What I learned when I willingly stepped into Wrigley Field this month

Q: What is the author's opinion about Wrigley Field?

The author, a lifelong White Sox fan, expresses mixed feelings about Wrigley Field, acknowledging its transformation and the vibrant atmosphere while still holding a strong dislike for the Cubs.

Q: How has Wrigleyville changed over the years?

Wrigleyville has undergone significant changes, evolving from a gritty area to a more corporate and polished environment, which the author feels has altered its character.

Q: What was the author's experience at the Cubs game?

The author attended the Cubs game dressed in Cincinnati Reds gear, feeling conflicted but ultimately enjoying the baseball experience despite their Cubs hatred.

Q: What food did the author enjoy before the game?

Before the game, the author enjoyed novelty ice cream shaped like elotes, paying tribute to their favorite snack from Comiskey Park.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS - MAY 6: Brady Singer #51 of the Cincinnati Reds pitches during the second inning against the Chicago Cubs at Wrigley Field on May 6, 2026 in Chicago, Illinois. (Photo by Geoff Stellfox/Getty Images) | Getty Images

A Crosstown Classic tale

My name is Di and I’m a lifelong Cubs hater. It’s been 13 years since my Chicagoan status officially shifted from South Sider to North Sider. In that time, I’ve learned a lot about our mortal baseball enemies. Most South Siders within the city limits have suffered the unfortunate obligation of being a spectator for a few games at Wrigley over the course of their lives, and for me, it’s been once with a film cast and crew (seated directly behind a rusty column with my co-stars), once when my musical group was in attendance for the game with the Toronto Blue Jays (we were supposed to sing the Canadian National Anthem), and once recently, post–Wrigley-facelift, for a friend’s birthday. For that, I was a willing participant. My grueling (but necessary) 2025 absence had me pining for baseball, so I was happy to go to a game, even on enemy turf. Baseball is baseball, right? Attending the game decked out in the opposing team’s gear would still render a stain upon my soul, but now it would be easier to scrub out. I ordered a one-use Cincinnati Reds shirt, donned bright crimson nails, and scowled fiercely the entire time, turning my face a nice shade of scarlet to show my Cubs hatred. Did I pop a blood vessel in my eye? Maybe.

The NL Central is crushing, with their last place team boasting a better record than our current **winning record** , and I was excited to fly the L. Birthday Boy was the only person in our group who was an actual Cubs fan, so I was in good company; two fans, one real Reds fan from Cincinnati (who unfortunately dropped dead when he tried to enter the stadium – RIP John), and one neutral party. Before our incursion into Wrigley, we stopped a few doors down for ice cream that’s shaped like elotes, to pay tribute to my favorite Comiskulerate Park snack. Full of novelty ice cream, we arrived at Gallagher Way, the event space abutting the ball park that hosts yoga, game nights, Christkindl Market, concerts, and a massive video board that broadcasts mostly Marquee, with free movie nights on some Wednesdays. White Sox fans, I hate to say it, but the space is remarkable and the vibes are immaculate when Cubs fans and bar crawlers are absent. It activates a deep longing for the Ishbian Sports complex of our idealistic fantasies, only ours conceptually has a better common space and a pedestrian-only footbridge across the Chicago River, serving to link New-New Comiskey with the new Chicago Fire stadium of our dreams. (Yes, I acknowledge that our current field is beautiful, clean, and fun, but the land is bought and it’s likely happening, so you bet I’m taking my kayak to the future River of Dingers and fishing out some Montgomery balls). [yes, I know, phrasing.] In my teenage years, I’d frequent the Wrigleyville neighborhood to visit The Metro, which has since undergone a deep makeover, from gutter punk drug haven to a revamped, Evanston-meets-Bourbon-Street barfly bonanza. To say it’s transformed dramatically in the past decade would be an understatement. Once upon a time, the confines weren’t just friendly, they were philanderous, like that sinister coworker staring at you from the unlit corner at the corporate holiday party and wagging his eyebrows in a way that makes you keep a hand over your drink for the rest of the night. Now, they’ve overcorrected, and I feel like I don’t belong in this corporate stronghold without my White Sox evening gown and opera-length pinstripe gloves. A place *can’t* be too clean, but it can be too corporate. Do I miss the losing era Wrigley, filthy with hammered non-fans? Almost, but no. There’s nothing wrong with using a baseball field as a bar and casually observing the game. If you’re having fun, great, I’m glad, but please don’t argue baseball unprompted with a passing White Sox fan on the street while not even knowing who’s pitching that day. *And* *stop pissing on my car just because you forgot to unload your bladder into the crumbling trough, while I’m parked with flashers on Clark to pick up my Big Star, Andy. And while we’re at it, have some self respect and trim your beard, you fucking walnut.* Now that it’s clear that I may dislike the Cubs, let’s continue the journey. Walking into Wrigley with a ticket for the nosebleeds had me climbing the recently renovated stadium steps, and I’m happy to report that I neither have tetanus, nor did I fall into a crack in the cement and become a part of the stadium forever. In fact, the rust was gone, structures appeared sound, and it didn’t smell like piss where I was seated. I could even see my neighborhood. I can’t report on whether men still have to pee in a trough, because this wasn’t an undercover operation. My group was also surprised to learn that Wrigley has finally entered the 1990s era, and installed a real electronic screen. Unfortunately, it was obscured by a pole. That’s two for three, Wrigley, and one of those times, the director sprung for the good seats. At least they painted over the rust. With the Cincinnati Reds putting up a fight, my friend talking trash in my ear, and my husband almost choking on one of his five hot dogs while cheering for the Cardinals for some reason, I noticed something in Wrigley that I’d never seen in my previous accursed visits: the only time the volume was burgeoning around me was when they played the Riders of Rohan theme for a walk-up song on the organ (amazing), and again for the Wendella Boat Race on the big screen (which we couldn’t see). There were thousands of empty seats, but that wasn’t as notable as the lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t raining or unseasonably cold, and both teams were fighting for the top of the division at the time. And although I actively try to ignore the Cubs, I knew more about them than anyone around me. As I noted the plentiful Reds hats encompassing me, and even a few White Sox hats, it hit me: the prophecy had been fulfilled. Flash back with me to 2016. Wrigley Field was in the middle of renovations. I was beginning to learn the truth about my nearby neighborhood and its dearth of Cubs fans, punctuated by the astounding sea of White Sox hats signaling to me like beacons in the night. Between the renovations, the corporatization, and the World Series win breaking both the tension and the “loveable losers” spell, the Cubs weren’t as fun to the casual fans anymore. It seemed that winning had ended the enchantment for those who don’t love baseball. This isn’t an indictment on fans who left due to the owners’ beliefs, and in fact, I salute you. It appeared that the fans who stuck around seemed bored, despite the great baseball being played. In my 13 years here, I’ve met a lot of neighbors and have made a lot of North Side friends. White Sox fans, let me tell you that I know two Cubs fans who live on the North side, and one of them worked for the Cubs and moved here from the suburbs. The other is Birthday Boy, who is immune to criticism (but just for today). The actual fans love watching a winning team, and I respect them. They’re few and far between. Then I thought back to living on the South Side. I knew more Cubs fans who lived on the South Side than I do living a stone’s throw from enemy territory. Granted, none of them knew what a base or a ball was, but they definitely knew how many beers they could drink to get *just* below the legal drinking limit. This is not to shame ballpark attendees who don’t know baseball, because I’ll always reiterate that gatekeeping is silly and baseball games are fun and should be enjoyed by everyone. However, is it a coincidence that they feel safer going to Wrigley because they don’t have to watch the game? They can do the wave (fine) and make cup snakes in the bleachers (genuinely funny) and eat hot dogs (obviously) in a place that doesn’t pressure them to know what’s going on with the game. They’re invited to the post-game drunkard jubilee on Clark, the bane of any North Sider’s existence, to forget everything they just witnessed. They don’t have to go straight home like we do, because there’s not much to do in the area after a ball game on the South Side, and I wish that weren’t the case. Maybe the casual Cubs fans like hanging out outdoors with large groups of people who get excited, and being fans of a consistently losing team felt better because there was less pressure to pay attention. Darker still, a portion of these spectators could also feel seen among the flagrant functioning alcoholics, wasted at noon on a weekday and stopping me on Sheffield to tell me that the White Sox suck, even though that year, the White Sox were amazing and the Cubs were atrocious. *That’s right, Naperville Nate, in 2021 the White Sox won their division and the Cubs finished fourth in theirs, and just because you’ve never been farther south than Soldier Field doesn’t mean the neighborhood is unsafe, you useless sackbag*. So South Siders, before you judge a North Sider by their zip code, keep in mind that a lot of them are in baseball purgatory. Welcome them with open arms. Forgive. Be like da pope. Cubs fan friends and neighbors who don’t abuse the sidewalks and actually like watching the ball game, I hope you have a great time this season. I’m glad there are less attendees and less drunkards (for now), but I doubt you can count on that continuing with a tight division with great teams. There are also those Cubs fans who jumped ship due to the Ricketts’ political donations, and I greatly respect that and welcome you to the Black and White side. We’ve had some scrappy winning baseball in the month of May, and while our future is still unclear, the White Sox are playing good baseball. At the risk of sounding like a casual Cubs fan, this team is fun to watch even if they won’t win a World Series this season. We ended up leaving the game early while the Reds were still ahead, and although I eventually learned the outcome of the game, I like to pretend that it ended in Cincinnati’s favor. South Siders, I can’t recommend going to Wrigley at any time during the baseball season, and I hope we give it to the Cubs during this first Crosstown Classic series. But if not, at least we can say that our team still has a soul.