Sometimes you're golden, man, that's all I've got to say.

-John Mellencamp

I had no idea what to expect of Butte. Never been there, hadn't heard much about it before. And, as we exited I-94 there seemed to be no reason to expect big things. McDonald's, Taco Bell, a Mobil station, and all the other homogenous Interstate signs greeted us, making no claim to be in Montana, Florida, Iowa, or anywhere else in the world, for that matter.

It didn't take much more driving, however, to realize that Butte was unlike any town we'd been in before. An old mining town, Butte was built into a mountainside, giving its main street a decidedly uphill slope, and its metal-monikered side roads a strange sideways tilt. Despite Montana's sometimes-harsh climate, nary a spot of rust blemished the vehicles of the streets of Butte, comprised mostly of 50's-model pickup trucks in pristine condition. No actual mining has gone on here for years, yet the modest homes were well-kept, and the streets were remarkably free of litter. Clearly, here was a town that had some pride in itself.

Due to the relatively short drive from Billings (coupled with the lack of a state speed limit), we arrived in Butte about three hours before game time. After checking into the 6, we headed up Main and into downtown. The idea was to check out the town, have a beer or two, and then head to the game. We happened upon the requisite storefront tavern and went on in. A good enough place for a beer, but nothing special. Should we have one more here before heading to the ballpark, or see what else Butte had to offer? We opted for new frontiers.

A couple of blocks down we found a place on the corner with an Irish name. McCuddy's, Murphy's, O'Leary's -- we've been unable to remember, for soon-to-be-apparent reasons. We walked into McMurpholeary's and were immediately impressed by the giant antique bar. Choosing two stools at the end, we then noticed the vast array of taps behind the bar. After taking our drink orders (I think we ordered some local microbrewery's brown ale), Jim the bartender asked us where we were from. Apparently, strangers stand out in Butte. When we told him Chicago, he wondered what could possibly bring us to Butte on a Tuesday night. We explained to him about our baseball travels and he was duly impressed.

One of the things I clearly remember Jim saying was, "I wish I could do something like that." We'd heard that sentiment before, and it's always puzzled me. Ron and I are far from millionaires, nor do we command an inordinate amount of vacation time. We've simply decided to use one week of each year in pursuit of this particular passion. Anybody with an adventurous spirit and a Rand McNally could do it. Still, people we tell of our travels often treat us like super heroes. Anyway, I digress.

We bought three pints at O'Murphicuddy's (more than we'd expected, but Jim turned out to be a great conversationalist), and figured we'd better get to the game. Jim wished us a good time, and promised to buy us a beer if we came back after the game.

The Copper Kings share a stadium with the Montana State University football team. It's functional, but not pretty. A goalpost looms over the right-field wall, a constant reminder that this is not exactly Fenway Park. As part of a college campus, however, it did have a certain charm. Built into the hillside like everything else in Butte, a pedestrian walkway winds around the structure. The game hadn't started yet, so we decided to take a walk around the park. And, hey, we'd dragged this cooler of beer all the way from Oak Park; now seemed like as good a time as any to crack it open. Brews in hand, we circled the stadium and watched the lightning flash in the distance. If we hadn't known by then, it was clear that this was about to become one wild night.

Let's review: one beer at the storefront tavern, three at McMurphy's, and one as we lapped the park. Yep, we were feeling pretty good by the time we walked through the gate. So why spoil it? We made a stop at the beer stand before even finding our seats.

The crowd was sparse due to the weather, a couple hundred fans at most. So when the PA announcer read that night's trivia question in the third inning, I knew I had a chance to win. "In the movie Field of Dreams, which character never got a Major League at-bat?" The answer, of course, was Archibald "Moonlight" Graham. (Although most of the characters in that movie never got a Major League at-bat, Moonlight, played by Burt Lancaster, appeared in one Big League game without getting to the plate.) I walked down to the customer relations booth, actually a small trailer behind the grandstand, and asked if I could enter the contest. The young lady told me that the entry form was located in the game program. I happily paid the dollar, borrowed a pen, and deposited my guess in the big wooden box. An inning later, it was lucky number time. I opened my program to page 24, and sure enough, I was the lucky winner of a certificate worth 25% off a purchase of $250 or more at a local Butte furniture store! And three innings after that, the winner of the trivia contest was announced: "Scott McLean of Arlington Heights has won 10 free movie rentals, courtesy of Butte Video!" A double bounty! Never mind that I had no use for either of these prizes. The young family sitting behind us was thrilled when I passed the video coupon up to them. As for the furniture discount, well, we'll get back to that.

The game? I honestly can't say that I remember much of what happened on the field. Mother Nature was putting on a spectacular light show of her own, and our own state of inebriation helped to make it even more so. The inevitable rainstorm stopped the game in the seventh, but we were more than happy to head back to McMurphicuddy's to take Jim up on his offer.

Jim seemed genuinely pleased to see us back, and happily made good on his promise. I told him about winning the furniture store discount, asked if he knew anybody that could use it. Well, wouldn't you know it, Jim had just moved into a new apartment and was about to go out and buy new furniture! He was so appreciative that he bought us the next two or five rounds.

But wait, it's not over yet. The couple sitting next to us at the bar had overheard us talking to Jim about our travels and asked us where we were from. When we said Chicago, they asked what part. Arlington Heights, said I, and Oak Park, said Ron. Believe it or not, they were from Oak Park too! We talked about the Chicago-area and Oak Park, and what all of us were doing in Butte, and they insisted on buying us a beer. As if we needed it! We tried to reciprocate, but they declined and called it a night. Ron and I decided to do the same, but Jim, apparently still excited about the prospect of saving money on his new furniture, wouldn't hear of it. He set down another two beers in front of us, on the House, of course.

Not surprisingly, the next morning was brutal, and the drive down to Ogden, Utah was not very much fun. But it was worth it. Butte turned out to be one of those unexpected gems that we'll never forget.