun, yet somehow I still had a smile plastered across my face that I couldn’t seem to wipe off. It felt like a million years since the last time I got to let the sharp, trimmed crisp grass fill my nostril and I prayed that the men in stripes and cleats warming up on it would not let their city down this year. The elegant ivy lined along the back of the field that seemed to grow for miles had not changed one bit; the leaves were scattered all around as vines twisted and turned, tying themselves into knots, awaiting another red and white sphere to come plummeting towards it, only to swallow it up and never be seen again. I scanned the panoramic view on the outskirts of the stadium, and suddenly I was so enamored by the stunning sight. The massive skyscrapers towered over one another as the blazing city lights flickered and the suns reflection bounced off of them nearly blinding me. However, the beauty put me in such a trance that I could not seem to tear my eyes away from it. The spell I had succumbed to suddenly broke as the crowd arose and thousands of caps were removed from everyone’s matted hair. The sweet song of our National Anthem blared on the loudspeakers and everyone’s blank stares darted around to find the emblem of our nation, signifying that the game was about to begin.

The sound of applauds grew and voiced roared as Rizzo stepped up to home plate. Scheming adults muttered bets and children slurped their icy slushies in anticipation. The sharp “crack!” of a wooden bat screeched across the ballpark and the men and women who were once hanging on the edge of their seats were now on their feet, jumping wildly and knocking into ach other as they urged the player to keep sprinting across the maroon clay and threatening him to hurry over to the next white plate. The same ordeal continued over and over again for hours yet somehow nobody, including me, seemed to ever gets bored of this classic game. I began to get a starving sensation as I got a whiff of smoky Chicago Dogs which brought my attention to the stand just up the stairs with a young girl sporting a Cubbies hat manning it. My adrenaline shot through the roof as my stomach bellowed and tumbled around inside me as I ached for some grub. It didn’t take much convincing to make off with 20 bucks from my aloof and gleeful father, whom was only so joyful because the Cubs were up by two runs. I hoped for it to stay that way for my dad’s sake, though the players’ drooping posture and filthy uniforms told me they were prepared to be finished.

Before I could make my way to receive my hefty, meaty, crunchy dogs, there was a booming male voice thundering loud enough to be heard by the whole state of Illinois. He attempted to mimic Harry Caray from the press box with an enthusiastic tone to get the crowd pumped up for one of the most important elements of the game; “Take me Out to the Ball Game”. The mass of people swarming around me immediately froze and cleared their croaky throats from all of the hooting and hollering, preparing to sing their hearts out. It was less of a song though and more of an obnoxious, screeching chant, yet somehow it had became my favorite sound in that moment. I basked in the shrieks and squeals of the passionate fans and glared at the lame ones who did not care to participate. That moment is what I live for. Tens of thousands of people gathered together to share his or her similar infatuation with the game of baseball made me so content, especially when I got to experience it at Wrigley Field.