Suddenly it's chilly again at Wrigley, with those strong lake winds swirling around and much of the nonbleacher seats in shade. It's like it's Memorial Day again or something—was summer really that short? (Disclaimer: I work in what amounts to a windowless office, so even if it was a long luxurious summer, I wouldn't know it. Someone send me a telex with the details.) It does seem like a long time ago that we were sitting in the New Mexican desert.
On Labor Day, Watson and I caught a day game at Wrigley against the Reds, from far down the left-field line. Former famous person Dontrelle Willis started for Cincinnati, and while the D Train (0-5) didn't derail on the north side this afternoon, his team didn't do much to help him. Willis did get off to a hot start, with three perfect innings against the Cubs, but after they started to get to him, he got shakier. First, the Reds managed to not tag Reed Johnson as he sauntered around the plate, and then Drew Stubbs forgot that rule about waiting till a flyball is caught before running—these kinds of things can get in a normal pitcher's head, let alone Willis's. From where we sat it looked like he was pitching into a post:
We huddled in the right-field corner till the bottom of the eighth (the Cubs tried to lose it that inning but managed to hang on, 4–3) and then headed down Addison. By the time we got home, it was fall.
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