Welp, It's over. Or is it, cause Rita MacNeil can't sing now.

Back in Chicago for our last night, we decided to stop in Wrigleyville for a while. Later we met up with KL et al. (can you tell I’m a researcher now?) (at least you can’t tell I’m a bad one). We sat around the kitchen table while Amigo 3 chugged down his third bottle of wine in three days. He gets off on that stuff. That’s why he’s a wine-o.

You should now be at an intermediate level and understanding roughly 30% of my references. Congrats.

Skipping to the best parts… we went out for some beers and then to the White Sox game with our American counterparts. Balls flew. Sparks flew. Bats grew.

Actually, the Sox won, so they were real fireworks. Somewhere there exists a romantic picture of that moment that it took the boys a while to shut up about. Luckily for them, they had a few other moments to choose from.

After the game (and after the fireworks and the walk to the metro and the metro ride and the walk from the metro) we went out for a few wobbly pops at a downtown bar. Excuse me, a downtown club. Three Canadian dudes in shorts, tees, and sandals, tossed into a room full of suited try-hards. It wasn’t exactly my cup of Hennessy. It was the kind of place where you hit on girls by sliding your business card down their shirt at last call. Seriously. But unfortunately for one young aspiring douchebag, the card was promptly tossed out of our sexy friend’s shirt and onto the bar without even a glance. And more unfortunately for said bag-of-douche, Amigo 2 snagged that card. One of the funnier moments of the trip was Amigo 2 pretending to be this girl and texting future-bigwig to tell him how impressive his pick-up attempt was. Hilarity ensued when he revealed himself as if Maury told him he was the father and he was not down with child support. (But even I figured his boys couldn’t swim. Or that he’d run out of them from all the mornings watching himself in the mirror.)

I didn’t like him, is what I guess I’m getting at.

In the morning we left for Toledo to catch a Mud Hens AAA ball game and enjoy some relaxation. It was only $30 for the whole deal: ticket, hot dog and fries, a refreshing Bud Light, and a chair to sit in while men played a leisurely game of “My God I Hope I Get Called Up Soon.” So suck on that $30, Sky-high-prices-Dome. And suck on that SkyDome reference, Rogers. Quit ruining sports with marketing.

(I look forward to your emails, new colleagues in sport management)

*Man, every day this stuff gets harder to write as I meet more people and try not to offend them.

*This is a bad example, as I did not avoid offending them.

*This is an asterisk, not an astrix.

The last leg of the journey was the drive from Toledo to Chatham, and it had one of my favourite moments of the trip. Don’t get your hopes up – it was a “had to be there” thing, and the car was so musty, be glad you weren’t there.

On the drive I fell asleep in the passenger seat. I was so exhausted, but we were on the highway so I kept waking up when we hit bumps, and then I’d snap right back into a dream. The very last dream started with me getting out of my car and standing in the street in the parallel parking area. A car came up to pull in to the spot I was standing in but it was going way too fast to stop in time.. I froze.. and right as the car hit me I woke up with the biggest gasping inhale anyone’s seen since a swimming lesson gone awry. The entire car shook and swerved as both of the boys had mini heart attacks and were trying to understand what was happening to Rob. It was like I was Jerry and they just told me I had three pints of Kramer in me. My fear was their fear was my fear was bad grammar.

So that’s it for Chicago. But stay tuned for Nashville 2013, Osheaga 2013, Eastern Canada 2013, and Boredom Between 2013 and 2014.

Tomorrow I’m going to discuss nothing because there’s no way I’ll write back-to-back days. But shortly after tomorrow, I’ll tell you, lone subscriber, about what I’m doing and shouldn’t be doing and wish I were doing in Ottawa.