Read Foul Ball Frame-up at Wrigley Field for Free Online

still pouring in. As an opera singer sang the National Anthem, we returned to the “scene of the crime”: the left-field seats. We tried to move quickly, but it was hard to maneuver through the heavy crowd.
    â€œYou’ve got to be Walter Payton to walk around here,” my dad said, referring to the great Chicago Bears running back.
    Eventually, we reached Section 102.
    â€œDo you see him?” my dad asked.
    Kev and I walked to the front row and looked upward.
    â€œMan, it’s just a sea of faces,” I said, worried that we might not find our POI.(That’s detective talk for “person of interest.”)
    â€œLook for the red,” Kevin said.
    We saw Reds fans in Section 102, but none of them were Blake Utley.
    â€œYou’re sure he’s not here?” Dad asked.
    â€œPretty sure,” I replied.
    â€œI remember the aggravating smirk on his face,” Kevin said. “When I see it again, I’ll know.”
    We moved on, circling the ballpark. Our passes allowed us to go anywhere. After we navigated the lower level, we walked up the long ramps to the upper deck. It was freezing up there, with strong winds whipping in off Lake Michigan. We toured the upper level, looking and looking. . . .
    Baseball fans come in all varieties, I was thinking. I saw three nuns huddled together under a blanket. A wide-eyed Latino boy wore his baseball glove, optimistically thinking he would catch a foul ball. We even saw a couple of boys our age, holding up a sign. “Win It for Omar,” it said. Kevin appreciated the support. “Thank you,” he cried out to them.
    We circled the lower and upper levels once each, with no sign of Blake Utley. Meanwhile, Joey Votto smashed a two-run homer, putting the Reds up 2–0.
    â€œThe way the Cubs have been hitting,” a peanut vendor told a fan, “those two runs may be all the Reds need.”
    Kevin started rubbing his tooth—a sure sign that he was getting worried. If the Cubs lost this game, the “Curse of Omar” would be all over the TV news. People in Europe, Asia, even Uzbekistan—watching on CNN—would see our pal’s face on television, with the word “Curse” underneath it. My dad could see the frustration and stress on my face.
    â€œAre you okay, Joe?” he asked.
    â€œWhat if we don’t find this guy?” I replied. “Today or ever? What if Brian got everything wrong, or what if Utley denies being involved?”
    â€œI’m afraid Omar’s gonna go into hiding forever, like Steve Bartman,” Kevin said. “I’m afraid we’ll never see him again.”
    Our concerns made my Dad even more determined.
    â€œLet’s keeping searching,” Dad said. “Let’s get this guy.”
    We continued looking, marching at a faster pace. The task seemed impossible; more than forty thousand fans were packed inside. Meanwhile, we were almost out of time. With Josh Hamlin on the mound—the Cubs’ fastest-working pitcher—the game was speeding along. It entered the sixth inning, still 2–0.
    Kevin and I needed to take a bathroom break, which at Wrigley Field is never a pleasant experience. Instead of urinals, the men’s rooms have long, metal troughs that you pee into. I peed into one side of a trough, Kevin peed into the other side, and a guy wedged in between us.
    Now, normally when you go pee in a men’s room, you keep your head down. You focus on the task at hand and avoid making eye contact with strangers. But Kevin and I were in a different mindset that day. I peeked up at the guy between us. Kevin did the same.
Oh my gosh
, I thought. I leaned forward and looked at Kevin, who was equally shocked. Peeing between us was—without a doubt—Blake Utley!
    Kevin was too panicked to talk. But somehow, I was able to utter the words.
    â€œAre you . . . ,” I said to Utley, “the guy who knocked the pop out of