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Such a thing, the World Series in Chicago.
So early on the day of Game 1, I told the taxi driver, "Wrigley Field, please."
They last played the World Series at Wrigley Field two months after rookie president Harry Truman ordered atomic bombs dropped on Japan. They weren't playing at Wrigley this time, either, but it seemed an act of callous disregard to be in town for the Fall Classic and not pay my respects to the pretty little bandbox.
And if I could annoy some Cubs fans by mentioning the White Sox, so much the better.
It didn't take long. The taxi let me out at the corner of Sheffield Avenue and Addison Street, next to the statue of Harry Caray, where I found four college freshmen on a road trip from Ball State University, four hours south.
"I know one Sox fan," said Adam Dorner. "I don't get along with him."
"One?" I said.