Prologue: It’s a Beautiful Day for a Ballgame
Labor Day Weekend. Chicago. Three Years Ago.
An impossible day was about to happen.
A metaphysical anomaly created by the baseball gods might have been involved. Madison Fields had not come to a definite conclusion on that point but she believed in the concept. Baseball tapped into forces beyond the laws of science. Maddie’s favorite films were Field of Dreams, Bull Durham, and The Natural, movies steeped in romance and myth. But she loved the down-to-earth reality of the game, too. The crazy multitude of stats, the secret signs and strategies, and the sheer beauty of well-played fundamentals. All these things were magical to her. She couldn’t hit a baseball to save her life, but she had studied the game since she was six years old. Meticulously filled out hundreds of score cards. Saved, filed, and cross referenced all of them so she could relive every game any time she wanted. To Maddie it was a kind of time travel unique to baseball; therefore, freak baseball wormholes could totally exist.
This particular day had an undefinable tingle of excitement from the start. Maddie had taken a rare vacation day and scored a free ticket to the bleachers at Wrigley Field. She put on her luckiest, most faded jeans and her beloved Ernie Banks jersey. The Cubs’ legendary infielder—known as “Mr. Sunshine”—was Maddie’s favorite player. Boundless optimism was right up her alley. On a perfect September morning like this one, Ernie would’ve used his famous phrase: “It’s a beautiful day for a ball game… Let’s play two!”
But the baseball gods were in a trickster mood as Maddie stood on a crowded “L” platform waiting for a Blue Line train to connect with the Red Line bound for Clark and Addison. The train was forty-five minutes late. Incomprehensible messages sputtered over the station’s staticky loudspeaker. Maddie knew she was screwed. The bleachers didn’t have assigned seating, and fans arrived hours in advance to snag a spot where you could heckle the opposing outfielders and maybe—just maybe—catch a homerun ball.
By the time Maddie emerged from Public Transit Hell, the line at the bleachers entrance snaked hopelessly around the ballpark. She didn’t even have time to peruse the latest amusing, illegal Cubs T-shirts from street vendors.
“God damn fucking son of a bitch!” Maddie shouted, angry at herself for making such a rookie mistake. The stream of Chicago-born-and-bred profanity just slipped out, and Maddie quickly glanced around to see if she needed to apologize to any nearby parents in line with their children. To her surprise, a tall, slender man with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, impressive arm muscles and delightfully nerdy, round glasses laughed. He was close to the front of the queue.
“A little early for that, isn’t it? The game hasn’t even started yet. I know we’re slumping, but hey, we’ve got time. Give the boys a chance.”
“Sorry! I just—I haven’t had a day off in so long and the Blue Line was evil. I really wanted a good seat. And now…”
The man nodded soberly. “Say no more. The Blue Line is run by demons. I think it’s in Paradise Lost.”
“Well, if the Blue Line was ever Paradise, it lost it a long time ago,” Maddie replied. “And I think Milton might have been the conductor today.”
“Nice. Most people don’t get that reference.”
When the charming stranger smiled and turned his head to one side, Maddie noticed his lush head of wavy, brown hair that flipped up slightly at the base of his neck. She had an irresistible urge to reach out and touch it, but stopped herself.
“No, actually I tempted fate,” Maddie admitted. “I’ve had plenty of past battles with the Chicago Transit Authority, and I didn’t leave early enough. What was I thinking? Oh well! I’m here and I’m happy. That’s enough.”
“Come on. You can sit with me. It’s destiny. We’re both wearing number 14.” He turned around to show the back of his own Ernie Banks jersey. Damn, he had a nice back, too. All the way from that sexy hair curl down to the heels of his “Cubbie blue” Converse All-Star sneakers. Why was he here by himself? No date, mate, or other companions in sight.
Maddie flashed a look of mock horror. “Cut in line? No way! That’s against my religion. A cardinal sin. I’d go straight to Hell.”
“Ah, now we’re bringing Dante into it? This is some serious stuff.” The man stroked his beard as if this were a grave philosophical dilemma—which it absolutely was to Maddie. “OK. You can take my place, and I’ll go to the end of the line.”
A shiver ran through Maddie’s body. She had goosebumps everywhere. If she had been able to draw a picture of her ideal nerdy baseball intellectual dream man with a shockingly good physique, this guy would have been it! And here he was offering to give up his place in the bleachers for her.
“That’s not fair to you,” she said and meant it. “I can’t. But thanks so much anyway.”
A busty woman in a tight sundress and huge floppy hat and sunglasses grinned at Maddie. “Chance of a lifetime, if you ask me. And don’t make him go to the end of the line. No one cares.”
Some other nearby fans—who had clearly started their holiday at the Cubbie Bear tavern earlier in the day—started chanting, “DO it! DO it! DO it!”
“You never want to disappoint the fans,” said the nerdy intellectual baseball dream man.
“OK then. Wow. Thanks. That’s incredibly nice of you…?”
The man put out his hand. “Carlton.”
“Like Fisk? I admit I’m a sucker for a rough-and-ready catcher.”
“Yep, but sadly I’m no Hall of Famer myself. And you are?”
“Maddie.”
He squeezed her hand, and his grip was deliciously firm and warm. More goosebumps. And that was the moment that Maddie suspected she entered another dimension in space and time via the freak baseball wormhole. Because the rest of the day played out like the greatest romance movie montage ever made. Maddie loved smarmy montages, but, of course, she knew they weren’t real. Until today. Later, when she tried to recall exactly what happened, quick flashes of scenes blended seamlessly into each other:
A cloudless blue sky, smooth as Lake Michigan on a calm day.
The crisp September air with a hint of fall and zero humidity.
The playful, light breeze blowing out to left field.
Singing the national anthem with Carlton. They had harmonized, and the surrounding crowd applauded their performance.
The famed Wrigley Field ivy, tinged with autumnal red, covering the brick walls in the outfield.
The symphony of mushy organ music, surging crowd noise, and the crack of the bat.
Eating Vienna Beef hot dogs Chicago style—on a steamed Rosen’s sesame bun, with sport peppers, sliced tomatoes, a pickle wedge, celery salt, and yellow mustard. Ballpark mustard. (Carlton called it that, too.)
The seventh inning stretch, led by none other than the Cookie Monster who cracked Maddie up by singing, “Me not care if me never get back!”
Even doing the goofy arm gestures to YMCA in tandem with Carlton seemed more fun than it ever had before. They talked and laughed easily with each other and argued about Old Style beer on draft.
“It’s ambrosia,” Carlton stated.
“You mean swill!” Maddie mimed choking. “Nothing is more disgusting at Wrigley except the old. giant urinal bins in the men’s rooms.”
“Oh really, you’ve seen those?’ joked Carlton.
“I didn’t have to! The aroma when you walked past the men’s room told me all I needed to know.”
They competed with each other to manage the game and debated passionately about when to pull pitchers and send base runners. Carlton could predict what pitch would be thrown next with uncanny accuracy—the single hottest thing Maddie had ever witnessed.
“How?” Maddie asked him. “I’ve been trying to learn to call games like a catcher for years and I still can’t do it. You have to teach me.”
Carlton just shrugged.
“Are you some kind of baseball savant?” Maddie pressed.
“No, just a long-time student of the game. Baseball’s a bottomless treasure chest of things to learn. So much history. So many stories. You can always discover something new and you never stop learning. There’s mystery, too. For me, learning is all about the pursuit of mystery.”
Maddie sighed. “I love that. And I think I feel like that, too. But I’ve never expressed it quite that way. You know what else I love?”
“Tell me.” Carlton was so intently focused on Maddie that she was taken aback. She believed that he really cared what she was about to say and it mattered to him. It had been a long time since she had connected with anyone like this.
“The drama,” she answered. “The way everything can change with a single pitch. I love the classic battle between batter and pitcher. But especially … the humor. Baseball is by far the funniest sport. I hardly ever laugh at other sports. But baseball—almost every game there’s something. All the colorful characters and silly absurdities—like the Bleacher Bums and the billy goat curse. Comedy’s part of the game. And it makes life more bearable. Even when it isn’t. Does that sound too corny?”
“No. It’s true.” He scooted subtly closer to her on the bleacher bench and she leaned into him just a little. She thought she’d be perfectly happy sitting like this for the rest of her life.
Maddie predicted the final, heart-pounding suicide squeeze play that won the game for the Cubs. She and Carlton high-fived each other and everyone around them. This was one of Maddie’s most cherished sports rituals—high-fiving with strangers to share the pure joy of the moment.
All of the day’s images, sensations, and conversations fused together beneath the blood-orange haze of the sun setting over Wrigleyville, under the shadow of the iconic green and white scoreboard with its nautical flags fluttering in the wind. The same place where Maddie’s ultimate baseball hero, Bill Veeck, used to sit after getting banished from ownership by greedy billionaires. Veeck spent his last days watching the Cubs and passing out barbeque pork chops he had grilled at home before the game. Maddie could feel his presence. Deep in her heart, she renewed her pledge to follow in his footsteps and dedicate herself to the game Walt Whitman called “glorious” and to the fans who loved it. One day she’d be in charge of her own team. Maybe this team, the Chicago Cubs. The team of her childhood dreams. She was definitely on her way. She had worked nonstop for the past seven years, and she was right on the cusp.
But just for today, during this wild, one-in-a-million shot, she was simply having the time of her life with a man who delighted and thrilled her. They huddled together on the patio behind the bleachers after the game, watching the satisfied throngs amble out of the park and into the streets after a rousing chorus of “Go, Cubs, Go!” which had morphed into “Sweet Home Chicago”. The “L” train rumbled by and the victorious “W” flapped happily against the just-turned-twilight sky. A full moon was rising, a baseball moon. Maddie knew that she was privileged to be here. That a beloved ballpark was the most marvelous place on the planet. Possibly in the universe.
“This has been a spectacular day. The best. No, really, the best. I’m not exaggerating.” Maddie looped her arm around Carlton, and it felt completely natural. Not awkward or weird. He put his arm around her, too.
She sucked in a quick breath and whispered, “I’m sorry, but I have to do this. Right here. Right now. Before it all disappears.”
She pulled Carlton to her chest and kissed him, holding him in a tight hug the whole time, letting those impressive arms of his wrap around her. It was a kiss that felt like “Wonder Boy” from The Natural. A lightning strike that burned her and Carlton’s names into their own Louisville Slugger bat.
Maddie pulled back just in time to see the woman who had encouraged her to accept Carlton’s invitation give an enthusiastic thumbs up as she mouthed the words. “Told you!”
“Could I interest you in Thai food and a walk by the lake? Might be better than the packed dives around here, although that has its charms. Your choice. But I’m not ready for this to end,” Carlton confessed.
“Me either.”
But it did end. The clock struck midnight. The Cinderella story came to a crashing close. It was Maddie’s doing, and it was the last thing she wanted.
“Massaman chicken curry sounds so good right now! Let’s get on the Red Line at Addison,” she urged.
Carlton squinted at the sweaty masses pressing into the metal stairway below the tracks and shook his head. “Nah, let’s walk to Belmont and beat the crowd.”
Maddie made a sour face. “That’s cheating! We have to get on at Addison. It’s part of the whole Wrigley experience. Don’t you love having to fight your way onto the train and getting almost crushed to death by all the euphoric fans?”
“Strangely, no,” Carlton deadpanned. “I’d rather live and walk to Belmont.”
But Maddie pushed as she always did. She made what could have been easier much harder and more complicated. Carlton relented, and in the crush of the crowd, she got on the train, and he didn’t. They had not exchanged phone numbers. Not even last names. She had no idea what he did for a living, and he had no clue about her life other than the experience of one fantastic and impossible day together.
Maddie rode the Red Line back and forth for hours, looking for him. She searched every disinfectant-scented bar in Wrigleyville that night, hoping to find her lost soul mate in the number 14 jersey. She never found him.
He never found her either. Had he even looked? She wondered. She could never forgive herself for making such a stupid, unforced error. It was so like her. Damn it!
The next morning, Maddie wasn’t sure if any of the previous day’s events had really happened. Maybe the trickster baseball gods had granted her a gift. But like all magic, it came at a price. It was only hers for a few hours. A sublime memory with a classically bittersweet, if not downright tragic, baseball-story ending. Never mind. She sucked at romance anyway. Now she had work to do. She was about to crack the Big Leagues. She was headed to the Show.
But ten thousand ill-fated rubber duckies had other ideas.
RELATED ART
The Addison “L” stop on the Red Line to Wrigley
The entrance to the bleachers
CASTING CALL: The Actors in Our Ideal Wilde Pitch Cast
Chris Evans as Carlton Wilde
Emma Stone as Madison Fields
FUN BASEBALL FACTS
The baskets attached to the outfield brick walls at Wrigley Field were installed to catch fans, not baseballs, after a rowdy 1969 season in which the famed “Bleacher Bums” used to run races along the top of the wall.
Maddie’s baseball hero, Bill Veeck, was a legendary figure for both the Chicago Cubs and the White Sox.
In 1917, when Veeck was three years old, his father was invited to become the President of the Cubs. Veeck’s dad began his career as a sports reporter for the Courier-Journal in Louisville, Kentucky.
Bill Veeck also conceived and oversaw the planting of the iconic ivy in the outfield at Wrigley. And he commissioned the manual scoreboard in the bleachers that is still in use today and is one of the most recognizable fixtures in baseball. At the time, the scoreboard was state-of-the-art.
Unfortunately, the scoreboard’s inventor had an anxiety meltdown before the delivery deadline, and it was Veeck who actually finished construction to make sure it was ready for Opening Day.
FILM
BOOKS
Let's Play Two: The Legend of Mr. Cub, the Life of Ernie Banks
The definitive and revealing biography of Chicago Cubs legend Ernie Banks, one of America's most iconic, beloved, and misunderstood baseball players, by acclaimed journalist Ron Rapoport.
Ernie Banks, the first-ballot Hall of Famer and All-Century Team shortstop, played in fourteen All-Star Games, won two MVPs, and twice led the Major Leagues in home runs and runs batted in. He outslugged Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, and Mickey Mantle when they were in their prime, but while they made repeated World Series appearances in the 1950s and 60s, Banks spent his entire career with the woebegone Chicago Cubs, who didn't win a pennant in his adult lifetime.
Today, Banks is remembered best for his signature phrase, "Let's play two," which has entered the American lexicon and exemplifies the enthusiasm that endeared him to fans everywhere. But Banks's public display of good cheer was a mask that hid a deeply conflicted, melancholy, and often quite lonely man. Despite the poverty and racism he endured as a young man, he was among the star players of baseball's early days of integration who were reluctant to speak out about Civil Rights. Being known as one of the greatest players never to reach the World Series also took its toll. At one point, Banks even saw a psychiatrist to see if that would help. It didn't. Yet Banks smiled through it all, enduring the scorn of Cubs manager Leo Durocher as an aging superstar and never uttering a single complaint.
PLAYLIST *
Go Cubs Go - song and lyrics by Steve Goodman | Spotify
Sweet Home Chicago (Chicago Cubs Home Run Theme - Spotify
YMCA - song and lyrics by Village People - Spotify
"Hey Hey Holy Mackerel" (1969 Chicago Cubs fight song) - YouTube
*To listen to the playlist, it’s easy to use your Spotify account. If you don’t have one, you can sign up for a free account when you click on any song.
