Learning to Survive Wrigley: An insider's look at baseball's most charming occupational hazard
When the weather, the ivy, and the walls become part of the opposing team
When I was drafted in 1991, I noticed that some of the other first-round picks, once they signed, got the royal treatment. Some were flown out to their new organization’s major league ballpark to tour what could one day be their home field. There were press conferences and introductions to their future.
My negotiations did not move quickly, so after the June 3rd draft, I did not sign until late July. By then, I had already missed half of what was a short season in the New York-Penn League. So instead of getting the red-carpet treatment, I just needed to get up to speed with the Geneva Cubs.
Eventually, I would see Wrigley for the first time in the dead of winter when I went in for a battery of tests on my shoulder. The ivy was just vines, and snow blanketed the field. It looked like a ruin from the Roman empire. You could tell it had once been great, but had been diminished by war and time.
When I got the call-up on June 9th, 1996, I finally understood what it meant to be a Chicago Cub. We had not won much of anything at the big league level in the 20th century, but we had a one-of-a-kind experience with Wrigley as our home field. The neighborhood, the intimacy, the vulnerability to the weather. It did not feel like a stretch to imagine players from decades earlier taking the field there. Wrigley froze time.
A big league ballpark that is so exposed to the elements is difficult to defend, even for the home team that knows all of its quirks and nuances. I was trained by the incredible outfield coach, Jimmy Piersall, who was relentless about details. Staying in motion. Navigating the sun. Hitting the cutoff man. But nothing could fully prepare you for Wrigley Field.
I used to say you had to deal with the sun, the wind, the rain, the snow, the high grass, the basket, the gullies, the brick wall, and heaven forbid you were allergic to ivy. Oh, and back in my day, the outfield sloped downhill, so you were often running vertically away from the ball. It was an environmental hazard to be an outfielder at Wrigley. I needed insurance.
To combat all of these elements, we used every deterrent available: sun glasses, our gloves, throwing blades of grass into the air to see which way the ever-changing wind was blowing, and the simple mandate of not running into a brick wall hidden behind the gorgeous, soft ivy.
But there was nothing like real, hard-fought experience.
As Jimmy Piersall taught, you practiced hard during batting practice to learn the lay of the land. When a baseball hit the wall at Wrigley, not only did it come off hard, it came off in random directions, so you had to be ready. When a ball got stuck in the ivy, the ground rule was that you could not go chasing after it or it would still be considered still in-play. There was nothing worse than watching a runner circle the bases because you went gardening and forgot this basic rule.
When you played the corner outfield positions, you had to know there was virtually no foul territory down the lines. It was a white line hugging a lightly padded brick wall. You lose if you go full speed into it. Game over. And this was after they removed the bullpens that used to sit on the field. So add a pitcher’s mound and a bullpen full of pitchers to the list of obstacles you had to navigate. Mountain climbing.
I will never forget a ball Mark McGwire hit at Wrigley. I was playing left field, positioned so deep that I was practically holding up the wall in left-center. McGwire got way out in front of a pitch and hooked it foul. It was clearly headed for the rooftops down the third-base line. Well foul. It was the kind of ball the third baseman trots toward as a courtesy before giving up on it entirely.
But then something strange started to happen.
The ball started blowing back toward the field of play. I had already dismissed any chance of catching it given how far away I was from the play, but I gave a brief run in its direction just in case. Before long, the third baseman, the shortstop, and I were all tracking it in what seemed like a waste of energy on a ball destined for the McDonald’s across the street.
The wind had other ideas.
To everyone’s astonishment, the ball drifted back into fair territory. McGwire was so stunned that he only made it to first base on a ball he had practically hit to the sun. One moment the ball looked destined for the parking lot, and the next, it was back in play.
So I learned a few rules of outfield play from my stints there in the 1990s and 2000s.
Do not reach into the ivy to get a baseball you cannot see, or one you can clearly see is stuck. Control the panic and raise your arms to signal the umpire. Better a ground-rule double than an inside-the-park homer.
Approach balls down the line with caution. Create an angle that prepares you for surprise ricochets. If you come in too sharply because you are trying to keep a sure single from becoming a double, you may turn it into a triple.
Back everyone up on every play. The sun and the wind together are the instruments in an orchestra of horror. More specifically, it is like trying to catch a ball in a tornado with lasers. Assume the defender will need help, and once you get there, assume you may need help too.
Do not be a hero. The wall at Wrigley is brick. Ivy is not padding. You will break something, as Cody Bellinger, Lenny Dykstra, and others have learned. The wall remains undefeated.
1990s Wrigley: If a ball trickles through the infield, run to get it like you are trying to beat out a groundball to shortstop. The grass eats it up. My teammate Brian McRae hit more than a few doubles on base hits up the middle because unsuspecting center fielders were not prepared.
Call the ball anyway. Because the wind can make the ball dance all over the place, you need to be aggressive with drifting infielders on popups. To be safe, call them off, clear the zone, and go get it. Otherwise, you will watch it drop in, or worse, watch two fielders collide.
Know the gully. The Wrigley wall has waves in it between the gaps and the corners. You will get a fly ball that might land in front of the wall, in the basket, or drop on the warning track ten feet away. That strange curvy section is the stuff of nightmares.
Never give up. Not on a play. Not on helping your teammate. And certainly not when you hit a ball in the air. You never know.
Did I mention backing each other up?
I have enjoyed watching Cubs left fielder Ian Happ patrol left field for many years. He may not be viewed as a silky-smooth defender blessed with blazing speed, but I would argue that few outfielders know the nuances of their home field better than he does. He understands Wrigley, and that takes preparation, experience, and skill. Not bad for someone who began his career as an infielder!
Wrigley Field is a special place, as evidenced by my wife seeing it for the first time and saying, “Oh, I get it now.”
It is even more special when it is your home field.
I may have missed out on the spoiled first-round pick draft tour, but I got to call Wrigley home for a few years. And to this day, despite waking up in a cold sweat from the occasional fly-ball nightmare, I would not trade that experience for the world.
Share Your Thoughts…
Which ballpark would you most like to play one game in, past or present? And why?
What was the first time you walked into a stadium, arena, or venue and immediately understood why people loved it?
What is the most ridiculous thing weather has ever done during a game you played in or watched?
Tune in to Starkville with me and co-host Jayson Stark for more baseball talk every week. New episodes drop on Saturdays as part of the Rates & Barrels feed at The Athletic. You can find us wherever you get your podcasts.
Thanks, Doug! I’ve seen maybe 25 Wrigley games going back to the late 1970’s, and seeing that field after walking out of the concourse still gives me chills. I loved your book, and the fact that you’re still giving back to the game is awesome. Much respect…and watch out for those bricks!
I have never attended a game at Wrigley, but now I want to go and see it for myself.