As a kid nothing really compared to a day at the ballpark. It's a piece that has been written about for years by columnists and sport writers. Entire books cover the very subject of the experience. And for me, going to 35th & Shields three or four times a year with my dad was nothing short of heavenly.
My dad worked two jobs for quite sometime, so catching up with him at a game was most ideal for both of us. He didn't have to worry about me asking him why he had to work so much, and I didn't have to worry about him reprimanding me. He was able to be a dad. I was able to be a kid. What made our trips to Comiskey Park so genuine was the spontaneity. Dad would decide the day of the game if we were going to go. It was as though he was being a kid along with me. He also made sure we rode in style, hoping on his Honda motorcycle heading up the Dan Ryan.
The arched windows, the distressed facade and the smell of warm beer from discarded beer cans. It was all Comiskey. Dad and I saw some great games over the years and got to see some Hall of Famers as well. I remember how much he loved Carlton Fisk and how thrilled he was when Tom Seaver came to the Sox.
Three years ago my dad and I took in another game. This time at US Cellular Field. McCuddys is no more. All relics that pointed to a more tranquil game have long vanished. While the game is still...the game; something is amiss in baseball. It doesn't sit well with me, but every once in a great while something magical happens. With two outs in the bottom of the ninth, deep in a meaningless season, Jermaine Dye crushed a three-run home run to tie up the game. It was at the game three seasons ago that I again felt like a child. Be sure to follow me as I follow the White Sox @ http://white-sox-daily.blogspot.com/