It started out as a Cub blog with cuss words. I'm still cussin'; it's the Cub part I'm a little squishy on these days.

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Bruce, we gave you tha keys, and THIS is what you brought home?

¿Dónde está mi dinero, las rameras?

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Thursday, September 16

Naaaah, can't be

Am I supposed to believe that this was the plan all along? That the Cubs have broken up their offensive production like an olympic track relay team? That Alou would carry us in June, Ramirez in July, Lee in August, and now, in September, The Great Sam-me Sosa will carry the baton home, buddy?

That would be mother-fucking RIDICULOUS for me to say such a thing.

Jeezus, though. What if? Let's play make-believe for a minute, and imagine this was the case. How cool would it be if one big old egotistical man decided to carry the team on his back for the next nineteen games, 1967 Yaz style, and just kept winning game after game with relentless jacks and diving, flopping catches? How cool would it be to see this team win every last one of its remaining series, going 13-6 down the stretch to finish strong, with 92 wins?

Since the notion of beating the Cardinals at this point is about as likely as flying to Mars for lunch hour, ending strong and making the playoffs somehow is the most outlandish goal we can shoot for right now.

You will NOTE, I am not saying that they WILL do this. This is the difference between me and my guys, and them and their guys. To suggest that a club with the kind of offensive and relief inconsistency that the Cubs have, to declare that they WILL win 90+ games cannot bear up to the litmus test of good solid certainity.

All I'm saying is, wouldn't it be cool?

Just for once, God, this time, let us Cub fans live fat.