There’s something about stepping into enemy territory that makes the air feel different. For me, that enemy is Wrigley Field.

My name is Di, and I’ve been a lifelong Cubs hater. It’s been 13 years since my Chicago identity shifted from South Sider to North Sider, and in that time, I’ve learned a thing or two about our baseball rivals. Most South Siders have endured the unfortunate obligation of watching a game at Wrigley at least once. My track record? Once with a film cast and crew (seated directly behind a rusty column with my co-stars), once when my musical group was supposed to sing the Canadian National Anthem for a Blue Jays game, and most recently, post-Wrigley-facelift, for a friend’s birthday. This time, I was a willing participant.

After a grueling (but necessary) absence from baseball in 2025, I was itching to get back to the ballpark—even if it meant stepping onto enemy soil. Baseball is baseball, right? I figured I could handle it. So I ordered a one-use Cincinnati Reds shirt, painted my nails a bright crimson, and scowled fiercely the entire game. Did I pop a blood vessel in my eye? Maybe. But it was worth it to show my Cubs hatred.

The NL Central is a beast this year, with its last-place team boasting a better record than our current White Sox. I was excited to fly the L. Birthday Boy was the only actual Cubs fan in our group, so I had good company: two Cardinals fans, one real Reds fan from Cincinnati (who unfortunately dropped dead trying to enter the stadium—RIP John), and one neutral party.

Before our incursion into Wrigley, we stopped a few doors down for ice cream shaped like elotes—a tribute to my favorite Comiskey Park snack. Then, full of novelty ice cream, we arrived at Gallagher Way, the event space abutting the ballpark. It hosts yoga, game nights, Christkindl Market, concerts, and a massive video board that broadcasts mostly Marquee, with free movie nights. For one night, though, it was all about the game.