I can't tell you what a thrill it is to take that first look at the Cubs pocket schedule every year. These days you can see the schedule long before the printed copies roll off the presses, but holding the schedule in my hands takes me back to when I was a kid. I remember poring over that thing every year, seeing what team (if any) the Cubs played on my birthday. I'd look for the scheduled double headers, the five-game series, the hated Mets . . . the thing was filled with wonders.
This year brought a brand new surprise. Four tiers of games! Bronze (el cheapo), Silver (you're gonna pay), Gold (too rich for my blood), and Platinum (dude, don't even ask). I guess those translate into four levels of desire: 1. I'll go if you have an extra ticket. 2. Yeah, I'll call in sick. 3. I'm going. That's all there is to it, I'm effin going. 4. If it was 40 below and staying home from that game was the difference between a long, satsifying life and a cold, horrible death from hypothermia, I still wouldn't give you the satisfaction. Go Cubs! (Yes, I did allude to Pulp Fiction and The Cutting Edge in succession--deal with it.)
Cub ticket pricing has reached satirical levels. They really are just making fun of us with what they charge to watch a game at Wrigley. The fact that they added a platinum level of game, that they expect us to swallow (and Cub fans will, with glee) the notion that some of the 81 home games are just too precious to miss, games that will make normal Cub games look like business meetings . . . it's just a little insulting.
Still, I'm ready to order tickets tomorrow. I just don't see platinum in my future.
