Doing the Waveland

Relying on meteorology, probability and hope, Jeff Michaels of Northbrook, Ill., staked out a prime spot to catch a Sammy Sosa home run and snare a piece of history.

Michaels, a junior at suburban Barat College, joined the throng of fans at the corner of Waveland and Kenmore avenues, behind Wrigley Field’s left-field bleachers, last weekend. Several omens were in his favor: the wind was blowing briskly, warm weather usually helps the ball carry, and Sosa had hit 29 of his 63 homers to left field. “We’ve got a good view and good expectations,” he said as he flexed his glove.

But Michaels, who arrived three hours before Saturday’s game to claim a spot for himself and fellow Barat student Andrew Lloyd, wasn’t really counting on gaining the instant fame enjoyed by those who have caught home run balls hit by Sosa or Mark McGwire during the duo’s remarkable home run race.

“I used to get balls here all the time from batting practice. I got an Andre Dawson home run and a couple of others,” said Michaels, who wore a Cub hat and shirt. “But it’s gotten crazy this year.”

Lloyd didn’t especially care about getting a souvenir. “I used to be a baseball fan but I haven’t been the last few years,” he said. “I’m kind of along for the company. We’re just chilling.”

For many other fans clustered along Waveland Avenue, however, this was serious business.

As Sosa and McGwire rolled toward and past Roger Maris’ single-season record of 61 home runs, their home run balls have drawn huge offers from collectors. Fans who returned balls to the two sluggers have been rewarded with autographed gear, bats and a chance to meet their hero.

With so much at stake, what used to be a casual and almost solitary hobby practiced by a few die-hards who called themselves “ballhawks” became a contact sport involving hundreds of people.

“We used to come out here when there were 2,000 fans [in the ballpark] and it was 42 degrees. On one hand I had a baseball glove and on the other I had a mitten,” said Craig Gernhardt, a flower shop owner and part-time ballhawk. “There are a lot more people at the games and out here now.”

The ball Sosa hit Sept. 13 for his 62nd home run touched off a scuffle when it landed on Kenmore, just off Waveland. Brendan Cunningham, a mortgage broker from suburban Buffalo Grove, claimed he grabbed the ball out of the pileup and said he would sell it to help finance his child’s college education, but longtime Cub fan Gary “Moe” Mullins claimed the ball had been wrested away from him and was rightfully his.

Cunningham later said he would give the ball to Sosa, but a circuit court judge issued a restraining order preventing Cunningham from selling it or giving it away. In the court of public opinion, Moe Mullins was the clear winner: In a driveway of an apartment building on Waveland, supporters painted the number 62 and the slogan, “Give it to Moe.”

Mike Steinbacher lives at 1038 Waveland, a small, pink house sandwiched between two taller buildings. Its rooftop deck gave Steinbacher’s friends a great view of Sunday’s Sammy Sosa Day ceremonies, an occasion they marked by draping a flag of Sosa’s native Dominican Republic over the railing next to their customary bedsheet banner of a red target.

Sosa launched a home run onto the deck in June--”That was pretty cool. We still have it,” Steinbacher said--but Sosa was less obliging with his 62nd home run. The ball landed down the street and around the corner, setting off a no-holds-barred stampede.

“I was in the scrum and I came out unscarred, which was a victory for me,” Steinbacher said. “It got a little crazy. A guy in a wheelchair got flipped over in the mayhem. I enjoy the madness, but it definitely got a little crazy.

“Number 60 was hit against our door. We had hundreds of people rush in here, and people on the deck were pouring beer down on them. For 61 and 62 we hung out in the yard, hoping we’d get it, but 62 went over there, on Kenmore. Everyone rushed out and it really got nasty.”

In response to the melee, about 50 police officers were assigned to patrol Waveland for the Cubs’ final home stand on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Mounted officers blocked access to Kenmore, aided by colleagues on foot and on bikes, and barricades were set up to keep the crowd on the sidewalk and off the street.

“We got there after the [Sept. 13] game. We weren’t expecting so much trouble,” said Police Officer K. Lameka. “Everyone seems to be behaving, but I don’t know what’s going to happen if he hits it.”

Tony Lukasz devised a clever way to stay above the fray. Lukasz, who lives at 1032-34 Waveland, climbed onto the ledge outside his first-floor window and held out a giant net.

“A friend of mine who’s a fisherman brought it over,” Lukasz said. “I haven’t caught any of Sammy’s homers, but I’ve gotten two from batting practice.”

He waited hopefully over the weekend, joined by neighbors on the second and third floors. “Last week it was crazy. This is a lot different, a lot better,” he said. “I like to see the police presence.”

The crowd on Waveland was more entertaining than the weekend series, in which the Cubs lost three straight games to the Cincinnati Reds .

Friday’s mob included an Elvis look-alike, wearing black leather jacket and pants, marching up and down the street muttering to himself. In the sweltering late-summer heat, he drew frequent double-takes. So did a flatbed truck that pulled up during Sosa’s first at-bat and unloaded a white 1962 Cadillac, a gift for Sosa from a local car dealer.

“What would happen if Sammy hits one now and breaks the windshield of his own car?” one fan wondered.

Sosa didn’t hit one then, or in any of the three games. But no one considered the weekend a waste of time.

As fans plunked down lawn chairs on the sidewalk and neighborhood residents set up barbecues, the atmosphere resembled a giant block party. Each time Sosa came to bat, the mood tensed and the crowd swelled with people who streamed out of Murphy’s, a bar on the corner of Waveland and Sheffield avenues. Fans pressed against the barricades six or seven deep, listening to portable radios or watching the small left-field scoreboard to monitor the count. When Sosa failed to connect, they groaned and dispersed to chat and drink until the next time he came up.

“I’m not really out here to catch a ball. I’m out here more for the experience,” said Luke Rose, a member of the ballhawks. “It would have been nice to get one, but it’s fun, anyway.”