By SCOTT BROWN
Florida Today

The seats may have been among the worst in the stadium to watch a baseball game. Yet as my friends and I looked for any stretches of bleachers that weren't occupied, I couldn't help but think I had somehow underpaid, even though I had plunked down almost $30 for a ticket.

That is because my first game at Wrigley Field turned out to be an experience more than a game.

So what if my seat in the upper level of the outfield didn't lend itself to closely following a recent Pittsburgh Pirates-Chicago Cubs game?

The day was unusually warm, the beer was cold and deadlines - both tax and newspaper - seemed as far away as, well home plate.

Sitting among the famed "Bleacher Bums" you quickly make a few observations:

• More than a few fans undoubtedly went to lunch and never returned to work.

• The beer consumed during the games could come close to filling Lake Michigan.

• If Sammy Sosa ran for mayor of Chicago, he would easily carry the "Bleacher Bums" precinct.

Nothing quite sends them into a tizzy than Sosa charging out of the dugout before the start of a game and sprinting to his spot in right field.

It has become a tradition in a stadium that is happily hostage to tradition. It is, perhaps, the most famous ritual since the late announcer Harry Caray, who is immortalized with a statue outside of Wrigley, belted out Take Me Out To The Ballgame during the seventh-inning stretch at every game.

The tradition and the fact that Wrigley Field has been able to ward off change is perhaps the neatest thing about the stadium.

A day at Wrigley, in fact, gives you an idea of why baseball really was once our national pastime.

As soon as you get off the subway, you encounter vendors selling peanuts, and there is a noticeable buzz outside of the stadium before games - whether it's vendors peddling Cubs' gear or fans enjoying a few beers at one of a number of taverns.

The inside of the stadium may not be able to match the aesthetics of new ballparks, but that is the beauty of it.

There are no luxury boxes and no sushi sold at concession stands. The big black scoreboard isn't even electronic. Just as retro is the outfield, where the famed ivy covers the brick walls and where there isn't assigned seating.

As my friends and I quickly found out, you have to try and wedge into any opening you can find. During our second visit, we made a rookie blunder when we sat in seats that were on the inside of a row and made it all but impossible to leave them.

Can't tell you how out of place we looked without beers in hand for those first three innings.

But it was a small price to pay to see what truly is a timeless treasure.

The only difference between 1963 and 2003 in Wrigley Field is that every other person seems to have a cell phone attached to their ear.

That minor annoyance notwithstanding, Wrigley is about steaming hot dogs, scorecards and peanuts. It is about what made the game so great once and why it can still be great.

Nostalgia aside, those who sit in Wrigley's outfield seats for the first time will quickly discover they went to a game and ended up at a party.

It is not unusual to watch someone go to the concession stand and get two beers - the maximum you can buy at one time - return to their seat and put one beer by their feet while they start drinking the other one.

One fan we sat next to on during our first game at Wrigley had brought a 7-Eleven cup the size of a small trough into the game. He quickly emptied out most of the soda in it and filled it with, uh, something stronger.

Cheers. Bottoms up.

Yeah, both apply at Wrigley.

Probably the most accurate description of the lovable dinosaur is this: Whoever wrote Take Me Out To The Ballgame surely had Wrigley Field in mind.