Varsity Club

Sometimes the posts just can't be about commuting. This one is no exception.

Friday night I was entertaining two freinds from Atlanta, and in an effort to keep up the facade that Chicago is hip, young and trendy, we decided to have afterdinner cocktails at the very swanky Japonais lounge. We arrive, stand outside the red velvet rope for all of 3 minutes while the refrigerator-sized bouncer (fully decked out in a velvet suit and a curly-cue plastic corded earpiece headset) assesses if we're cool enough to enter.

We made the cut.

Heading down the stairs to the lounge, I assuredly report that the "scene here" was worth seeing. Skinny gals, hot men, great outfits (and the premier of everyone's new fall hottest items) were abound. I didn't tell a lie.

Snaking a table despite the "reserved" sign, we take our seats for some primo people watching. It isn't long before we are highly intrigued by a man wearing an interesting jacket chioce.

It was a varsity letter jacket. You know the ones—in fact, you may have one hanging in the closet at your parents' house—navy felt flannel front and back with cream leather sleeves, and a huge orange "B" letter on the front breast panel. We look at each other, and quizzically raise our eyebrows. Mind you, he was easily in his 30s, making him long since a graduate of any place that hands out varsity letter jackets.

A group of 8 or so girls is seated behind us (they were apparently VIP as they, too, had a "reserved" sign on their table) and it is clear to all three of us that they are talking about this guy's choice of outerwear. My friend Walton, the husband of an old and dear friend Elizabeth, is seated closest to the gaggle of girls. He overhears them saying things like, "What is he wearing?" and "I don't get it. A letter jacket?"—very similar comments to what we're saying at our table, nestled below the uber-hip and hottie-filled bar.

Not to disappoint, the girls flag the guy down. Waving him over, you can hear one say, "We just have to know." That is girl code for "We've been talking about you for 30 minutes and it is just killing us to not understand the mindset of a grown man that would actively choose that jacket to go with his flat-front grey wool trousers."

He leans over, desperate for the attention of these fine ladies, and says, "yes?" with a smile and a twinkle of the eyes.

Walton was doing a great job very slyly leaning back, perking up the ears, intercepting the conversations and relaying them to me and to Elizabeth, only to be repeated over and over by our little corner of the bar...we couldn't help ourselves.

They say it again, "We just have to know—why the letter jacket?" He, unknowingly, thinks they are flirting. He throws his head back, laughs, shakes his cocktail in a vain way, and says, "It is simple. Three reasons: One, it is Fall. Two, it is football season. [insert painful, awkward long-pause.] And, Three: it just looks cool."

Confusion abounds. Girls recover their facial expressions and just nod and smile in that way where you're agreeing on the outside, and dying of laughter on the inside.

He backs aways, cocky and eager to rejoin his buddies to recount the story. Mind you, there was a very nice looking woman with their group, begging the question of his "status." Was he married? Single? Clueless?

The group of inquiring minds giggle, laugh, point. Elizabeth, at this point, is laughing so hard and grabs for her digital camera. Yes. He had become a tourist attraction for my visiting guests. She angles the camera so it looks as if she's snapping a quick shot of me, and captures the outfit in full glory. Leather arms and all.

At this point, in between repeating the One, Two and Three reasons he's wearing the letter jacket in a bar in Chicago, we're trying to determine if it is a Bears jacket (not the right logo, but the orange, blue and white, combined with the "B" made it a good guess), is he a high school football coach out with the varsity cheerleading coach and is just doing it to be funny? Other jokes we made at his expense are not acceptable to print here.

Note: there weren't even any "awards" or years or accolades on the jacket, making me wonder if he'd bought it at Abercrombie & Fitch in a teenage-focused effort to look vintage-high-school-suave.

Nope.

The girl in his group gets the urge to explain. Thank God for her!

She leans over the group of girls, who have just now let the laughter die down, and says "Come on, deep down he's a really good guy. He's almost 34, he graduated from high school in Montana, and sometimes I just let him do what he wants."

Yeah. Like wear black socks with navy shoes. NOT a varsity high school letter jacket to a restaurant/bar that is constently written up for its excellent food, notable atmosphere and high end clientele!

We laughed. We cried. We captured photos to remember him by.

And, we used the One, Two, Three reasons all weekend. Turns out it is an all-purpose explanation.

Q: Why did Elizabeth and Walton have fun in Chicago this weekend?

A: One, it is Fall. Two, it is football season. Three - it is just cool.