
By Edward M. Bury, APR, MA (aka The PRDude)
The restaurant at the modern mid-rise hotel across the street from the place I visited last week offers oysters on the half shell and a $69 steak. But a block south, an unadulterated Chicago dive bar still features an Old Style sign above the entrance and offers Tall Boys for a couple of bucks.
Quite a juxtaposition of the new and the old, the what is now and the way it used to be.
Kind of like life sometimes. Don’t you think?
The place in question is Wrigley Field, a place I’ve visited off and on for — could it really be? — more than 50 years. My most recent sojourn to this mecca of baseball history, joy and heartbreak was Friday May 7, made possible by the increasingly relaxed restrictions announced by state and city government officials on people gathering together on the downside of the COVID-19 pandemic.
My visit to Wrigley to take in the Chicago Cubs versus the Pittsburgh Pirates was made possible by my great friend Garry Weiss, who invited me to join him at seats along the first base side. Seating was restricted to around 10,000 fans, and it was a brisk, partly cloudy early May afternoon.
But I got to get out of the house and gather with my friend and a large number of people — safely. Since the pandemic put a metaphorical lock on the simple process of interacting with family, friends and strangers, I like many longed for a deviation from the practices needed to remain a step ahead of the virus.
Before entering the ballpark, I marveled at the many new bars and restaurants along Clark Street. There’s even a serious cannabis dispensary just south of Addison Street. Yet, I found some things stay the same: Men selling peanuts and bottles of water on the sidewalk, parking lot attendants soliciting drivers, a hustler hawking game day tickets near the Addison Red Line station.
To get inside Wrigley, one must scan a digital ticket. Inside, the concourse was clean and modernized. Once at our seats, I exhaled and took in the simple majesty that is Wrigley Field — the emerald turf, the vines, the buildings beyond Waveland and Sheffield. A dose of reality: Beers cost $10 or $11.
Before Friday, I had not been to Wrigley Field in around three years. I had not visited with Garry in perhaps two years. I had not experienced an event since March of 2020.
Last month, I commented on how enjoying a few beers at my corner tavern was a step toward life as I knew it. Last week, I got to enjoy life with a friend and thousands of others. And, to make it all the better, the Cubs won 3-2.










