I can remember a time when I was about 16 that I was at a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. We were standing around after the game, trying to get autographs from players as they left the parking lot across the street from the firehouse on Waveland Avenue. I don’t remember much about the game; I don’t remember who the Cubs were playing, or what the score was, or who won (though, let’s be honest, it probably wasn’t the Cubs). What I do remember, though, was Mark Grace walking to his car. He was dressed in a pastel silk suit that Tony Montana would consider over the top, and had two women with him that looked like they had sprung fully-formed from the mind of someone with a dirtier imagination than an ancient Greek god’s. He got into a Porsche with the girls, and left without signing any autographs.
I knew at that moment that I’d never be Mark Grace. (more…)