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Baseball Prospectus once described Deer as “the king of Three True Outcomes,” meaning each at-bat would typically end with a home run, walk or strikeout. Those experiences will inform the next generation of hitters at Wrigley Field.

Byington was photographing a live band at the Cubby Bear when the doormen reported that a couple of coyotes were outside the stadium by the Ernie Banks statue. Byington, armed with his camera, and a couple of employees headed outside to investigate.

"The scary thing is that they didn't seem afraid. You'd think they'd be cowering, but they didn't seem vicious," Byington said. "Some people were laughing, and started following them, but they didn't seem concerned. They seemed to be checking out the neighborhood and enjoying it."

I want ice in the 2 hole

La Russa i hate u wats ur love affair with suchmaker, craig is a beast dont u get it ugh...

Drawn By The Scent Of Death And Decay, Coyotes Prowl Wrigley Field
Barry Petchesky

Night. The pack slips silently out of the den, drawn by an unnameable urge deep in the midbrain. The streets are deserted, the twolegs having retreated to the safety of their dwellings. The world belongs to them now. The waxing moon rises above the low red brick houses of Wrigleyville. Light enough to see and not be seen. It is a hunting moon.

They pass the bad place as quickly as they can. Uncountable twolegs gather here every afternoon during the summer to yell in unison in some strange ritual, but it is deserted. It is deserted almost every autumn. The smell is the same: hopelessness, emotional decay. Yet the stench is somehow stronger. Every year, for more than a hundred years, the scent of despair grows more pronounced. It seeps into the ivy, joining the abandoned dreams of those who came before. There is something awful and unnatural here. Something wrong. This is a dying place.

They sniff around in vain. There is rarely food here, and what can be found is usually defiled with the same stink of the bad place. At least it is quiet: the twolegs have long traded most of their senses for the comforts of civilization, but even they still seem to realize that there is nothing good here. Scavenging can be done in peace. Yet when the trees turn green again, they will be back—as if every spring they forget the pain this ground causes. That is the curse of this place. Ears pinned back, teeth bared against the unseen taint, the pack moves off into the darkness. Coyotes do not fear death, but there are things worse than death at Clark and Addison.

As a Brewer fan, I find this pretty humorous.

Although Deer will always have a special place in my heart for Easter of 1987. I was actually one of the 25,000 there even though a lot more claim to have been.

I want ice in the 2 hole