In the wake of last week's disaster (the $1200 anti-windfall of cash due to one P.O.S. Pontiac, and the untimely failure of its shocks and struts), I decided to use my day off today to attend The Friendly Confines for an afternoon affair between Your Chicago Cubs and the San Diego Padres.

Why not take the opportunity to spend more money in response to... um... spending more money?

While the decision seems imprudent on the surface, the lasting positive effects of afternoon baseball does wonders for the soul.

Ah baseball... worth its weight in gold.

At about 1:15 p.m. this afternoon, I finished up some personal paperwork and homework, and boarded the CTA Red-Line Train to Howard, and deboarded at "This is Addison. Doors open on the left at Addison. Doors closing." .

Ah, the beauty of outdoor baseball in the Springtime. I headed down the stairs of the CTA amid a gaggle of hooting and hollering, blue-and-white clad Cubs fans and hit the streets in search of some late-game discounts.

I figured "Hey, what the hell... it's Monday. It's April. It's the Padres. It's 60 degrees and breezy. It's an afternoon game. The game is alreday underway. Perfect time to score some cheap tickets." My suspicions were mostly correct.

The first guy I saw Hawking tickets was the dirty, three-real-teeth, heavy-smoker guy, who had a handful of unsold tickets, with seemingly no way to get rid of all of those tickets before the game is over. We bartered.

"How many?"

"A single, please."

"One? Only one?"

"Yeah, man, I'm solo. Only one. Get me as close as you can."

"I can get you right behind third base for $45."

"Whoa, the face is only $35 on those tickets, and you've got about 50 others unsold, and it's the end of the first inning, pal. I'll give you $15 for it."

"Fifteen? That's crazy, man. This is a great seat. I need at least $30."

"No way. Fifteen take it or leave it. That's all I've got (showing him a crumpled up $10 and a $5.)."

About 30 seconds passes, dirty man looks to be in some sort of fiscal conundrum.

"Hey, man. I'm in college. Give me a break."

"Fine. $15. Enjoy the game, Minnesota," he says, looking pissed off and defeated.

"Score," I'm thinking. I hand over the $15 and shuffle a block to the stadium.

My tickets have a $35 face value (or $36, I forget), and I pay $15 for them. Nice.

I emerged from the dark inner bowels of the 90-year-old stadium and out into the sunlight to find my seat, right up about 15 rows up from third-baseman Aramis Ramirez. Pure beauty. The sun is shining, a spring breeze brushes against my face and beers and hot dogs pass in front of me like it was a mindless weekend vacation.

I ordered an Old Style and a hot dog and settled in next to an octogenerian couple and a couple of die-hard Cub fans with bullpen jackets and beat up Cubs hats.

The game pitted two second-tier starting pitchers against two strong-hitting lineups, but the pitchers had the elements on their side today. The wind shifted to blow in briskly and steadily from right-center field, leaving any hard-hit fly ball into the outfield a sure can-of-corn fly out. Only a bone-crushing shot would have cleared the fences today.

And it was evidenced in the final score, 1-0 Padres. Judging by the final score, it seemed to be a game right up my alley -- a defensive manifesto, a Baseball Man's dream -- strategy, timely hitting, playing the matchups, etc. But, sloppy defensive play, hitters gratuitously chasing pitches in the dirt and above their heads, and poor execution plagued both teams, leaving much more to be desired.

In other words: This was no chess match.

But, any way you look at it: I was OUTSIDE, watching baseball on a MONDAY afternoon at WRIGLEY FIELD.

And, I figure, how often will I be able to do things like this -- to be a irresponsible grad school student, friterring away a lazy day watching baseball? Not too many, I fear, which is why I must take advantage of days like today.

Nothing like a little baseball to help forget $1200 in sunk costs of operating a late-model car.

Take ME out to the Ballgame.