What Your Wrigleyville Bar Says About You
Welp. It happened. The Cubs are in the middle of the NLCS. Maybe you heard about it. And maybe you didn’t have time to sell a kidney so you could land a ticket?
No problem! As you may know, there are many, many bars in the general vicinity where you can still feel like part of the action. And believe it or not, the one you frequent reveals almost everything about you as a person. It’s science.
Editor’s Note: This is all in good fun and actually only semi-scientific. Nothing but love to everyone braving (and living in) Wrigleyville tonight. Have fun, stay safe, and go Cubs!
This has to be the place to go after Cubs games, right? It’s right across from the park and it has “Cubby” right there in the name! On a related note, you are from Naperville.
You’re moderately interested in what happens in the game, but deeply interested in some close-quarters grinding to Rihanna during the post-game. If your name isn’t Chad, you have at least two friends named Chad. If your name is Chad... you’re probably still friends with two other Chads.
You spend most of your waking hours inside strip clubs, but at least you usually run into some dude you went to IU with when you head down to VIP.
Your plans to work out all your pent-up aggression in the batting cages inevitably go awry when your girlfriend smokes you in air hockey.
You are hopelessly addicted to Golden Tee and hopelessly devoted to your rec-league kickball team (which is also hopeless).
You graduated from Iowa a few years ago but it has not remotely curbed your Iowa football drinking habits. You are unreasonably competitive when it comes to Euchre.
You cannot fathom partying in bars that don’t have fountains, cover charges, and, most importantly, escalators. Who wants bottle service? YEAH YOU DO!
You’re drinking in Wrigleyville, but prefer to pretend you're not drinking in Wrigleyville. You have no qualms about ripping a Malort shot by yourself. You play bass in two different bands.
You often find yourself in the predicament of needing a place to stall for an hour or two until your whiskey dick wears off.
You are one of the three people who make sure to catch the ISU Redbirds whenever they’re on TV. When you order a bucket of beer, you are not ordering it for a group.
Deep down, you know that life is just those little moments in between losing your friends at Kenny Chesney concerts.
This isn’t the only sticky barroom floor you’ve fallen face-first into... but it IS the most frequent one.
You’re the kind of guy who shows up to a simple backyard BBQ with two bombers and a sixer from 3 Floyds because you’re afraid they won’t have anything you like. It makes you sadder than you’d ever let on when there are no tables in the beer garden.
You work in sales, have a habit of leaving your credit card at the bar, and have terminated a maid’s employment on suspicion of stealing your Kiehl's products on more than one occasion.
This used to be your SPOT. The cozy hideaway that felt just a little removed from the Wrigley madness. Then they changed it to be more like all the other Clark St bars. You still go, but you’re a little grouchier while drinking your Guinness.
You get REALLY excited when any country song comes on in the basement of the Hangge-Uppe. You own a smoker and have strong opinions about pulled pork.
You’re quite comfortable wearing sweatpants in public, which is a good thing, because you just re-upped your order of fried mac and cheese wedges. Also you love Kyle Schwarber to an extent that makes friends and family a little bit uncomfortable.
You’re either 21, or extremely keen to creep on some 21-year-olds, and you really, really enjoy mango salsa.
You’ve never been to Spain. In fact, you never realized the name of this place is a Spain reference. Go on. Think about it. Take your time.
This somehow became your spot, not because of any deep-seated attachment, but because your girlfriend really loves the California wrap. Oh well, the beer garden is still pretty solid.
You grew up a Brewers fan, but being from Wisconsin, your allegiance to beer trumps all other allegiances.
You have dark thoughts and darker secrets. The light of day is your enemy. You have a garden apartment so this is a pretty seamless transition.
The wife let you out for a precious night with the fellas. Cherish it, because you still have to wake up at 5am to take care of little Mason.
You were unnervingly excited for the Whitey Bulger movie to come out. Your roommate wants to ask you to stop playing Dropkick Murphys all the damn time, but is scared to ask.
Your first choice was too crowded. But hey, free pool!
You seldom travel north of Division -- or even leave River North, for that matter -- so coming ALL the way up to Wrigleyville is always a bit frighten-- HEY DID YOU KNOW ROCKIT HAD A LOCATION UP HERE!?
Generally speaking, you only venture to Wrigleyville to see shows at the Metro. Then you drink here afterward. But whatever, go Cubs!
You’re pondering moving to Wicker Park but haven’t quite pulled the trigger yet.
The first time you came in here it was ironic, the place was empty-ish and there was an old-man country band playing. You still act like it’s ironic but you secretly love it (and the cheap Old Style).
Your friends really appreciate you, though it’s partially because you volunteer to purchase more rounds than you can probably afford.
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Deputy Editor Matt Lynch’s first Cubs game was the Sandberg Game in ‘84. He was 3 years old and they left early because he was crying, and his family has not forgiven him. Tell him it’s okay: @MLynchChi.