Scott Desgrosseilliers

Cubs Game in the Bartman Seat

TheFiance’s company took us out to Cubs box seats on Saturday. My eyes lit up when I saw my seat was on the railing overlooking left field. Sweet seats! “Congratulations you’ve got the Bartman seat,” the usher smiled. I noticed the section was not filled so I slid one seat over. TheFiance asked if I was in the right seat and I just told her to sit down and I’d explain later. I didn’t want to inherit any bad mojo!

The Bartman seat is where Steve Bartman, a long-time Cubs season ticket holder, leaned over the field and caught a ball that potentially would’ve put the Cubs only a few outs from going to the World Series back in 2003. He took so much harassment he eventually had to move from Chicago. People even gave him death threats over this! So much for Midwestern hospitality.

I did spend a couple innings in the seat once our section got crowded. Great seats because you have a great angle on the game, you have a good shot at foul (and fair) balls, and you can always watch the bullpen action if the game is stale. The sweltering heat forced fans including myself to keep a nonstop flow of Old Style brews to prevent over-heating.

I was wearing my CubanAndTheCubs.com t-shirt. If this shirt can break the Bartman seat hex, it will undoubtedly prove that Mark Cuban is destined to become the owner.

Chicago Trolley Bachelor Party

A Chicago bachelor party on a trolley is very similar to a roller coaster ride.  There is a bunch of standing around yapping in line before the ride starts.  After you board the car, the first minute is spent slo-o-o-owly going up the ramp, while the rails go tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety.  Excitement and apprehension builds and a few people start to holler.  People are fidgeting in their chairs anxious to get the ride going.  After an eternity you reach the top of the initial incline, it hits people that there is no going back; this is a unique blend of fun, joy, and terror.  Then your stomach drops as the first descent of the roller coaster starts and you let loose some guttural scream that came from a region or place you didn’t know existed in your body.  The ride starts going, faster and faster, twists and turns and loop-de-loops, you are trying not to hurl while also having the time of your life.  The end of a great roller coaster ride you stagger out of the car, shattered and ready to collapse, but looking forward to the next ride. The trolley bachelor party followed this script almost entirely.  Let’s break it down-

Pre-ride:
The bachelor to be honored gave explicit instructions.  “Lots of drinking and good times, but nothing too crazy.”  I am not sure why he would be worried about me going too crazy, I am a nice innocent boy from Maine.  The plan was in place to have his Minnesota crew drive down and the Chicago posse to be gathered on my pool deck for pre-drinking and burgers until the trolley arrived.  All of this was a surprise until the night before at our dodgeball pre-party, when a team member had a few too many vodka lemonades and blabbed the entire plan.

The surprise was ruined but the night was not.  We gathered for burgers, booze, and introductions on the pool deck at my place.  Mark whipped up some VIP party passes using some photoshop wizardry.  The passes simultaneously celebrated and mocked the bachelor.  Fortunately the fiance’s phone number was mistyped so she did not get any embarrassing phone calls when we were in the wrapper later in the night.

Boarding:
We boarded the trolley and everyone was giddy as usual, but reserved.  The trolley has the initial effect of disorienting its riders.  It is a such a great party resource that the people riding it are not sure what to do with themselves at first.  We had coolers in the back stuffed with more booze than I thought was necessary (I was wrong), food (untouched), and extra VIP passes (came in handy) for the bachelor to hand out as he wished.  There were repeated mentions of heading to the Chicago Zoo for some animal fornication for the bachelor.  He responded to these suggestions like a turd in a punch bowl.

Initial Climb and the tickety-tickety noise:
I had the bus head up through Chicago’s Viagra triangle – where old dudes on Viagra chase after 22 year old foreign chics that want sugar daddies.  People were still kind of quiet.  To help set the bachelor party tone, I leaned out of the trolley and bellowed at a few people.  To support one of the bachelor’s future brother-in-laws I hollered at the Goddess and Grocer patrons; He works there and dislikes the clientele.  I made sure to let them know “How can you eat there!  Whole Foods is where it’s at!”  …I sure told them!  I know, one of my finest moments.  After a few innocent bystanders got verbally accosted, we passed around a bottle of Jameson.  This loosened up the trolley considerably.  There started being a lot of verbal action all over the trolley – gasps as someone took a monstrous gulp of whisky, ripplings of laughter as someone hollered a great one-liner out the trolley.  The decibel level of all the yapping had skyrocketed in 30 minutes of trolley time, everyone was mingling and having a good time.

The Moment the Ride Begins and You Scream:
One of the trolleys many benefits is that there will always be some randoms that get picked up to ride the trolley with you.  This ride was no exception.  Bonn insists on doubling back to a bar we had just stopped in front of.  There is a bachelorette party at 2 of the tables.  We roll off the trolley and inevitably start mingling.  Matt from the trolley steps up in a big way, ordering about 40-odd kamikaze shots for the tables and the trolley riders.  There is literally a table of shots that people can just walk up to, down one, and continue about their business.  One thing leads to another and the trolley is now carrying both our bachelor party and some random bachelorette party.  I discover that the trolley has a microphone and start carrying out various verbal shenanigans with the speakers.  The sound level has reached a dull roar.

Twists and Turns and Loop-de-loops:
Driving down Clark street through the heart of wrigleyville, the youngest man on the trolley, a 22 year old future brother-in-law, has to cry “no mas”.  I figured him to be a contender for last man standing at the end of the night.  Instead he unbuckles his pants, mutters something incoherent, and storms off the trolley, walking across 2 lanes of angry traffic.  I am pretty sure he was flipping off everything in the street also, but my memory is blurred.  His brother grimaces and says he has to go get him – I hand him a few beers for the trip and wish him well.  First men down and its only 11 pm.  We make a myriad of stops for more shots, somehow the mass quantities brought on the trolley are not sufficient.  The random bachelorette party has gotten annoying to some trolley members but the single guys are adamant about keeping them on board.

Post-Ride Staggering:
The ride ends in front of Timothy O’Toole’s.  Our driver was very calm with all the drunken chaos and microphone screaming, and even allowed us to go over our time limit.  She truly had grace under fire.  The doorman sees us pouring off the trolley and decides we are over-served and can’t come in.  I don’t see how they could’ve surmised that?  We pick another bar and I am determined to bring the cooler into the bar.  Someone offers me $50 to leave it on the side of the road, hell no!  I am able to bring it into 2 different bars that night with a half-full bottle of Captain Morgans inside, just to prove the naysayers wrong.

Circa 3am:
The bachelor’s brother is outside the bar either puking or making out with a shrub.  A few people are talking in babble that resembles a rare Ewok dialect.  The bachelor comes in and orders another drink – since he couldn’t find a cab.  That’s a stalwart Minnesotan for you.  I call it a night at this point and forget my cooler at the bar. The roller coaster ride known as a Chicago trolley bachelor party has ended.  The trolley was once again MVP of the night.

When you’re hosting a bachelor party in Chicago, you should rent a trolley.  Trust me, I’ve been to my share of bachelor parties.  Despite the best of intentions, guys end up drinking too much and getting scattered all over the destination city.  Half the night can be spent on text trying to coordinate everyone’s whereabouts.  Chicago has a lot of potential distractions to create chaos amongst a group of friends partying.  Keeping the bachelor party on a trolley allows everyone to safely party while enjoying Chicago together without coordination hassles.

Scott's 1 to 3 Vodka Lemonade Recipe

I sometimes read a famous chef explaining that they rely on the essence of a few key ingredients to shine through in their signature dishes.  I echo this philosophy with my signature drink, vodka lemonade.  No chicago summer is complete without it.

There are a few easy and cheap ingredients added in measurements of either 1 or 3.  Follow these simple instructions to enjoy some warm and fuzzy summer good times.

Ingredients

• 1 can frozen lemonade
• 3 cups vodka
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup lemon juice
• 3 lemons

Pour 1 can of frozen lemonade into a 2 qt pitcher.  Add 3 cans of water.  Add the vodka, sugar, and lemon juice, and stir like hell.  Cut 3 lemons into 8 wedges/lemon, de-seed, and squeeze into the pitcher.  Drop in the lemons.  Stir more.  Drink up.

Tips

• You can mix it up slightly by using a flavored lemonade.
• If you are headed to a team event such as dodgeball, pour the mix into empty gallon water jugs and tote to the game.
• A gallon = 4 quarts (I always forget this).  So double the ingredients to fill a jug.
• However much you think you need to make, make triple the amount.  People pour this stuff down like its their job.

I hope this recipe brightens your summer events, I know it is always a big hit at mine.

North Ave Beach Dodgeball Video

Last night's dodgeball festivities proved a couple of truths about the Derelict My Balls dodgeball team. The later the game time, the better we play. The reason: We have more time to drink before the game. To those unclear in the ways of dodgeball, this statement makes no sense. It would seem that the more you drink, the worse your hand-eye coordination, which would lead to dodgeball slaughter.

However, our team tends to play a little timid - until the force of the Vodka Lemonade (VL) mix hits the brain. The power of the VL takes our dodgeball wallflowers and grows them into dragons. Team members that would normally park their butts against the back wall are in the middle of the rink head hunting. Girls that might cower and hide behind other people are now hollering "Get out bitch!" at the other team. Good times all around.

Trying to explain 40 people running around a roller hockey rink throwing and dodging 10 balls is not easy. Its best to show with a video captured by our team mascot Chris Bonn-

Dodgeball Tips

Summer has arrived. I know this because we are playing dodgeball. Last Thursday’s game and the pre and post-game festivities finally made summer seem like it really, truly, is here. This is a great feeling after this past Chicago winter’s suffering. But I would be negligent in my dodgeball captain duties if I didn’t offer my team a few free unsolicited tips as a 4-year dodgeball veteran.

Dodgeball Tip #1 – Drink early and often. The dodgeball arena is no place for the timid. Pre-game jitters (yes, there is such a thing even in dodgeball) might leave you meekly standing in the backcourt avoiding detection by the opposition. Grab a ball and join the fray. A few vodka lemonades before the first game will help you get in the mix.

Dodgeball Tip #2 – Don’t be a lone wolf unless your name is Peter. Often times I see my teammates running up to challenge the other team in a burst of courage. Perhaps this is because they took tip #1 a little too much to heart, and are now bursting with liquid courage. I call this being a dodgeball lone wolf. A person charges the other team, throws their ball, and then receives between 3-5 balls from all angles and speeds hurtling towards them. It is especially dramatic when the lone wolf, after completing their burst, turns and runs, back facing the opponent, towards the safety of our team. We all cringe and scream as the wolf inevitably gets pelted. When you feel the urge to attack the other team, grab a teammate so you have ground cover during your assault.

Peter is the one exception to the rule. He is 2x faster than anyone else there and gets away with it. Trust me, no one else on our team runs as fast as him. That is just Peter being Peter.

Dodgeball Tip #3 – Don’t throw pathetic cross court lobs. This tip is to prevent the further graying of my hair. I’ll be in the midst of a dodgeball battle and see this slow, wobbly ball soaring across court. The other team will break out in big smiles and sometimes even fight to make the catch. A dodgeball catch causes our team to lose a player and their team to gain a player. Do not make long high throws to the other team. Short low throws at the knees!

Dodgeball Tip #4 – Watch the damn line. Dodgeball is played on a roller rink and there is a blue line that our team cannot cross. Give yourself 2 steps distance instead of one when throwing at the other team, because line violations kill our momentum when we have the other team backed against the wall.

I bring up these tips out of team love, the request for a strategy, and the fact I screamed myself hoarse last week. We had some good games last week, but people sometime violated all 4 of these tips at once; I saw a few sober lone wolfs run right up to the line and throw a lob! If you do this, you are still welcome to play, and the summer will still be awesome. But it will be a lot cooler if we follow these tips and win the night’s tournament (and therefore free beer).

Dodgeball Registration Brings Dreams of Summer

I received my annual rite of spring email this week…Dodgeball Registration!  The registration and coordination of the dodgeball team gives Chicagoans a glimpse of hope that the latest miserable winter is over.  Because summer in Chicago is paradise.  A hard-fought, much-deserved paradise after going through the wind chills, the ice, the awfully gray days of the April, and then just about when you are ready to up and move, May arrives and you are at all-day beer festivals.  I thought it could be interesting to review the dodgeball teams of the past

Dodgeball summer 2005 – O.F.F.

The first summer of dodgeball began by accident.  I got invited to join a volleyball team with some friends.  It sounded like a good idea to get out to the beach each week, but I also noticed that some of the volleyball teams are extremely skilled.  I looked at our team of my friends, all great people, none of them the type to win many volleyball games with.  I noticed on the volleyball page there was also a page for dodgeball.  The dodgeball movie had just come out and everyone had loved it.  It was decided that 3 of us would each recruit 8 friends for a dodgeball team.
We ended up with the team name O.F.F..  The premise was that IF we happened to lose a game, the announcer would have to say that  the other team “beat off”.  I cringe typing this, but a room full of people 4-deep in vodka lemonades thought it was uproarious at the time.  That season the announcer had a lot of opportunities to say “beat off”, because we got crushed the first 21 games of the year.  I believe we finished the year with a sparkling 3-37 record.  However, post-dodgeball partying was a highlight of the week and many times I was lucky to login the next day by noon…and I had half-day Fridays, which meant a 1 hour Friday, not too shabby.

Dodgeball summer 2006 – The 5 D’s.  Drink, drank, drunk, dodge, and drink.

Despite the rough record of 2005’s teams, there was a groundswell of interest in dodgeball.  That spring while out at various bars and parties I would be introduced as the dodgeball captain and most of the time at least one newly met person would ask if they could play.  We incorporated a couple of new ideas from our hard-learned lessons of 2005.  A better team name, better team shirts, bigger dudes, less scared chics.  The results were that we could go out all night in our shirts without feeling stupid.  We could win almost 50% of our games.  But we never were able to claim victory for an entire night.  This stunk, because if you win the evening’s round robin of games, you get Duffy Dollars, which you can spend at the sponsoring bar that night.   A new idea this year that worked really well was bringing a cooler of pre-mixed vodka lemonades to the game.  Some of our team members performed significantly better after a few lemonades.

Dodgeball summer 2007 – Derelict My Balls. 

The year our dodgeball team came together on all fronts.  We had a killer name.  Our logo and team shirts were the best looking in the league.  For the first time I actually wore my shirt to the gym because it was not too juvenile.  We were victorious on one of the dodgeball round-robin nights, enabling us to get a shot and a beer for the entire team after the game.  I was told my team had the hottest chics, always nice to hear for both me and them, particularly since we are the oldest team in the league by about a decade.  We routinely went out after the games for $2 you-call-it night at a bar on Lincoln ave (I forget the name and I have been there about 20 times) and got destroyed.  However, one thing remained elusive, our playoff performance, we still got destroyed.  Half the team was in California for a wedding during the crucial end of the season single-elimination championship tournament.

So what will dodgeball summer 2008 bring?  I have been around long enough to know that these things can’t be predicted.  But I am thrilled that dodgeball season is just around the corner.

Chicago Kindness

Chicago is a city that makes you fall in love with it.  I enjoy traveling to new cities and relish the adventure of moving to a new town.  But Chicago gets into your heart and soul and the thought of leaving the city, versus satisfying my wanderlust, is currently too upsetting to consider.   The people of this great city are what make Chicago the great town that it is.  Listen to incredible gestures of kindness I received this past Thursday night.

The Red Sox were in town to play the White Sox.  The social calendar was already getting packed so my only chance to catch a game was Thursday night.  I contacted a ticket seller on craigslist.com and bought some tickets.  The seller was nice enough to offer to drop the tickets to me while I was gorging myself at the buffet at India House even though he was over in the west loop.  The skies were clear and it looked like a great night was shaping up.

Things took a turn for the worse.  A mini-tornado touched down in west Chicago at 5 o’clock.  It looked like Armageddon outside my window.  The White Sox were stubbornly refusing to cancel the game.  My friends that were originally going to the game had either gone back to the burbs or bailed out due to the inclement weather.  I clung to the hope it would magically clear up outside, but it was still drizzling. 

It gets to be 8 o’clock, the game was supposed to start at 7, my girl is on the couch, I am frantically refreshing weather.com and trying to become an instant meteorologist.  I receive a call from the ticket seller.  He was in the stadium club, which is the luxury club area of the white sox stadium where you can eat and drink with a killer view of the field, and it is enclosed and climate-controlled.  He was worried that we were in the concourse getting soaked and he had talked the doorman into letting us up.  I thought that was nice but explained there was a tornado so I didn’t think we were coming.

9 o’clock rolls around.  They still haven’t called the game.  Although it looks crappy outside, it has stopped raining.  I called back the ticket seller.  He tells me it is not raining and they are taking off the tarp.   Game on!   My lady and I decide to drop a couple of tequila shots on a whim and hail a cab.   As the stadium comes into view, a torrential downpour occurs.  I get out of the cab and some lady comes running over breathlessly.  “Are you getting out?” she asks incredulously.  I nod my head and she screams triumphantly to a crowd across the street.  They sprint across traffic gratefully, rejoicing like they just got pardoned from an execution.  I look at my lady and we start laughing, this is not good.  People start streaming out of the stadium, the game has been cancelled.  I decide if we came this far ($25 cab ride) we are at least getting a drink inside.  I call the ticket seller as our clothes get soaked to the bone.  He meets us and brings us up to the stadium club. 

“The bar is closed” the doorman yells out to the crowd as we walk in.  Things are looking grim.  Drenched, no game, no booze, about to be out $50 round trip on a cab, but I refuse to be downcast.  The ticket seller explains he has to go close his tab to the doorman as he winks at us.  We follow him over and meet his son while he asks the bartender to get us a drink.  This is nice, he sees we are drenched and is offering to make it a little more bearable.  I hear him tell the bartender to “back them up”.  This is bar-speak for buying 2 rounds at once.  Things are looking up!  We enjoy our drinks and get acquainted while guzzling our vodka tonics, the doorman keeps gently reminding us the place is closed while we politely ignore him.  The ticket seller lives west of the city 10 miles, but he insists on bringing us back to the city.  This is going to cost him about half hour out of his way, it is a Thursday night and he has to work tomorrow, plus his young son is with us.  I politely offer to take the el or just let him give us a lift closer to the city where we could catch a cab more easily.  Luckily he refused.  The White Sox stadium is in a bad area and with the miserable weather there are unlikely to be many available cabs.  So my girl and I got to enjoy a quick, dry ride to the next destination of our Thursday night.

How many ticket scalping experiences turn out this way?  The seller gave me the tickets at face value, bought my girlfriend and I a couple of drinks, and then drove us home 30 minutes out of his way!  The game was rescheduled to Friday afternoon.  I received a call from the seller at 10am, he had put me on the stadium club list for that day’s game again!  This enabled us to enjoy a nice seated lunch with a waitress while overlooking the field for the first few innings of the game.  The seller once again went out of his way to do something nice for us.

Genuine kindness to strangers is a wonderful thing.  In Chicago I have bumped into strangers at bars and expected a fight.  Instead the stranger would buy me a round and try to set me up with one of his girlfriends.  And ticket scalping can be a dicey experience wrought with fraud and angry guys with big heads.  But as my experience last week showed, Chicago hospitality can make even the crustiest New Englander love the place.

Wrigley Ticket Scalping Attempt Gone Sour

Treating any negotiation situation as a game allows me to have fun with an otherwise tense situation.  The give and take, the strategies, the theorizing on the other side's motivations, all aspects of a good barter can be very enjoyable.  That is why I usually prefer to buy sporting event tickets the day of the game outside of the stadium, unless I am going to the Red Sox and get to sit in my uncle's amazing seats.  Back in college I would routinely scalp tickets to Red Sox games both as a buyer and a seller.  It added to the experience of the game.  However, yesterday selling Cubs tickets turned into a heated tense argument that got me researching the Chicago scalping rules.

I found myself opening 10 days worth of mail wednesday night.  One of the envelopes contained Cubs bleachers tickets for thursdays game.  I had completely forgot about purchasing them, there was no way I could blow off thursday afternoon for the game.  I posted the tickets on craigslist thursday morning and reached a sale price of $100 for 2 bleacher seats...a steal for the buyer in my opinion, but I did not want to trek up to Wrigley on lunch hour to get rid of the tickets.

I am walking up to the meeting point when I receive a text from a number not in my phone.  "Sorry found cheaper tix".  Unreal, someone that I had just made a sale with, not only has the audacity to back out of the deal, but does it via text!  How weak is that?  Visions of a leisurely lunch quickly fall by the wayside and I hop on the el train up to Wrigley.

I got off the train and knew I was in a predicament.  I have never seen so many tickets for sale, it seemed like there were no buyers, a lot of sellers, and the sun was scorching.  The legal scalpers outside the el stop offered me $20 for my tickets.  Uhoh.  I decide to roam around looking for a better price, I would rather eat the tickets then sell them to a scalper for $20.  Some shady dude offers me $30 a piece for the tickets.  I had paid $40 for the tickets, expected to get $60 each, but was now holding out for $50 each, so I told him I'd pass.  I keep walking back and forth the el area, careful to avoid the legalized scalpers, who are ornery bastards.  The key is to wait just after them, when people have walked away disgusted by their prices, and then you seem like a nice innocent boy from Maine just trying to sell your tickets at a fair number.  That ploy wasn't working either, people were consistently looking to pay $10 a ticket.  A few of them said "$50?  I just want to get into the game, I'll give you $10."  What the hell does that even mean when they say "I just want to get in the game".  Perhaps it was the intense heat, but I was getting agitated and it had only been 15 minutes, my back was sweaty, I was faced with eating the tickets, things were not looking good.

Some guy had been lurking around the whole time.  He finally said that he would take the tickets and started walking back to the legalized scalpers.  I stopped and said "I'm not selling them if you keep walking away from me."  He told me it was only legal at their area.  Oh boy, here we go.  For those of you that have never been to a game at Wrigley, right when you get off the train there is a scalper's row of legalized ticket brokers.  They are mean, angry, loud jerks.  One of them stands out as the king jerk of them all, he is a very tall, very large guy with a monstrous sized head.  He has to be on juice, his noggin rivals Barry bond's.  He gets a big smirk when he sees me.  I tell him $60, just like I had told his crony/gopher that had been stalking me.  There are a bunch of people hovered around him, some work for the guy, others are debating on his obscene prices.  Most likely he has already sold my bleacher tix to them for $100 and is now trying to screw me down as far as he can.

"Hey, I'll take the bleacher tickets." he tells me, very proud of himself.  "That's great, $60," I tell him.  His half-smile fades, he is pissed.  "I'm not giving you $60," he tells me.  "Your pal said you'd buy them, if you won't pay $60 that's fine." I say.  Some bystander chimes in he will pay $60 for 2 bleachers.  I turn to sell him the tickets.  I can literally feel the scalper's anger, he holds a fist up to my face, uhoh, this guy is huge and all the other scalpers have crowded around.  He opens up his fist to reveal a cop's badge. 

"If you sell that ticket, I am arresting both of you right now."  Could this guy be a cop?  I smell bullshit, but I am still a little nervous, the intensity, the sheer seething anger of this guy and how much he hates me is just oozing out of him.  I am determined to get $60 even if it costs me $6000 in dental however.  We are staring each other down as he dangles the badge in my face.  I am scanning it, like I am somehow a counterfeit badge expert.  I protest that I am selling the ticket under face value so it isn't scalping.  He tells me that if I sell the ticket for $1 even, he is throwing us both in jail.  I look at the guy I am trying to sell the ticket to, he gets a big smile on his face.  "How about we go to the game together?" he says.  I smile, but I am still not thrilled with this resolution, because I have to buy cubs scalped tickets a lot, and big angry ticket head guy is the key man in the operation, I don't want to get blackballed.

"Listen, I know you guys have a monopoly here.  I'll sell you the tickets for $60 right now, or I'm taking off with this guy and you do what you gotta do." I tell the big headed guy.  He is looking very hot and sweaty, my potential buyer is dismayed that I might not sell him the tickets, I am wondering if I am going to get dragged in the alley by some of big head's cronies.  I decide it will be hilarious if I get arrested for selling a ticket under face value and plus I'm not budging on my price no matter how much my impending head butt is going to hurt.  Big Head makes a painful grimace like he is passing a kidney stone, hangs his head, rips off 3 twenty dollar bills and rips the tickets out of my hand without looking up.  I have never felt better losing twenty bucks!

Chicago Trolley

When you are celebrating 4 friend's birthdays all at once, it ups the ante on the birthday party planning.  Simply grabbing a cake and a keg won't cut it.  This past friday I was a co-conspirator of a birthday party plan for a group of friends affectionately named "The 4 Horsemen".  We chose to hire a Chicago Trolley to squire us around the city...what a blast. The photos don't lie

The trolley launch was 830pm outside of my place.  This had the potential to be trouble, I live in Chicago, city people are horrific at arriving on time anywhere for anything.  So the plan was for happy hour on the pool deck at 7pm followed by a few entertainment options pre-trolley boarding.  The 4 birthday boys were excited and nervous for the entertainment, as they should have been.  I had received inspiration from my fantasy baseball auction in Maine in March.  The host created a powerpoint roast of the fantasy baseball owners that brought the house down.  I decided to do the same thing and enlisted the help of my friend Scott to help properly roast the birthday boys.

A roast has to be done properly or it can be a fiasco.  Most people have characteristics or behaviors that make them unique and endeared to all.  The trick is to know the roast targets well enough to correctly jab them in a way they can also laugh at.  You don't want the guests of honor to feel like crap.  But you also want to get a good laugh at their expense.  It is a delicate balance.  The guys appeared to be laughing along with everyone else so I think the roast goal was achieved.  After the roast, the different groups of friends for each birthday boy were more acquainted with the birthday boys.  Everyone was warmed up and ready to party.

At this point t-shirts were given out to all the guests.  You can't do a pub  crawl on a trolley without wearing matching shirts commemorating the event.  I think it might be a Chicago city ordinance that trolley crawls with shirts get fined.  Everyone put on their shirts and we were off to the trolley.

Think of the Chicago Trolley as a rolling VIP room at a club with only your friends invited.  32 people driving through downtown Chicago causing a ruckus is a great way to ring in old age.  The trolley allows you to byo-anything, so we had it stocked with food and various beverages for anyone's tastes.  The "windows" on the Chicago Trolley are a thick soft plastic, so people can unzip them to create an open-air effect.  This was key for cat-calling and harassing people on the street.  The open trolley allowed us to engage in a "trolley war" with another group on another trolley.  This involves roaring and screaming at the other trolley until they give up trying to out-loud you.  Trust me it is much more fun that it sounds.

Despite elaborate bar hopping plans, we only ended up stopping twice.  Once for a mass bathroom break which had everyone running off in different directions like ants after their ant hill got kicked over.  This led to about 30 reconnaisance missions to track down everyone. The other stop was at Fulton Lounge over in the West Loop.  After the first chaotic bathroom stop it was wisely decided to stop at one location that could handle 30 idiots at once rushing in for beverages and bladder relief.

 

There were no other trolley stops because what would've been the point?  Everyone and everything needed for a great night was already on board the trolley.  It is better than renting out a room, because your friends are all sequestered in the same space without distractions.  Rather than hearing about some of the night's hijinks the next day at brunch, on a trolley you are most likely to be present to witness them occurring real-time.  Getting a fun group of good friends to board the Chicago trolley for a night is a guaranteed great time.

Chicago Summer Weeks

One of the many outstanding features of Chicago is the summer festival scene.  Each weekend a different neighborhood closes down its streets for an all day and into the night celebration of summer in this great city.  And of course, since it is Chicago, the festivities include lots of beer and the promise of great music.  But it is inevitable that I will miss out on listening to the great music after the night takes a random turn.  Here is a sampling of a week of summer in Chicago culminating in a festival celebration.

Monday – I make my weekly pledge to take it easy after somehow willing myself through an excruciating workout. Mass emails fly through cyberspace about the previous weekend’s mayhem.  I try to avoid seeing TheNeighbor make out with someone.

Tuesday – Kelly emails to coordinate this weekend’s festival attendance.  Everyone plans on being there by noon.  Zaco texts me at 8pm and I meet out for “a drink” with him and B*nn.  I get home in the a.m. and curse the violation of my “take it easy” pledge for the week.

Wednesday – I rationalize not taking it easy by saying “Its summer in Chicago”.  I love having a simple concise phrase as a catch-all excuse for bad behavior.  The first crack in the plan for meeting at the festival at noon occurs.  Tank doing triathlon training, Merle on a brunch date behaving himself, PF having afternoon lunch dates, B*nn planning on grabbing a run at 2pm…someone louses up the plan.  I try to make out with TheNeighbor that night.

Thursday – “Derelict My Balls” night.  That is the name of the dodgeball team.  Dodgeball is played by the lake under the lights of the roller hockey rink, and then post-dodgeball shenanigans that spiral steadily out of hand.  Yes, I am 35 and I play dodgeball and then go out drinking on a school night in a “Derelict My Balls” shirt and shorts.  Sorry Mom.

Friday – It’s a battle to make it to lunch at Big Bowl.  Mass emails of dodgeball debauchery somehow keep me going.  Then a 90 minute bath/nap where I zone out and fortunately don’t drown.  Long google chats about dodgeball midnight make outs and other sordid activities.  Pre-game bevs with TONS of red bull.  “Taking it easy” turns into 4 a.m. at Burton Tap.  We end the night with “see you at noon”.

Saturday noon – Phone is blowing up.  Red bull palpitations and hallucinations where the walls quiver, or is that my eyeball?  Mass text “Running late to festival call later.”  Read my texts.  I have 7 unread message with variations of the same theme “Running late” or “Meet at 5pm?” or “Hurting” or “did you hook up?”

Saturday 2pm – 90 minute bath/nap to rejuvenate.  Cell phone powers off a few times after getting wet.  Screen calls from anyone that made the festival on time out of guilt.  “Where are you?” starts appearing in the text inbox.

Saturday 330pm – I talk with anyone I was with at the end of Friday night.  The consensus is 5pm to meet at the festival.

Saturday 5pm – Drink a red bull.

Saturday 530pm – Share a cab with other tardy festival go-ers.  Meet up with a pack of friends already in the street festival revelry.

Saturday 730pm – Random keg on a random deck or rooftop.  The entire posse gets texted of the coordinates and arrives promptly.  PF starts trolling for digits and comes back to say "It is definitely game-on with that brunette over there".  My favorite time of the night, everyone is happy and joyous to be here.

Saturday 9pm – Hmm, I haven’t ate yet, uh oh.  This usually means I have to give my phone to Merle so I don’t drunk text anyone.  The key determination of festival attendance longevity is the eat/don’t eat dilemma.  And if you don’t understand what I mean, you probably live in the ‘burbs and that is a whole other blog topic to educate you.

Saturday 10pm – The festival ends.  I forget to see the bands again.  Having too much fun with my friends.

Saturday 1030pm – the Tank is giving a deep, heart-felt French kiss to some lucky lady.

Saturday 1045pm – Zaco appears and suddenly JagrBombs are exploding around me and brain cells are getting destroyed and discarded like shrapnel in “Saving Private Ryan”.

Saturday 1130pm –Everyone’s phones go off at the same time with a text from B*nn that he is “en route with R”.

Sunday 1230 am – I pass B*nn as I head home from another fun-filled festival and drunk text TheNeighbor.

Sunday noon - bath/nap

Sunday 130pm - Brunch to recap the weekend.

Sunday 3pm - Slowly become re-humanized while sunning on the pool deck.

Sunday 8pm - Watch HBO on the chaisse.

Monday noon - Email from Kelly coordinating that weekend's street festival.