Roots For: Cubs, jean skirts, 24-Hour Taco Bell
The transformation from a twenty-something female Cubs fans into a full-blown bleacher creatures is like Bruce Banner's becoming "The Hulk." Only instead of being triggered by rage it's through pints of Old Style, and a frenzied, giant green monster is a lot easier to handle. When the last pitch is thrown, the party starts, and it's anarchy on the streets of Wrigleyville.

Armed with a bag of McDonald's fries for fuel, the creature thrashes about Clark Street, stopping only to take a leak behind an alley dumpster or to readjust a blown out flip-flop. Along the way, she'll do a lot of regrettable texting, swing on a doorman, and find herself in a disordered makeout session on the second (exponentially sketchier) floor of Barleycorn. The night usually ends with wolfing down a slice of Ian's pizza on the street and later vomiting it out the window of a moving cab. The next day, all she'll have to show for her time at "the old ballgame" is a shattered iPhone screen and the sad realization that she's an enormous d-bag.