The Windy City and the hapless White Sox.

I love the city of Chicago, but I didn’t see much of it this trip. The main event, of course, was the White Sox game at “Guaranteed Rate Field.” This field replaced the old Comiskey Park, where Shoeless Joe Jackson played and the scene of the infamous “Black Sox” scandal.

Although Charles Comiskey was a cheapskate and a tyrant (one of the reasons for the players’ ill-fated decision to throw the 1919 World Series) the stadium bearing his name had an elegant charm and was an imposing structure. The new field resembles nothing more than a big mixing bowl, plunked down in the middle of some grass.

Last year, the White Sox broke the record for most losses in a single season, previously held by the 1962 NY Mets. They lost 121 games…and lost in every conceivable fashion. (A regular season only has 162 games. You can do the math.) Sadly, they seem to be on track to surpass that dubious milestone this year. Their fan base has dwindled, although there are still the faithful who hang on, game after game. This game had so few attendees that they closed the upper decks and I had my pick of seats in the 100s. The play was haphazard and lacked any real energy, although I have to say that their right fielder, Michael A. Taylor made some excellent catches and showed a bit of pizazz. Alas, one player does not make a team and the White Sox went down in flames, 8-0.

A baseball game is always fun, though. I enjoyed watching the families with little kids running up and down the stairs, the Dads holding their babies for a picture of their “first game” and the kids (and adults) who’d brought their baseball gloves in hopes of catching a foul ball. Most fans seemed resigned to their team sucking once again this year. Of course, it’s only April and in baseball, ya never know!

I had two memorable meals while in Chicago. Before I got the subway to the game, I had breakfast at a quirky diner known for being sarcastic and rude. (Sort of like “Durgin Park” from the Boston area.) They immediately popped a chef’s hat on my head and demanded my order. It was kind of silly and the food was excellent.

After the game, I found a cool little Mexican place that made killer margaritas (with a Grand Marnier “float”) and excellent shrimp fajitas.

I had this idea that I might like to go hear some jazz, but the two places that had the kind of traditional jazz I wanted were a bit of a hike to the north. And I had to be up at the crack of dawn for my train to Detroit. And it was raining. I got some chocolate, walked back to my hotel and had a cozy evening.

The next morning, I got the bus to Union Station for my train to Detroit, the “Wolverine.” (Someday, I’ll do a whole blog post on the train names.) Chicago’s Union Station is huge and magnificent, and their “grand hall” befits the name.

And now, I’m on my way to Detroit!

Chicago, Chicago, that toddling town
Chicago, Chicago, I will show you around, I love it
Bet your bottom dollar you’ll lose the blues in Chicago, Chicago
The town Billy Sunday could not shut down.