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F​or north-siders who miss the sweet nadir of the Chicago Cubs—those glory decades when the team’s inferiority meant you could haggle a scalped ticket down to five bucks and later drape your legs over the empty seat in front of you—there’s a way to recapture some of that feeling. Now imagine this: five diamonds bustling on a muggy midsummer Tuesday night with games of 16-inch softball, the homegrown recreational (beer-drinking) sport that’s about as Chicago as the Cubs. Some might consider such a backdrop a crackerjack substitute for Wrigley Field. I’d suggest bringing your own seat; there aren’t likely to be any bleachers.

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