National. Fucking. Treasure.
With all the talk of Wrenovation at Wrigley these days, Steve and I have just basically been assuming that our beloved metal troughs were on the outs. As such, our multi-beer efforts have turned emotional in the past year, as pissful becomes wistful at the great Wrigley memories we've dotted with frequent trips to the (literal in this case) can:
- Fukudome hitting a three-run homer on his first game with the Cubs to send the game into Opening Day extra innings? I peed in a trough that day.
- Rich Harden fireballing motherfuckers during his first dominant start with the team? I elbowed my way to the pee-trough.
- Clinching the division against the Cardinals on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in 2008? You best believe that nervous/celebratory beer was sent back to the ancient plumbing of Wrigley as a grateful sacrifice to the baseball gods.
The point is, though they're nasty, and it's a poor idea to wear flip flops around what is essentially a urine trampoline, they're an essential part of the Wrigley experience. Pretty much to a one, the "Wrigley is a dump" complaints come from stage-frightened Cardinals and Sox fans who claim to be baseball purists, yet suffer a yeast infection at the thought of bathrooms without auto-flushing toilets and HDTV. Me, I'll take the sound of Pat and Ron on WGN booming over a sound akin to someone power washing a tool shed. That's real baseball, folks.
The good news is that according to the Trib, they're safe for now. The tradition-loving pURINEists have won out over the forces of shy bladderdom. Rejoice, dear friends. It's a Christmas miracle.
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