My Kind of Razzmatazz

What were the chances that my wife and I would plan a long-delayed trip to Chicago to see two old friends and somehow arrange to leave the day before the Democratic National Convention opened there?

You see, I carefully set it all up based on the August home games schedule of the Chicago Cubs. How can you go to Chicago and not see a ballgame at Wrigley Field? Sacrilege!

I was a bit embarrassed when I realized what I had done. After all, I’m a political junkie, a fervent Democrat totally caught up in this year’s epic presidential battle. I’ve been to several national political conventions to report on or participate in demonstrations; I inhaled my fair share of tear gas in the streets of Miami Beach in 1972 while protesting Richard Nixon’s re-election coronation.

But what the hell. I wasn’t going to get inside the United Center, the site of this year’s DNC. (Yes, I would’ve joined this year’s protests in the streets of Chicago over what’s happening in Gaza.)

On the weekend before the convention hit Chicago, the city was like an armed camp. My wife and our friends and I tried to get near the convention site — just to eyeball it and maybe pick up some political buttons — but all the surrounding streets were shut down, blocked off by dump trucks and concrete barriers. I hadn’t seen so many dump trucks since August 1972.

And so we headed over to the Busy Beaver Button Company Museum. Such a collection! But the operators missed the boat — there were zero Kamala-Walz buttons for sale. I had to content myself by observing “Ike and Dick, Sure to Click,” etc. I had that button when I was a kid, a young Republican! (I’ve still got it.)

Musical interlude, cue Sinatra: “My kind of town, Chicago is — my kind of razzmatazz. And it has/ all that jazz…”

I hadn’t been to this fair city since the early 1980s, on a pilgrimage to see Wrigley Field before the lights were installed — a dark day for Chicago and baseball fans everywhere. (That transpired in 1988).

I made sure to wear my weathered Cubs hat when I returned last week. And while I stood on line for pretzels and beer in that holy shrine, a young guy looked at my hat and asked me, “How old is that cap?” I told him: “Why son, I bought this hat before they put up lights in this place!” He smile and said, “I thought so.”

I had made sure we bought tickets for a DAY GAME at Wrigley. We endured two rain delays but the Cubbies beat the Toronto Blue Jays, 3-2, a thriller. We all stood and lustily sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the 7th inning stretch. You can’t beat that.

You bet we also visited the original Billy Goat Tavern downtown. This hallowed site was the Lincoln Tavern until one day a goat fell off a truck, wandered inside and was adopted by the bar’s owner, William Sianis. His establishment was re-named in the goat’s honor.

Any local dude can tell you that on Oct. 6, 1945, as the Cubs were embroiled in the World Series vs. the Detroit Tigers, Sianis bought two tickets for game four — one for himself and one for the goat. You see, he was trying to bring his team some good luck. But the ushers refused to let the goat come in. Sianis proclaimed: “The Cubs ain’t gonna win no more! The Cubs will never win a World Series as long as the goat is not allowed in Wrigley Field.”

“The curse of the billy goat” was born. The Cubs lost the Series that year and were unable to “reverse the curse” until 2016.

The Billy Goat Tavern was also the site of the “cheezborger” skit on “Saturday Night Live.” You can read all about it, and “the curse” in framed newspaper accounts that line the walls of the joint. Ya oughta go see it.

Our friends/tour guides also got us on board a boat that motors up the Chicago River, past the amazing architectural gems lining the water. Only one of the people involved in all of this construction has such a big ego that he had to have his name splashed across the building, in giant letters.

Oh yes, I was delighted to read, upon my return to New Haven, that DNC operatives had had the foresight to rent a room across the street from that 96-floor monstrosity and set up a high-powered projector. The messages that appeared above “TRUMP” included: “Trump-Vance Weird as Hell,” “Project 2025 HQ,” “Trump-Vance Out For Themselves” and “Harris-Walz Joy and Hope.”

Take it, Frank: “And each time I leave, Chicago is, tuggin’ my sleeve, Chicago is/ one town that won’t let you down. It’s my kind of town!”