Worship at Wrigley

*NOTE: For any who may be of a sensitive conscience, this is written completely tongue-in-cheek. Have fun!(pictures are below)

A week or so ago, we (Monica and I) came across two highly charged and engaging religious tracts that read "Tickets to Wrigley Field" on the top. Immediately we knew that a divine hand was moving in a special way in our lives. The service was to begin at 7:05; the address: 1060 West Addison, Chicago, IL. So, as obedient servants of our Cubby master, we dawned our religious regalia (Cubs sweatshirts and caps) and headed off to join thousands of other Chicagoland worshippers for what was to be nothing short of a revival.

The pilgrimage to our Mecca took about an hour-and-a-half curteousy of the Metra and the "L". But it was worth every breathsqeezing moment (literally, as the train was packed with fellow devotees). Finally, the train pulled into the station. Our hearts began to race. Sweat bands formed atop my brow (Monica, of course, was shining as ever!). We descended both from the train and then the station. Immediately we were bombarded by those most vile creatures called street vendors, who make the stadium a den of robbers. Having rushed quickly passed the brooding vipers, we came to the street corner. Not being able to withold our joy anymore, we leaped across the street.

Oh the joy! Oh the grandeur! Before us stood one of the oldest and longest functioning stadiums in all of baseball history. And to greet us as we approached was no other than Harry Carry himself (well, his statue at least). We traded our tickets at the gate and entered into the shrine, yes, into the inner court with our fellow believers. Those outside the gate were not worthy that evening. But we were in. Finding our seats in back left field reserve level, we gazed and beheld the very field that the Chicago Cubs - the honored home team - have called home for almost a century.

Breathless as we were, the game began. Those infidels - the great dragon who ascends from the abyss, yes, even that very Harlot of Babylon, the Dodgers, were the opposing team that night. The battle was hard, the worshippers devoted. Up and down we went chanting incantations and benedictions, pleaing for some sign that we would reign victorious. To our great chagrin, the darkness triumphed over the light that night - a metaphor that shows even when victory is assured to those children of light, they must still be diligent to fight hard during trials, lest they fall. With that evening's message impressed upon our hearts and minds, we left the stadium somber but rejoicing that we had been counted worthy to join the ranks of those whose hearts shall forever be enjoined to our Chicago Cubs.

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