"Chicago will give you a chance. The sporting spirit is the spirit of Chicago"

Steffens evokes Chicago as an open arena more than a finished monument. To say the city will give you a chance is to promise neither favors nor safety; it promises a fair try. Where pedigree and lineage rule in older capitals, Chicago prizes the audition: show up, get on the floor, take your swing. The "sporting spirit" names a civic ethic built on rules and risk, on collision without malice, on accepting the score and coming back tomorrow. It is a tough generosity, access without indulgence, contact without cruelty, that treats newcomers, hustlers, and strivers as potential teammates or worthy opponents.

History makes the metaphor concrete. After fire reduced the city to ash, it rebuilt higher and faster, betting on steel, rail, and the unglamorous trades that fed a continent. Stockyards, grain exchanges, and union halls trained a reflex: compete hard, do your shift, respect the whistle. The neighborhoods extended the rulebook, Polish, Mexican, Black, Chinese, Irish blocks each fielding their own styles, yet the game bound them. Even Chicago’s fandom teaches the ethic: seasons of heartbreak for Cubs or Bears demanded endurance, loyalty, and the humility to celebrate small wins until the big one arrived. Losing wasn’t failure; quitting violated the code.

Steffens also heard the hazards. A city of chances attracts sharpers as well as saints; machine politics, boosters, and barkers all played the same competitive game. Yet the ideal he isolates still matters: opportunity tethered to sportsmanship. Chicago offers a field, not a script. You may be outmatched today, but you can train, return, and be judged on effort more than pedigree. That is a democratic promise in muscular form. It invites outsiders to test themselves, and veterans to mentor without condescension. The play is real, the stakes are real, and so is the invitation: lace up, step in, earn it.