(Ed.'s Note- Every Monday, Chicago's Jason Hissong writes Windy City Cooking, a column whose title says it all. Note: this column was originally scheduled to be posted last week. Enjoy! -Max)
by Jason Hissong
5 April 2010
I have been to so many Major League Baseball games in my 28 years that I can't remember them all. When we moved to St. Louis in the late 80s, I remember Dad would turn on the tv to watch the Cardinals, but listen to the radio so we could hear Jack Buck. There was the game I attended my sophomore year of High School in which Mark McGwire tied Roger Marris' home run record at 61. There was that scorcher of an afternoon the day after my sister's wedding. The sun was so hot in the middle of July, in St. Louis, that I remember not enjoying the game much. There was that first, cold cold April day a few years ago that was my first ever trip to Wrigley with three of my best friends. There are the games in Houston's Astrodome, and Kansas City's Kauffman Stadium that I don't remember because I was so young. There was Mark Buerhle's first no hitter- another cold April evening in Chicago, on the south side. That season I think I went to 15 games between Wrigley Field and The Cell and Buehrle's no hitter was the only ticket I actually paid.