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Monday, July 26

Look, it's very simple.

Woke up kinda late yesterday, and as I was coming downstairs, the game was coming on.  Now for those of you not in the area, yesterday was sunny, breezy, and 75...for the end of JULY!  The missus wanted me to sit with her and watch the game.  I refused.  I told her that I was not going to waste this gift God and the weatherman had brought us, and if she ever wanted anything done in the yard, today was the day! 

Well, I ended up shovelling a ton of trap rock, digging up parts of my yard, and laying brick pavers around my mailbox, and compared to what could have been yesterday, I got off damn lucky.  For if I had to sit in that house, in front of that TV box, and watch that listless shit the Cubs spewed yesterday, someone somewhere somehow was going to get assaulted and batteried.

The Great Eric Milton looked like the Big Fucking Unit or the Big Fucking Night Train.  I am so so so so fucking glad I did something constructive, and missed that fucking shit!!

Thursday, the middle of the order hit home runs with men on base, and the Cubs won.
Friday, the middle of the order hit home runs with men on base, and the Cubs won.
Saturday, the middle of the order hit home runs with nobody on base, Grud couldn't lay down a bunt in the 9th, and the Cubs lost.
Yesterday, nobody hit anything, Hawkins shit his pants again, and the Cubs lost.

In the meantime, the starting staff is pitching as well as advertised.  Absolutely no complaints about the starters or the setup staff.  But if the big fat Uncouth Sloth is feeling good about sweating like a damn pig, rather than watching the game, something is wrong.

It's very simple.

Grud and Gonzalez must go.  I don't care how, or for what.  Gonzalez is garbage, and Grud is not only untalented and stupid, but his presence has alienated Todd Walker, who is also stupid as well as uncoordinated, but at least can hit.

Thus, a shortstop must be acquired.

Hawkins is a great set-up man, but he is not a closer.  He has told us this, many times, many ways, with his own mouth.  If you're scared, if you don't think you CAN, then you WON'T.  He was born to shovel shit, but a freak of nature gave him a million-dollar arm.  But hey, at least he'd be Farnsworth's boss, who was born to clean the shit off of Hawkins' pitchfork. 

Thus, a closer must be acquired.

I don't care how.  If both of those tasks are completed, I MAY re-consider the whole "wild-card" concept.  If we only get a closer, I'd still be very reluctant.  If neither is done by the end of the week, forget it.  Just forget it.  In that case, it is very obvious that Hendry either is too dumb to know what to do, too wrapped up with his divorce to know what to do, or under orders by the bean counters upstairs to go with what he has.

It is tempting to imagine Hendry jeepin' around town, leaving his game in as many dental hygienists as he can track down.  I'm betting, though, that his problems are green rather than pink.