Blast Through the Past

Wow, are we lucky to have such wonderful friends in so many places! And today I'm feeling lucky again that my liver is still functioning. Our Chicago clan of friends coordinated a going-away pub tour for us last night, a blowout bash for a group that has never been shy around each other or alcohol.

By request earlier in the week we had provided to our great friend Christa, a serial themed-event-planner, a list of our favorite places and activities in Chicago from our nearly 14 years here. Perhaps not surprisingly then, on Saturday afternoon (a few hours after returning from Greenville) we proceeded around the city to many listed locations, along with some other "classic" unlisted locations that everyone apparently associates with Steph and me.

Because the group was originally introduced through pairing for a Chicago league co-ed soccer team 10 years ago, we began the festivities by ceremoniously kicking around the pill on the old Montrose & Lakeshore field where we once reigned supreme (we won the league three times in our heyday). I managed to locate my dusty soccer cleats and despite not kicking the ball in years was at least partially gratified that I hadn't lost my touch entirely (just mostly).

Shuttled by cab the rest of the evening, Steph and I never knew the destinations until we arrived. After soccer (and a shower), we convened at The Art of Pizza (Steph's favorite Chicago pizza) near Ashland & Belmont for dinner and BYOB drinks. There the guests of honor were presented with our headgear for the evening (pictured above), the Swiss Princess party hat and Rainbow Trout cap. The trout was a thoughtful gesture owing to my streak of not catching any fish on my annual WI fishing trip.

From there we hit The Fieldhouse, a mostly-dive bar on Lincoln with peanut shells on the floor and tons of Bruce Springsteen on the jukebox, Steph's and my long-standing late night cheap beer joint of choice (it was unfortunately overcrowded with Saturday night sports fans so we settled instead for nearby Mickey's, who served skunked Miller Lite--but who can tell the difference?).

We proceeded to The Local Option pub on Webster Ave in Lincoln Park where we lived the majority of our time in Chicago, ~11 years (!). The vibe at the bar has changed appreciably under new ownership but luckily the bottled mass-market beer tasted the same. I performed respectably at video Big Game Hunter; real-life hunter Bob nailed the most bucks (after I taught him how to reload the gun) and real-life pacifist Tom shamefully murdered four does, a heinous display of both skill and ethics.

From there we rewound yet again, arriving at corner watering hole Mulligan's on Roscoe and Damen, our very original meeting place and sponsor of several soccer seasons (in retrospect, we might have guessed we'd hit it off together when, told to meet there on a Tuesday night by a mutual soccer friend who didn't show up, our two groups each waited in the otherwise empty bar drinking pitchers of beer for an hour before anyone approached the other saying, "Are you the team we're supposed to meet?"). Our other unfortunate tradition while gathering at Mulligan's after games was that goal-scorers were treated to a shot of Jameson whisky. Well, you would have thought the remnants of the old team had scored a record 24 goals on Saturday night after our third round of Jameson shots.

Although the group understandably staggered apart after that, Steph and I finished our "classic" Chicago evening at yet another all-time favorite establishment, the Burrito House at Lincoln & Addison. Trying to catch up on our sleep, we hit the sack at 4am, a little earlier than last Saturday.