Nature’s Way: Wrigley’s Big Night Rained Out

Somewhere in heaven, P.K. Wrigley must have swallowed his gum. Those had to be his teardrops Monday night that fell on Wrigley Field. When the poor man looked down at such an ungodly hour and saw the franchise that he once owned playing baseball under the lights in the park that still bears his name, he obviously couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to see his Cubbies out so late. So, he cried. Cried them a river.

What else would explain the rain that ruined Wrigley Field’s first late show, otherwise known as The Nightmare on Addison Street? The game was rained out, after 3 1/2 innings between the Chicago Cubs and Philadelphia Phillies that no longer count. After dark, it appears, Wrigley Field transforms into the unfriendly confines.

Although Monday’s elaborate pregame rigmarole will not be repeated, tonight’s game against the New York Mets now looms as Wrigley’s first official night baseball game. It is scheduled for 5:05 p.m., Pacific time.

Funny, but it did not rain a drop here Monday afternoon. It was absolutely beautiful here Monday afternoon. It was a perfect day to play a baseball game here Monday afternoon. You could have played two, as a former Chicago Cub--in fact, Mr. Cub himself--name of Ernie Banks was wont to say.

But noooooooo , as still another former Chicagoan, John Belushi, would have hooted. They had to try the night stuff. They had to try the light stuff. The Cubs, America’s matinee idols, stars of the longest-running daytime soap opera since the invention of radio and television, had to see if they were ready for prime time.

The result?

Rain. Buckets and buckets of rain. Cats and dogs. Rub a dub dub, 24 Cubs in a tub. With thunder crashing and lightning flashing, a hard rain fell on Wrigley Field’s first night game, 74 minutes into it, with the Cubs leading the Philadelphia Phillies, 3-1. It was delayed 2 hours 10 minutes.

The thing was called off at 10:25 p.m., Chicago time, but not before dozens of trespassing spectators and four fun-loving Cub players charged the infield and splashed like seals on the tarpaulin covering the diamond. There were several arrests, plus one injured usher, who was carried off on a stretcher after chasing and tackling a fan on the rain-slicked tarp. He could run, but he couldn’t slide.

Until the storm, everything went swimmingly. Banks and Billy Williams, the only Cubs to have their numbers retired, threw out the ceremonial first pitch. Harry Grossman, 91, a lifelong Cub fan, pulled the ceremonial first switch.

An announcer announced: “One . . . two . . . three . . . let there be light!” Fifteen musicians from the brass section of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra burst forth with Richard Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra (Thus Spake Zarathustra),” the stirring theme from the film “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

Conditions seemed ideal for the first Cub night game after 72 years and an estimated 6,852 day games.

It was 91 degrees at game time.

The wind was blowing out.

The park was packed, 39,008 paying customers plus 556 media plus piles in the aisles.

Dignitaries and celebrities prowled the grounds: Commissioner Peter Ueberroth, National League President Bart Giamatti, Illinois Gov. Jim Thompson, Chicago Mayor Eugene Sawyer, actors Bill Murray and Mark Harmon, columnist George Will, talking head Geraldo Rivera, former ballplayers Steve Garvey and Jay Johnstone, and more.

The very first batter, Phil Bradley of the Phillies, hit a home run, on the game’s fourth pitch. Hit off Rick Sutcliffe, the ball cleared the left-field fences, front and back, and landed on Waveland Avenue. Thus spake Philadelphia.

The very first Cub batter, Mitch Webster, hit the first pitch by Kevin Gross through the box for a single.

The second Cub batter, Ryne Sandberg, was interrupted after the first pitch by Morganna (The Kissing Bandit) Roberts, who made a beeline for him after bounding down from the stands. Ushers intercepted her before she got to home plate, and ushered her away.

Sandberg hit the next pitch into the left-field bleachers for a 2-1 Cub lead and a curtain call.

“She loosened me up,” Sandberg said later.

At this point, the game was 9 minutes old.

Looked as if some enchanted evening.

Then came Wrigley Field’s darkest hour.

The sun remained relatively bright through the first two innings. Shadows occupied the left-field and right-field corners, and from behind home plate it was still easy to see the hundreds of rooftop peepers who watched the game from the houses beyond the outfield, many of them having paid as much as $100 a pop for that privilege.

Downtown, in Grant Park, thousands more viewed the game on a giant movie screen mounted at an orchestra bandshell. Saloons all over town had spillage onto the sidewalk. WGN’s cable telecast was being tuned in from coast to coast. Murray joined Harry Caray and Steve Stone in the broadcast booth. The actor yelled down at 300-pound plate umpire Eric Gregg: “You look beautiful!”

The park itself looked beautiful, too. Track lighting illuminated the hand-operated scoreboard. A huge plastic baseball, emblazoned with “Glow Cubs!” hovered above the street behind the left-field foul pole. A man in a Dracula costume strolled around the park, passing out pamphlets to “Ze Children of Ze Night.” His daughter was dressed as a bat, and we don’t mean a Louisville Slugger.

“You have to live and breathe and be a Chicago person to understand this,” said Phillies Manager Lee Elia, who once threw a tantrum here and screamed that Wrigley’s daytime regulars should be out getting jobs. “Having played here and managed here, I understand how this is truly a unique and historic night. I’m still sorry for what I said, and I’m happy to be represented here tonight, even as the opponent.”

All was well for the home crowd as the Cubs added another run in the third inning for a 3-1 edge. Except, somebody up there evidently didn’t like what was going on down here. The wind whipped. The infield dust blew. A twister formed at Sutcliffe’s feet near the mound, and blew loose dirt toward the crowd.

A clap of thunder came, followed by a torrent of rain. Bodies scattered.

The Night They Raided Wrigley’s became a fiasco. One after another, customers scaled the walls and dashed toward the tarp. They slid headfirst, spraying water everywhere, only to be pinned to the ground by security forces. Men were led away, arms hammerlocked behind them. Women, too. Wrigley Field turned into Wrigley Zoo.

Seventy-five minutes into the delay, four Cubs--pitchers Greg Maddux, Les Lancaster and Al Nipper and catcher Jody Davis, none of whom was in the starting lineup--emerged from their dugout, ran onto the tarp and did bellyflops to amuse themselves and what was left of the crowd. No police bothered them. Definitely would have put a damper on the evening to have a couple of Cubs cuffed.

Cub Manager Don Zimmer was indignant later, furious with his four players.

“I thought it stunk,” he said. “I got one guy with a stiff neck (Davis), another guy with a sore elbow (Nipper), one guy who just had an appendectomy (Lancaster) and one guy who’s the best pitcher in the league (Maddux). I don’t need this.”

Third baseman Vance Law defended the prank, saying: “I didn’t see anything wrong with it. What’s wrong with a little fun?”

By 10:25 p.m., it was raining heavy as ever. Gregg stepped in and stopped the game.

By 11 p.m., Wrigley Field was deserted, except for players, workers and press.

At 11:10 p.m., the lights went dark.

The Cubs’ Sutcliffe, denied the chance to win Wrigley’s first night game, said afterward: “As long as I live, I will never forget that first pitch. As I turned to the plate to deliver, all I saw was 40,000 flash cubes go off. I have no idea where the ball went. This was more emotion than my first pitch in the majors.”

Phillie third baseman Mike Schmidt, though, was a wet blanket. “Let’s be realistic. This was just a Chicago event. This was nothing but an excuse to party,” Schmidt said. “You’d think an extraterrestrial was going to land on the field.”

Maybe tonight.

Eight feet tall. Green face. Pointy head. Cub cap.