We woke up at 10:15 in a fluster. Fortunately, our stuff that wasn't packed was in a condensed locale and we were able to shower, finish packing and quite literally be walking out of the door as the cleaning lady arrived. Yes folks, we ARE that good.
The weather was up in the upper teens and so, felt like summer to us as we began our walk down Michigan Avenue towards the Tribune building, or more precisely, the Billy Goat Tavern across the street. It would have been much nicer to be able to have checked into the Hilton, dropped off our luggage and had our adventures unencumbered, but that would have required a lot of doubling back, and the check-in at the Hilton wasn't until 3 regardless. So, like gypsies, we traveled with all of our belongings either in our arms or attached to our persons somehow.
The tavern was only a mile or so away, but even though it was relatively warm to us, dragging our bags through the snow in that type of weather was not fun for anyone, but we managed to make it and find our way down the slick metallic stairs leading to the tavern, below Michigan Avenue. The tavern itself is located even further below street level, at the bottom of yet another flight of stairs. We were certainly earning the right to absorb the pop cultural phenomenon that is the Billy Goat Tavern.
Not only was it the inspiration for the famous SNL “Cheezborger, cheezborger” skit, but the original owner, Billy Sianis was the man denied entry to Wrigley Field when he brought his goat to the 1945 World Series, who then allegedly cursed the team. In addition, it was the hangout for legendary columnist, Mike Royko, and became a must-see eatery during the 1944 Republican Convention, when to draw business, Sianis put a sign in the window, claiming “No Republicans Allowed,” which, of course, made it irresistible.
For us, however, the ability to sit down and release our luggage burden was all that we were looking for. Lauren sat and guarded our table while I went to get lunch. Lauren had the single “cheezborger,” while the guy at the grill insisted that I have the double. The burgers were, of course, combined with 2 Cokes (“No Pepsi”) and 2 bags of chips (“No fries”) The SNL guys had gotten it right, though I'm sure the staff was playing it up for tips, which I gladly supplied, the shtick was well worth it and added much to the “authenticity” of the place.
While it seemed that the burgers were quite the polarizing meal, with people either loving them or absolutely loathing them, we certainly did enjoy. They were very bun-heavy, but that made them all the better to us, and we will most assuredly making a return pilgrimage on our next trip.
We lingered over the meal, but eventually, after several pictures, returned above ground, to the land of the living (and freezing). Still fighting the discomfort of the luggage, I gained a new respect for Moses, I only had to do this a mile or so at a time. I can't begin to imagine 40 years. Lauren was having a really hard time at this point, so I helped her as much as I could, and wound up with an additional suitcase in my arms for much of the trip back down to Marshall Fields (Macys now. Blech). It is a family tradition, when in Chicago, to dine atop the Marshall Field building, in a little cafe called “The Walnut Room.” Since we had already eaten lunch, we opted to get the piece-de-resistance, the Frango Mint Pie. Frango Mints are a Chicago tradition, and the pie is one of the great desserts of all time. We also got a round of hot teas, to try and revive our poor little frozen selves. The pie was as good as I remembered, and despite some worries about arriving dressed like vagabonds and only ordering desserts, our waiter treated us like we had come in dressed in our finest, with Macy's bags in our arms, and was well rewarded for that respect.
The juxtaposition of where we had been less than an hour ago, a subterranean dive bar, by all accounts, to where we sat enjoying our dessert could not have been more drastic, and caused me to laugh a little upon that reflection.
By now, it was getting closer and closer to our check-in time, and we still had an errand to run, so we headed out and over to Garrett's Popcorn. We had gotten slightly addicted to the stuff, while in the condo, and the idea of quitting it, cold turkey, didn't appeal to us, so we ordered a few small bags to help us through the recovery process.
It had gotten colder, in the last few hours, so my idea of walking to the Hilton (about a mile distance) was looking less and less likely, so we hopped on a CTA bus, that would supposedly drop us right near the hotel. While the bus was my least favorite means of transportation in the city, it certainly got the job done and we were at the hotel by 2:15, well ahead of check-in. Or so we thought.
The Cub Convention annually draws over 15,000 people to the Downtown Hilton every January, and as a perk of staying in the hotel, you are guaranteed tickets to the Convention. The Convention, for non-guests of the Hilton sold out in 25 minutes, so despite it being fairly pricey, the special “Convention rate” sells out too, as the only option for many people to attend. This means that most of the guests will be checking in on Friday afternoon, which means that the lobby of the hotel, is virtually unusable. Someone within the hotel decided to start checking us all in early, to regain the lobby. It took us around 30 minutes to check-in, which does not include the Convention check-in. We got our keys and went upstairs to the 18th floor, to drop off our bags and relax for a few minutes. After regaining our bearings, we went back downstairs to register for the Convention, and pick up our weekend passes. That was even worse than the hotel check-in. It took us almost an hour to do so, during which time, we met a lady in front of us, who was obsessed with “General Hospital” and had won a trip to the set—and spoke to Lauren about all of the characters on the show as if Lauren would have to be an idiot not to know who Doctor Soandso was. She was one of those people who seems to “know” everything about everything, or as I like to call them at work, a font of misinformation. That got old pretty quick, so I went off for a few minutes to buy a couple of “Grab Bags” as they call them. The Grab Bags are sold by the Cubs, with all the proceeds going to charity (as did many of the proceeds from the whole Convention) and were filled with a bunch of random promotional things that had been given out at games throughout the season. Many people badmouth them, saying that it was just repeats of things that they had already gotten, but since I can't go to regular-season Cub home games very easily, they were neat for Lauren and I. There were a bunch of random stuffed animals (including Dora the Explorer in Cub garb, and Spongebob for some inexplicable reason), pencils, rubber wristbands, notebooks and that sort of thing. Lauren actually got a Soriano bobble head, a signed photo a Daryl Ward, and the creme-de-la-creme of the Convention, a set of American Girl Doll Cub uniforms. She was legitimately excited by this.
As we reached the check-in point, the woman in front of us began to complain about how the scratch-off tickets for autographs weren't fair, and she hadn't won in 10 years and blah blah blah. You see, with so many fans at the Convention, many of the most popular autographers were somewhat limited to signing at special events that only certain fans could attend. It was determined who would attend the session(s) by scratch-off tickets given to the attendees at check-in. Last time I had gone, Matt had won Derrek Lee and had graciously given it to me. Suffice it to say, the woman did not get any of the sessions...but guess who diiiiid. That's right, I won the chance to have Carlos Zambrano sign an item of my choice, the following morning. The woman was noticeably agitated,
We still had a bit of time before the Opening Ceremony, so we went into one of the showrooms, to look around and get my our bearings. As we did so, a woman saw my Zambrano ticket and approached us. I figured that she would ask me if it was for sale, which it was not. It turns out that she wanted to trade. There were not many of the autographs that I would have traded for, but she said the magic words, that she had a Ryne Sandberg ticket. Ryne Sandberg is my all-time favorite baseball player and the trade was done in a heartbeat. Of course, I spent the time until the autograph session being paranoid that the ticket was a counterfeit, or somehow void. After all, no good deed goes unpunished.
After my blockbuster trade, we walked the floor for a bit and saw a booth with an older man sitting behind it.
Upon closer inspection, we realized that it was Hall of Famer, Bob Feller signing autographs. I bought a Hall of Fame baseball and asked him to sign it. He was a very nice guy, 91 years old and still traveling to promote his baseball museum in Iowa. I asked him for a photo and he stood up and came around the table to pose with me. He has the biggest hands that I have ever seen.
After my brush with greatness, it was almost time for Opening Ceremonies, so we headed up to the Grand Ballroom.
There is nothing like being crowded, elbow to elbow with several thousand of your fellow fans, and if you ever wondered what it would feel like, I suggest that you book your tickets to the 2010 Convention. It was worth it though, after getting a pair of spots on the outer limits the presentation began. It was essentially one big Cub love fest, with announcements of all of the players in attendance, all to thunderous applause, a few remarks from club higher-ups, where General Manager, Jim Hendry was booed, and finally a highlight film from the previous year.
It was all good fun, but there were a few annoying drunk people near us being quite loud and obnoxious.
Following the Ceremonies was the Autograph Hunt, where random players were located throughout the Convention floor, signing autographs. You get in line and then whoever shows up, shows up.
Lauren and I wound up in the line for Dave Otto, who has pitched, and announced for the Cubs. He was a very nice guy and I'm glad we were able to meet him.
After meeting Otto, we realized that I needed something for Ryne Sandberg to sign the following morning, and a simple baseball just wouldn't do. I happened to find a really good deal on a Mitchell and Ness Hall of Fame 1984 Cubs Sandberg jersey. It was perfect.
We were getting fairly tired and Saturday would be a big day for us, so we neglected Cub Bingo and went up to our room to relax and get to bed.
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