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.

The Sloth is not intended for younger or sensitive readers!

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Friday, April 30

Friday Frivolity

Concept stolen from BST, who stole it from someone named Sheila, who doubtlessly stole it from someone else.

1. Grab the nearest CD.

2. Put it in your CD-Player (or start your mp3-player, I-tunes, etc.).

3. Skip to Song 3 (or load the 3rd song in your 3rd playlist)

4. Post the first verse in your journal along with these instructions. Don’t name the band, nor the album-title.

OK, here goes:

Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summer's out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I'm drivin' by your house
Though I know you're not at home

But I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin' in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

Now, here's the question of the day: whose version of "Boys of Summer" is this?

a) Don Henley
b) The Ataris
c) DJ Sami
d) Don Zimmer
e) None of the above
f) All of the above


Today's top ten list

From the Home Offices in South Sioux City, IA, comes today's Top ten list:


10. A fallen Catholic priest, under indictment in seven counties for sexual assault on young boys

9. Michael Jackson, and isn't that basically the same thing?

8. A janitor who has to scrub these toilets before I get to go home

7. J. Lo's personal assistant #17, a/k/a the lackey in charge of throwing rose petals along the path of anywhere J. Lo walks, on call 24/7

6. Hamburger James, who according to Elvis lore not only had to fly anywhere in the US at a moment's notice to procure the King's favorite meals, but also had to wipe the King's royal ass when he got to be too big to reach around himself

5. This lunatic who drove around for 10 days with her dead ma riding shotgun.

4. The shit-tastic Matthew Hale, self-avowed leader of White Power, who is going to go to prison, and large angry minority inmates are, as we speak, beating the shit out of one another, for the right to take this weaselly little prick as his prison bride.

3. You know, in those truly pointless new Burger King commercials? Where all the nerds stand around, waiting for today's chosen one to pass out the sandwiches? And there's the most geeked out of them all, the one who sniffs his co-workers' wrappers, copies his boss' sandwich order, and just acts like a complete mentally challenged asshat, every day? Yeah, him

2. Oprah. And hey, who WOULDN'T want to be Oprah?

1. And the number one thing I would rather be than a Cardinal fan?

Calvin Schiraldi.

I shouldn't have to explain that one any further.

Anyway, I hate the Cardinals, I hate the dumb little birds on their uniform shirt, I hate the self-described Geeeenyous, their manager, Tony LaRussa, which rhymes with LOOOSAHHH!

I hate Fredbird, who looks like he is about to jack this old lady for her social security check, so he can go get crunk with Ray Lankford and his crew.

I hate Al Hrabosky, brain damaged moron. I'm sick and dog-assed tired of 'the Wizard of Oz'. I hate Joe Buck, Jack Buck, and Jack Buck's dad, whoever he is. I hate Stan 'the Man', and his shitty restaurants, and his stupid-assed statue. I hate Albert PooHoles, Matt Morris, and the pus-engorged Steve Klein. I hate all Anheuser-Busch beer products, fried ravioli, shitty-assed cracker-crust pizza, and their decrepit-assed arch. I hate Nelly, Yogi Berra, Darius Miles, and anything else that comes from the armpit of America.

I even hate the god-damned Mississippi River, because it flows past St. Louis.

But, I'd rather have all my teeth pulled out, wear flood-water overalls, and sleep with my sister, than have to be called a White Sox fan.

Just to keep things in perspective here. I mean, there's hate, and then there's just being a subhuman, lower than life glue-sniffin' scumbag.


Thursday, April 29

Around the division

While I sit here and wonder whether or not taking yourself out of a game after the sixth inning due to "mental fatigue" is behavior befitting a man or a mouse (at least he didn't bitch about not getting the win), did you notice that there is some quality baseball being played throughout the division? From the most unexpected sources, even.

Milwaukee and Cincy have hooked up in a real barn-burner up in Beer Burg. Twice in a row, the Brew-ha's have walked off with a high-scoring win. Of course, we did the same thing with the Reds. The Pirates are playing inspired ball, for them. The Cardinals can't win at home, MUAHAHAHAHA! Every time I look up, the AssTrolls seem to be losing, but they must be sneaking off with enough wins to keep pace with us.

Injuries are starting to affect other teams, as well. Austin Kearns, Andy Pettitty, and outside the division, Richie Sexson, so we can't hide behind the "we don't have Mark Prior" curtain anymore.

The point is, I think this division is, at least in the early going, surprisingly tough. It may come to be no disgrace to split the season series with the Pirates or Reds. However, the Pirates seem paper-thin to me, and the Reds are just the obligatory Griffey injury away from obscurity. The St. Louis Slugs have to start winning more at home, I would think.

We really need all of our injured pitchers back. I still don't see the harm in having the Baker's Dozen. You know the pen will work 3 innings every day Maddux starts, at least that much every time Meat Tray goes out there, they will have to work for a while for Prior upon his return, a couple of innings when Zambrano pitches, and who knows for Clement? You might get the night off - or you might have to fill in seven. The only guy that provides any sort of break is Wood, and what if he somehow returns to his old form, where 2-3 times a year, he gets in a 3-4 game funk where he can't find the plate. We all would like to think that he has somehow grown PAST that, but no guarantees, right?

In the meantime, as I said yesterday, we are facing a potential disaster with Grud coming back on the team. You will then have two second basemen with an equal case for being the starter, and both men have the history of crying when things don't go their way. Wouldn't it be nice, if lefty and righty could live together, in perfect harmony?

Sorry. I don't see it happening. Now, will you excuse me? I need to go kick the dog, she keeps growling at nothing.


Wednesday, April 28

Roster issues

There has been some stated interest in what I, the Uncouth Sloth, think about what appears to be some upcoming roster issues.

What to do when Grud is healthy?
What to do when Prior is healthy?
What to do when Ryan Dempster is healthy?
What to do when Angel Guzman is healthy?
What to do when Mike Remlinger is healthy?

I have listed these in order from hardest to easiest decisions.

When Remlinger is healthy, Mike Wuertz is sent down, down, down, as far as he can be sent. Off the club, off the roster, off of everything that currently has his name on it.

When Guzman is healthy, he is to be sent to Iowa. Unless either Wood, Zambrano, or Clement is hurt.

When Dempster is healthy, he is to take the Long Rehab Tour, and when he is finally ready for Big Town, I'm sure there will be a reliever with a touchy groin, a sore elbow, or a raging case of throat herpes.

When Prior is healthy, Sergio Meat Tray should be relocated so far away, the only place where you will be able to see his miserable haircut is on a milk carton.

Which brings us to Mark the Grud.

He started well, Walker has continued well. All the pre-season talk about how these two can co-exist is pretty much mulch. I do NOT want one of them festering on the bench, or being Bellhorned around the field, bitching to the media, fucking up the clubhouse.

In a world where the Yankees are struggling, and they only lack "name" players at one spot - 2B - there has never been a better time to trade with them. I myself would keep Walker; conversely, Walker will be the first name Brian Cashman drops. I really like the left-handed bat. Otherwise, I really don't care WHICH guy stays home, as long as the other goes.

I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep things as light and cheery as possible. We are currently staffed with 12 pitchers: one could go down if/when Grud is healthy. I, myself, like having the extra capacity in my pen. I also like not having to worry if I am hurting anybuddy's wittle feewings if I don't play them every day. I like my starters to be studs, my reserves to know their role, and my arms to be as fresh as possible.

So, in the name of Grud, I say Trade.

Thank you, sir, may I have another?

Brandon Webb IS good. Why can't WE ever have a pitcher come up and pitch for US like that...

...just kidding.

I didn't watch. I had to debug my kid's computer. It was taking over 90 seconds every time his mouse was clicked, and he was whining about needing a new one.

Well, after using Ad-Aware to clear out over 1,300 files, processes, and other shitty things that he either downloaded or downloaded themselves, now he has a nice normal computer again. Of course, that process took me nearly two hours, most of that simply waiting for shit to happen after I clicked.

I gave him the lecture for the umpteenth time, that when stuff starts getting slow, that's the time to go in and do some housekeeping. No, like everything else, he'd rather wait until the last possible second, then expect me to ride in like the 2nd Cavalry and save the day.

I do have to give da mad props and respect to Lavasoft, you crazee buncha Swedes. AdAware is now a part of my daily routine, just like shitting, shaving and showering, tho not in that particular order.

I'm trying to avoid overreacting by avoiding the topic altogether. I hate it, just hate it, when we get blown out twice in a row. It is impossible for me to see the silver lining, impossible to see any enduring qualities that suggest that this team is destined for Eternal Blessed Greatness. Oh yea, two days hence, we looked like world-beaters, against the scourge of the earth. Against what appears to be a rather unbalanced outfit in Phoenix, we can't put the bat on the ball, and our Latino Heat fizzles like cheap salsa from Noo York City!

Hopefully the great hitting minds currently employed as Cubs coaches are reminding our batsmen of the importance of making contact with the ball, even, God forbid, at the expense of sending it great distances.

I'm TRYING REAL HARD to prove myself as a man of great character, wisdom, patience, and perspective, and I'm biting my tounge til' it bleeds right now. Two losses aren't reason to panic. Right?


Them fuckers better not lose to Casey fucking Diagle, little Jennie Finch sniffin' bitch.


Tuesday, April 27

They done blowed up reeel good

I don't have much else to say today, just sitting here with my fingers crossed, hoping that last night's surrender was just a one-time-Big-Ugly-only event.

But I must take a little time today to celebrate the ugly-assed pile of catshit that is the Noooo York Yankees.

You thought the Mets sucked dick? The Yanks have a worse batting average.

Jete and A-Rod have frequent, emotionally wrought slapfights nightly after shower.

The Steingrabber has already lined up interviews for GM, Manager, all coaches, the scouting department, the peanut vendors and for whatever position George Constanza once held.

Even as Cub after Cub went up hacking last night like the all-star alternates from the Earlville Little League, I could sit there with a grin, and bask in the fact that, well, at least we aren't the Yankees.

Now, everyone with the possible exception of their 2nd baseman is headed either for the HOF or the All-star team. Shouldn't the Small Sample Size Weenie (the S-cubed-dubya) be poking his pimply head up here, begging me to relax, its early, and there's NO PHUCKING WAY the Yankees will play this bad the whole year?

There's plenty of time, all you YES men. Chill, your day will come. All the bad news has come at once for you, and before you know it, all the poisons will be banished from your $187M system.

Or, maybe not, says the Reverse Karmic Machine


Da Reverse Karmic machine keeps on working

Every day, 24/7.

Two teams played last night. One team, winners of six straight, send out one of their bonafide stud pitchers. The other team, under .500, send out a mope with a 1-2 record, and an ERA over 4.

Well, hey, that mope is the Big Mope to you and I. He's Randy Johnson, who is now 12-0 against the Northsiders.

The Reverse Karmic Machine keeps right on chugging along. No sooner do I stand up in praise of the Cubs, then they go out and get spanked like bad children.

Hey, Richie Sexson? Ease up, man. Slow ya roll. You MUST suck, your BA is atrocious, and this is, what, your fourth team?

So why do ya gotta be like that to us? What'd the Cubs ever do to YOU?

Tonight, we serve up the Meat Tray. Tomorrow, the Mad Dog faces off against Mr. Jennie Finch.

Oh yeah, you know who Jennie Finch is:

Courtesy ESPN. You just wonder how a geek with an 11 ERA could snare a babe like this?


Monday, April 26

Mean Girls

I have done an about face on Lindsay Lohan. She IS my cup o' tea, but not only is she under the legal limit until July, there isn't exactly a plethora of linkable jpegs of her Redness out there.

I wanted to post something to celebrate her new movie, "Mean Girls", loaded with hot chix, including one of my longtime faves, Lacey Chabert.

She's no taller than the Olsen Twinlets, you say?

Fuck me, the Olsens couldn't hold Lacey's purse:

Lacey Chabert courtesy

Is Ozzie Guillen really THAT stupid?

This will probably only appeal to the locals, but I have a reason for what I say.

If you haven't heard about it by now, Ozzie Guillen had THIS to say about the state of Cubs/Sux relations in Chicago. It speaks for itself.

It makes me wonder: Is Ozzie REALLY that stupid?

The answer, for those of you that aren't tuned in to the fortunes of the other ball club in town, is a resounding NO!

What he is doing here is the exact same thing Dusty Baker did last year when he asked "Why Not Us"?

Ozzie is simply trying to ingratiate himself with his fan base by simply parroting what the vast majority of them think.

I literally have lived amongst Sux fans. I have golfed with them, drank with them, fucked them, fenced stolen goods with them, put a tune up on a Trans-Am with them, and cooked methamphetamine with them. What Ozzie said in the interview is EXACTLY how these mullet-monkeys think.

There is no single organization in America, not Operation PUSH, not the JDF, not NOW, PETA, or NAMBLA, who has as large a chip on their shoulder, as the residents of the South Side of Chicago who call themselves Sux Fans. These black-clad wife-beaters would rather see the Cubs lose than see their own team win.

It is the second most pathetic thing in sports, undercut only by former LB Bill Romanowski's attempts to impersonate a human being.

I just wanted to mention this

Yes, it's early, sample size boy.

The Flannel Boy, Rob Neyer, always has "his leaders" on his ESPN web page. For the hitters, he lists the top 5 in each league in OPS. For pitchers, top 5 in "game score". I think we all know OPS. For a nice explanation on game score, check out Fork.

The surging Cubs have a man in each category. Zambrano is 2nd in the NL in average game score. And, Moises Alou is third in the NL in OPS, with 1.188.

That's beefy. His on-base percentage + his slugging percentage together add up to 1.2, which is around what Sosa had for an entire season during 2001, when he was just a straight-up beast. Roughly speaking, every time Alou steps to the plate, he's good for a base, and then some. That's like money in the bank, and if he keeps it up for an entire year, he will complete one of the greatest over-35 batting performances of all time.

He's .800 behind Barry Bonds.

Bonds has a .700 OBP. He also has a 1.256 SLG.

That's not even video-game quality. That's Sega Genesis quality, when the games weren't as sophisticated, and any gamer worth a damn could completely exploit the software, so every time your guy steps to the plate, he does extra-base damage.

After a while, it wasn't even fun anymore.

Basically, whenever it is Bonds' turn to hit, just put him on SECOND, and push any runners over two bases. EVERYONE in scoring position comes home.

Every. Single. At Bat.

That isn't even fun anymore.

Life IS good

For those of you who have come here to my little corner of the world to find out what I might possibly have to bitch about today...

...sorry to disappoint you.

Even uncouth sloths can't gripe about six-game winning streaks, a team that has given up 5 earned runs in six games...what is that, an 0.83 ERA? No errors, either, and all sorts of timely hitting.

Hopefully the reverse karmic machine only serves to turn bad into good. I do hope that it doesn't turn praise into heartbreak. Just because I come to laud Kerry Wood, Matt Clement, Zambrano, hell, even Meat Tray, doesn't mean that starting tonight, the D-backs will start beating us alive?

Does it?

I guess I can bitch about some of the rose-colored shade wearers who kept telling me to relax, that when it is 12-6, with the team on top, that I'll know then that the team is for real. I played right into their hands, and now they can skip around singing "la-la-I-told-you-so", or whatever it is that people drunk on blue Kool-Aid do.

Look, you buncha cotton-tailed bunny wabbits! I can only go on precedents, and for the past 35 years or so, every time the team comes out flat in April, they end up below .500 at the end of September, too. Maybe this ISN'T Your Dad's Chicago Cubs. Maybe it was possible for them to suck like crack whores for the first ten games, then catch fire for NO apparent reason. Maybe they now act just like so many other teams, not based in Chicago, where they have a bad week, then shake it off and play like winners.

Maybe I should just relax, and sit back with an ice-cold freshly poured glass of Cub Blue Kool-Aid. Kool Aid, Kool Aid, Tastes Great! Kool Aid, Kool Aid, Can't Wait!! Maybe I should start living my life according to Blind Faith, contentedly numb in the knowledge that this 2004 team is too good to lose, and when we get Prior and Remlinger back, they will peel off like Vin Diesel with a nitro tank shoved up his ass in "The Fast and The Furious".

When I was young, and my heart was an open book, I used to say...This Is Our Year! (You know I did, you know I did, you know I did....) But when this ever-changing world, in which I live in...

...okay, enough of the Wings homage for today. For all you bright-eyed optimists, I've held out more blind hope that all of you put together.

I can't count how many years I began April filled with the shimmering promise that this would be The Year! This has bled through to all the areas of my life: the doomed relationships, the once-promising career choices, the shattered dreams that litter my pavement like a crushed windshield. I've had three marriages, five jobs, bought seven homes, and EACH and EVERY time, I thought that the decision being made at the time was Permanent.

So you wonder why I can't hold on to six days of solid baseball? Wonder no more: be enthusatic, be loyal, be hopeful.

But, be careful, too.


Friday, April 23

I DO believe I have heard it all

This is going to mean the most to the local audience, but I think you all can appreciate what I have to say.

I made the mistake this afternoon of putting my radio on the Score today, mainly because I wanted to know more about Pat Tillman getting killed in Afghanistan. Tillman, a former Arizona Cardinals defensive back, walked away from a few million dollars in 2002 to join the Army, in the aftermath of 9/11.

Some would say that Afghanistan is pretty much like Tempe, only with fewer taco stands, but I digress.

Tillman was killed in fighting today in Afghanistan, as his Special Forces unit engaged in a firefight with suspected Taliban members.

Anyway, the point is that Boers and Bernsie, the rapidly disintegrating afternoon Score hosts, were arguing that Tillman was a selfish dumbass for walking away from a high priced gig and joining the Army, because he wasn't home for his family. Their notion is, if you HAVE to join the Army, presumably due to a combination of financial need, intellectual deficiency, and/or usefulness in society, then it's OK to lose your life in a war. If you don't HAVE to go, then you shouldn't.

Now, let's get a few things straight:
1) I think the whole Bush Middle East witchhunt is wrong;
2) I don't believe that having us mucking things up over there is making me, my family, or democracy any safer;
3) I DID wonder from day one why a man would walk away from an NFL career, as well as a brand new marriage;
4) I think a man's place OUGHT to be with his family.

But, hell, I have always said that no matter how opposed I am to this war, the men and women who are over there serving are to be praised, supported, prayed for and held up as heroes for their courage and selflessness.

And, for fuck's sake, on the day the man DIES, you are going to go on the air of a 50,000 watt clear channel station and proclaim that the man was SELFISH?

I used to think those two were funny.

Today, I fervently hope those two are fired, without benefit of any type of negotiation. Pat Tillman is a Goddamned HERO, and you two fat mopes are scab-encrusted pud pullers.

Bores and Bernstain, Jesus H. GodDancing Christ, who the FUCK are YOU crappin'?

Talk about a buzzkill

For all we know, the Cubs were scheduled to go out and lay an egg against the Great Kip Wells.

But, most of what I'm seeing, hearing, and reading suggests that last night's rainout in Pittsburgh only served to spare the poor, hapless Buccos another vicious beatdown at the hands of Dusty's Lumber Company (a registered trademark of the Chicago Tribune).

Me, I'm feeling that last night's unscheduled day off allows for a bit of perspective.

Maddux is going today, as scheduled. That means Wood is pushed back until tomorrow. That's a great thing, getting the guy, in effect, two extra days rest. For those of you who would quite rightly point out "Hey, aren't you the guy that said Never Take Wood Out if he's going well, no matter the pitch count?" Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. Over the last couple of years, he has shown to pitch as effectively, if not more so, at 120 pitches as he does at 12. He has been ridden like a packmule over the last couple of years, with seemingly little harm. Yes, he has been hurt, but not from overwork, but from bad form, which has been corrected.

But even I flinch after 130 pitches from this guy, so I applaud the move.

I also bet that it is also the best thing for Maddux. Some have labeled him "nonchalant"; he certainly has not been red-assed about his first three outings. No, he didn't throw fits, but having watched him for 15 years, he is DEFINITELY thinking about it. His attitude tends to lean more towards "Ok, this isn't working. Let's try this....", and I'm sure he is anxious to get out there and win a game, to show everyone that he is just fine, thank you.

I see in the Trib that Michael Barrett, on the other hand, is a red-assed hypernut. I'm in favor, especially considering the fact that Patterson is quiet, Alou is quiet, Sosa is completely full of shit, Lee is low-key, Gonzalez is as well, and Maddux comes across like a vicodin-addled golf pro.

Which begs the question: I can't wait for that extremely hot series in mid-July, when Barrett is catching Zambrano, and some calls don't go their way. Which one is going to keep the other one from pummeling the home-plate ump? What if they tag-team him? How many punches and kicks can they get in until cooler heads prevail? They're both big's gonna take an army to stop these two, once they get a head of steam going.


Thursday, April 22

I'm back, did you miss me?

First of all, Joe, NO PROOF? Good lord, man, what version of ESPN have you been watching? I see a man who is roughly five times the size he was when he first broke into the majors. I see a man who exhibits EVERY LAST ONE of the supposed side effects of steroids, HGH, and who almost looks silly up there, like a grown man who decided to play one last year of little league ball.

But steroids don't give you the coordination it takes to meet the ball with the swing, and THAT's the tragedy of it all. Barry always could rake. If he hit 35 homers a year, he would still be the best player in the game.

Anyway, no class today, and if you've come in for a big gay Cubfest because they have been smashing the Pirates like a bull in a china shop, sorry. This has NEVER been the place to come for Happy Happy Joy Joy. I expect them to crush the pile of stale leftovers like that. Yeah, it's cool, and it has been especially welcome to see Z continue to kill fools, and for the Meat Tray to finally get his first league W. They both can come over to the Casa De Sloth for the King's Enchiladas anytime they want. Love the Zamboni. Love him!

I do think it's cool that the Reverse Karmic machine is still working. Since I mentioned CPat's OBP, he has reached base 6 out of 10 times. Of course, there were no walks...he did it the hard way.

It also appears that there is slow yet positive progress in the Prior Proceedings. He is up to 50 pitches off of the mound, and now he gets to do "simulated games"...from there, there's the pitching BP, then minor league rehab, then one or two pitch-count-controlled starts...sounds like an old-time courtship. It will be June before he's up to full speed.

But, at least, he's gonna pitch this year, barring an unforeseen injury.

Finally, there was a major news story in my neck of the woods! The Illinois Tornado rampage from Tuesday hit Utica, which is 10 miles from me. Utica was trying to pass itself off as a "charming river town", kind of like Geneva, IL is, or on a much grander scale, the San Antonio riverwalk area, the St. Louis riverwalk...they had the historic old buildings, and the riverfront area. But what they didn't have was REAL F.U. money backing it up. So it has become kind of a biker mecca...lots of bar-n-grills in these old sandstone buildings, with cheap burgers, cheaper drinks, lots of Harley stuff on the walls, and, most tragically, not a lot of additional infrastructure. Those buildings were, pretty much, in original condition from when they were built soon after the Civil war.

So when the tornado hit, they collapsed like a sandcastle. We have acquaintances that live there, and they all was neat, because as we were wondering about them...they showed up on an interview on the NBC news.

But 8 people didn't get out, and we pray for them and the families and friends they left behind.


Wednesday, April 21

No shame

You know, Barry Bonds dopes up. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. 2004 has become the Year of the Steroid. Other big-ass dopers, notably Sammy Soda, have shown up for this year leaner than they have been in years, simply because nobody wants to be known as the steroid freak.

But, not Barroid. He's large and in charge. His head, which at the beginning of spring training was kind of wrinkly with hanging excess skull skin, is now all swole up. He's bashing dongs at an unheard of pace, now. His team sucks dong, there's no harm in what he's doing anymore, so he's getting pitchers he hasn't seen in years.

And, just, mashing 'em.

No shame. While everyone else, from Giambi to Sosa to Shef is thinking Thin is In, the king of cortisone is still out there, bigger than life, bigger than ever.

Is this some sort of reverse deal, where he thinks he's fooling us? "See, everyone else is backing off, and shrinking up. I'm large, yes, and I got here all nice and natural. I'm not any smaller 'cause I don't needtobe. Watch me whip up on this 'un.....WHACK!"

Sorry, big boy. It's not working for me. You're the biggest cheat there is, and it's just sad that you are so deluded that you don't think we all can see it.

The shitty thing is...he never needed to do it. He was Great all on his own. Even if he never hit 73 homers, he'd still be the best LF of all time.

Of course, next to the Great Julio Morales, right? O-Lay!!!


Tuesday, April 20

Call me, when you have no class

I have class today. (for once?)

Teaching class, actually. I can only jump on here in little bits, and heaven forbid someone here actually sees me being Uncouth.

All I can say for myself today is this:

At the beginning of the year, I advocated trading Clement. Now, he's our stopper.

Last thursday, I bitched that the Cubs had no fire. Did anyone watch the Reds series?

Yesterday, I griped that the bullpen sucked. They held the Reds scoreless.

I got in the car on the way home, and at that point the bags were loaded, and Derrek Lee was up. I said "what a bust!"....

It seems that I have reverse karmic control over the Cubs' surroundings. The only thing is, I can't just say I'm bitching. I have to mean it.

So it wouldn't work for me today to write about CPat's OBP. He isn't just gonna start taking pitches just because I say he won't. That would go against the spirit of the thing, and it just won't work.

I'm not mad about anything right now. I'm sure I'll be in a lather, tho, if somehow we fuck up in Pittsburgh.


Monday, April 19

Family Movie recommendation of the week

"Cheaper By The Dozen", starring Steve Martin, Bonnie Hunt, and the delectable Piper Perabo as oldest child Nora. Very funny, not foul, and except for the fact that IF it WERE a major Division I football program Martin was coaching, I think they could have somehow arranged for a team of nannies to help him, very enjoyable.

Yes, it also had Hilary Duff, who is too cute for words, but she's only 5'2", she's only 17, and if you've seen any of her videos, I can't decide if she's trying to be:

a) Madonna
b) Pam Anderson
c) Britney Spears
d) Xtina Aguilera
e) Samantha Fox
f) All of the above

It's hilarious, with her baby-fat ass, acting like a skank.

Anyway, Piper is the shit. Enjoy.

Piper Perabo courtesy

Now, you've done it

An open letter to all you Pollyannas who are bashing my ass for being negative after the Cubs can't manage to get over on the Pirates and Reds, for chrissakes

Listen up, you pre-pubescent little cocksuckers!

It's YOU, not ME, who doesn't know DICK about being a Cub fan! Being a fan isn't putting on you rosy-assed shades, drinking Cub blue Kool-Aid, believing drunks like Ernie Banks, Ron Santo and Bill Murray when they say that this is the best team ever.

Have you been watching the games? Does THIS look like the best team ever, to you?
Shouldn't the Best Team Ever kick the living shit out of left-overs like the Reds and Pirates? Raul Mondesi? Kris Benson? The fucking Corpse of Ken Griffer, Junior? Jason dick-smoking LaRue? The motherfucking Sux kicked DeAngelo Jiminez off their team last year, because he is such a dumbass! This past week, he looks like Ty Fucking Cobb!

I CAN read, and COUNT! I got an MBA, you undereducated tittysuckers!! I know what 12 divided by 162 is. It's not even 10 percent.

But this is America, this is Real Life, not fucking Hollywood. If we can't beat the lesser teams now, Christopher fucking Lloyd isn't going to come down from Disney Heaven to start waving the baseball around like "Angels in the Outfield", and all of a sudden make us a better team.

This isn't a little league team, it isn't like the Cubs are going to improve their skills 300% as the season goes on. This IS your team, like it or not. And I don't like it, and I'm not going to SIT HERE, and lie to you and tell you I do, because YOU'RE a coddled little fuckstick who grew up in some Montessori school and can't deal with anything that resembles criticism.

WAKE UP, you dick-pulling pukes!! This isn't about putting on your no-stress Gap khaki shorts, your tightest Abercrombie t-shirt, and your most curled-up ratty-assed baseball cap and swilling six-dollar beers in the bleachers with your buddies while you take a stab at two night nurses from Illinois Masonic. This is COMPETITION, where you score more runs than the other guys.

Oh, I forgot. When YOU were in Little League, they DIDN'T keep score, because the juice-box-swilling soccer moms in your bucolic little suburb didn't think your pwecious widdle feewings could handle having to lose.

Well, HERE IN THE BIGS, buddy, they win, and they lose, and those that win get the glory, and those that lose end up sitting at home, in October, running their ATV's around their land to see if some stuck-up x-country skiier didn't drop dead last winter in the back 40. I have been watching them lose for 35 years, which is fifteen years before most of you started having solid BMs. I want to see them win for ONCE before I have MY McGrabber, and...

...THIS BUNCH OF swinging from their asses, no-pitch-taking, no-bullpen-stopping, Greg-Maddux-sucking FRUITCAKES ain't winning NOTHING!!

AND GOD FORBID I ask for a trade!!! "No, not yet, this is too small of a sample size...."

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUU!!! I TEACH STATISTICS, you cum-dribble dweebs! The next guy who throws "small sample size" at me, I'm going to track you down, kick your ass, and smear your DNA all over the fucking pavement!!

Sample size is fine for a market research campaign for vitamin-fortified-chocolate-drink, but by the time the sample size reaches statistical significance, it is going to be too late to catch the AssTrolls, you cum-laden bugger bottoms!

If you want happy, happy all the time, check out Jason at Clark & Addison. Tell him the Sloth sent you, and I'm sure he will welcome you into his little warm nest. Just stop trying to pull the shit-encrusted wool over MY eyes, fucking pansies.

Discouragement, disappointment, bitterness, resignation

Kerry Wood gets his ass thrown out of a tight game.

Everyone talks and talks about Sam-Me passing Ernie Banks on the all-time Cubs homer list, like that's an actual award.

The bullpen, in a word, sucks.

Greg Maddux, in a word, sucks.

Dusty Baker is desperately stretching my faith, and Mark Prior is no closer to pitching for us than he was in March.

Most of you blasted me for being so depressed and so disappointed last week, and when I suggested a trade, I got called a knee-jerk reactionary. So I'm NOT going to harp on it anymore, except for this: you HAVE to run Maddux out there every turn, now. You're committed. Remlinger should be in the pen, Mitre should be in the pen, and Prior should be in the rotation. Instead, you had Andy Prattfall, you have Michael Worst, Francis Beltaround, Cap'n Tightpants seems to have found his 2002 form in what is proving to be another episode of an "odd number year good, even year bad" career, and Joe Borowski finally appears to have settled his bet with Satan, and he has turned back into...plain old Joe Borowski, Mexican League long man.

If Prior isn't back, soon, forget it. The vaunted farm system isn't going to save us.

Let's look at one baseball related thing before we go. Reports out of the Denver Post state that injured Rockies OF Larry Walker was out riding his ATV over the weekend on his property, when he found a dead guy, who apparently has been dead for quite some time. Walker is NOT a suspect or anything, but he basically said that he has a lot of property, and he hadn't been that way in a while.

First of all, I wonder if the dead guy has any of Kobe's DNA on him.

But more importantly, Walker makes, like, $15M a year. Most of us can't imagine what $15M is, we just basically call it "fuck-you" money, and leave it at that. But as Mike Greenberg on ESPN Radio this morning suggested, THIS is a good of illustration of what F.U. money is that there ever will be.

Many of us have taken advantage of the recent warm weather to do some winter damage assesment of our yards. I found a patch of dirt to the "air-conditioner" side of the house that needs some patch-up work done. Well, Walker was doing the same thing, no doubt, with his yard. Did he find some patchy grass, a fallen tree limb? He found A DEAD GUY!! A corpse which is lying so far away from Walker's home that it wasn't bothering anyone, and if Walker wasn't hurt, and was at his job, like he should be, would STILL be lying there for months, maybe YEARS, to come.

That, my friends, is F.U. money.


Friday, April 16

Young stuff for the week

Already tired of Amanda Bynes, and I promise I'll let her out of the trunk after work.

Always digging the dubl-ya-bee, and in particular, Amy from Everwood:

Emily VanCamp from the WB's Everwood. Courtesy img.ranchoweb

She's 18 on May 12. Until then, the usual moratorium on sexual innuendo is maintained.

The Great Zamboni

In the hot summer of 1965, Juan Marichal picked up a baseball bat during a game and whacked John Roseboro with it. (In an ironic twist, Juan Marichal translates in English to....John Rosebush! Almost the same as Roseboro...does this qualify as self-abuse? I think so)

Someday, soon, this will pale in comparison to what Carlos Zambrano does to someone.

We all love Z, because he cares. He's hotheaded, he's competitive, he says nasty things about the AssTrolls and the Deadbirds. For all of us cynics who spend their days pouring out frustrations because today's athelete doesn't seem to care, this guy restores our faith, and reminds us why we love this game so much.

He's not the best pitcher we have, but he fights the hardest. Whereas Prior mows them down with swift efficiency, Maddux fools 'em, and Wood (frequently) and Clement (occassionally) scares them with sheer brute strength, Z digs the holes, then claws his big ass out of them. Someday he is going to learn how to PITCH, and it is going to be interesting to see if it actually helps or hurts him to lose his edge.

But, right now, his edge is the most entertaining part of 2004 Cubs Baseball. You watch, no matter what, because you half expect that he is going to stomp off of the mound, grab someone by the throat, and squeeze the shit out of his earholes! And it might be the opposing batter...or the ump...or his own catcher...or Dusty...or whoever is unfortunate enough to stand closest to him.

I can't wait for the next time he pitches against the Giants. Steroid Bonds crushed one off of him in Arizona. You just know first time up, Z is gonna stick one right up his ass...and then we're going to see the Irresistable Latino Tornado vs. the Incredible Armored Hulk. Can't wait. Wrasslin' and baseball in one colorful, high-definition package.

I hope Z gives him the barrio beatdown Bonds so richly deserves. Then, I can sit in my skivvies in bed and watch it over and over again on ESPNews, with one hand down my pants, and the other hand wrapped around a sausage....McGriddle!

Good times.


Thursday, April 15

94 Years and Counting

Actually, it's 95 by my count, but check out Mike D. on the NadaBlog, which I have thoughtfully included on the list to yer left. I like his pictures at the top, especially when he flips the bird to an AssTrolls duffel bag.

That's the kind of futile, pointless acting out that seperates us humans from the animals, who always have a purpose in mind when acting.

THIS JUST IN: Craig Biggio just fucked Chip Caray in the ass, and wiped his shitty dick on the hotel room curtains, while Andy Pettttittttte and Roger Clemens looked on and laughed hysterically. Too many T's, Andy. Too many T's....

Mark Prior Update

THIS JUST IN: Mark Prior wiped his own ass. Mark reports "no ill effects" afterwards, saying that he felt fine, clean, and that his wife appreciates not having to use the Shout on his boxers anymore.

Mark also threw off a mound, albeit ten pitches. Ten pitches? How long did that take? If it took any more than a minute and a half, then he must have been up there masturbating. He says that he felt fine after that, too, and that he is unappreciative of media reports saying otherwise.

Well, big guy? Your team is coming off the blocks slowly, yet you are still out there taking micro-baby-steps. I don't want you to rush yourself back, heavens no! But understand that you have a fan base who hasn't won dick in 100 years, you are the single most important person on our team, and this achilles shit has been dragging on for almost two months already.

Forgive us if we seem impatient, if we seem overly concerned, and if we seem to feel sorry for ourselves. Cub fans are the most snake bit fuckers breathing air, and great big thick books have been written about past Cub phenoms who have blown out their arms, forgot how to hit breaking balls, fell off of bicycles, developed full-blown cases of diabetes, died in plane crashes, and otherwise tanked. Do us a favor.

Just ignore the shit you read and hear for awhile. We ain't gonna be happy until we see your big ol' ass out there, and if it takes another month, well, just don't turn on the sports radio when you're driving to work. Play some of your CDs.

Pre-emptive strike

OK, I never said that Matt Clement was completely sucky, like Alfucksucka. I always maintained that he was inconsistent. About 10-12 times this year, he will go out and shut fools down. But for every one of those, there will be a day or two where he gets the hell beat out of him.

The difference lies in whether the 10-12 good starts is enough for you? I'll be brief about this today.

There have been seasons where I would have given perfectly good body parts for a 12-game winner. The raging debacle that was 1999, for example. I would have gladly welcomed a Matt Clement if it meant I didn't have to look at Micah Bowie. Or Captain Tightpants as a starter.

My POV is that we have a few glaring weaknesses, and one apparent strength, starting pitching depth. We're keeping Wood, and Prior, and Zambrano. We're keeping Angel Guzman. We're keeping Maddux. We got five other guys in the system that will be ready in the next couple of years. Clement ISN'T staying past this year.

Perhaps there is a GM out there who is starving for any type of pitching, and might want to give up either a major league player that can bat leadoff and hold down the fort at shortstop, or a catching prospect. The team and person that comes to mind is Dioner Navarro of the Yankees. But it might be someone else.

I'm not saying that a trade is a must, that he has to be shopped around. I would, however, use him in specific talks for specific players.

I'm glad that we smoked 'em yesterday, and I hope that we can do the same for Z today. We need to hammer the bottom three of the division, without exception. We need to hammer the other two teams, too, but that's a admittedly tougher task. We need to hammer 'em all, but we need to start with the Pirates.


Tuesday, April 13

Grandma Norma died

Last year, I had three living grandparents. I am now down to one. My dad's mom passed away this weekend from pneumonia. I will not be on here tomorrow. Hopefully the Cubs show some sack and bounce back from yesterday's disgraceful showing. I want to see some swagger...some life. We'll see.

Personally, I think it is more likely Norma will sit up straight tomorrow and ask me for a smoke. But, we'll see.

I think you all know where I was last week

Courtesy Mico Media

And, with apologies to Alice Cooper:

Sweat forms on my face and hands
Sweat forms from the ups and downs
Amanda Barnes without any threads
She's a girl and I'm a man

She's eighteen
And I just know what I want
I sure do know what I want
She won't get away
I waited so long for this day
I'll bust a nut in her face
Oh yeah

She got a baby's face and a dancer's legs
Took eighteen years to get this far
She Don't know what I'm talkin' about
She can't see my woody about to sprout
Cause she's

I could tap that every day
I think we ALL feel the same way
Waited so long for this day


Big News for the Big Apple

Move over, Jete. Step aside, Piazza. Better finish up your bizness quick, Jesse the Bachelor. Because nobody in the New York sports world has a chance in hell to get a date once Mets farmhand Scott Kasmir makes the big club.

According to Baseball Prospects and, Scott is currently suffering from a muscle pull that seems to hurt " his abdomen, his legs, and both of his groins..."

Somewhere, Britney Spears just dropped her chicken leg in her lap.

Two groins? Hmmm...wait until Mariah Carey gets herself around that.

Representatives of the Port St. Lucie Mets would not return calls to confirm or deny that Kasmir is currently dating porn diva Jenna Jameson.

First some facts, then some truth

There is no more reason right now to believe that Greg Maddux, in the end, will not have produced as promised. I still believe he will be fine. I also believe that Mark Prior will in fact pitch for us this year, and pitch well. I still believe that we got the better of the Lee-for-Choi trade. Hollandsworth and Goodwin have been career bench players for a reason, and as soon as the regular players are over their minor muscle aches, the offense will work a little better. Andy Pratt sucks, and will be replaced by someone better suited to pitch to big league hitters.

So, logically, the Cubs are not in any real trouble.

But, to my finely tuned Cub-o-meter, they are. This just doesn't APPEAR to be a team that is going to shut the rest of the league down. This isn't going to be a team, as comprised, that is going to beat the rest of the league over the head, and use their skin as a rug. As comprised, THIS team isn't winning anything. There is NO spark, NO "higher power", NO reason to believe THIS is a pennant winning entity.

Numbers predict, and numbers memorialize. But numbers in and of themselves never won anything. We seem to have, for the most part, all the right pieces in place. Our catcher doesn't hit that well, but who's does? Otherwise, we seem to have satisfactory components in each slot in the order. But there's no LIFE, no AURA, no chemistry. These guys aren't busting their noggins, or their asses, and refusing to lose.

We aren't scaring nobody. Yesterday, Lloyd McClendon drove his bus up to the back door, unloaded the bunch of hand-me-down shit he was dealt, and them fuckers just lined up and kicked Greg Maddux's ass up and down the block. Somewhere in Chicago today, some knuckledragging fuck named Jack Wilson is lying naked in bed, watching himself on ESPNews over and over while some fleshy dental hygenist is picking her bra and thong panties up off of his floor.

On paper, we look loaded. On the field, we are nothing special. Just the usual inconsistent collection of streak hitters, moody hurlers, and arsonists blowing shit up in the pen. The pen, which was Hendry's top off-season priority, doesn't look any different from last year's collection of genetic freaks, washed-up relics and over-rated buffet barons.

I have been saying all along that the mere presence of Mark Prior adds the sheen of credibility that this team needs to scare people. This may just be wishful thinking on my part, because from where it stands now, he isn't gonna be enough. Hendry is going to have to make another trade to somehow bring in the missing ingredient for this big ol' froot salad.


Monday, April 12

This is just not good

If you CAN'T go out, on your OWN home opener, and manage more than ONE hit against a broken-down bustout like Kris Benson, and when even your newly-signed first ballot Hall-Of-Famer can't get the ball over the plate, something is missing.

Something is wrong.

Let's see, we really didn't lose anybody important over the off-season, right....well, Patterson is out with a muscle pull, and Grud is out with a muscle pull, and Prior is out with the Achilles from Hell....

Sosa may be the Most Famous Cub, and Wood might be the Team Leader, but Prior is the Spark, the Franchise, and Our Credibility. Without him, we're just another of the nameless, faceless rabble, a team that can pound Atlanta one day, and get pounded by the Pirates the next.

Without him, on the mound, on the bench, or in uniform, we are just the Cubs. We are Nothing Special. Period. Sentence. Paragraph.

I misses me some KennyLofton, too

And, I saw his pouty puss on the bench as Bubba Crosby single-handedly beat the White Sux yesterday, so maybe he'd like to come back for some more.

Anyway, first of all, take the family to Universal Studios. Opt for a shorter stay, and spend the money to stay on-site, so you can use your room key to saunter right to the front of the lines. Because we did it the old-fashioned way, and it sucked to stand in line. There was stuff I wanted to see again and again.

Second of all, that Big Stupid Tommy, I don't care WHO you are, he's just funny. Many, many flowery thanks go to him for his benevolence in keeping you all entertained while I stood in line behind British guys wearing cheap-assed soccer shirts. For all of you who are satisfied with wearing less than authentic game jerseys, life's too short, man. Spend the xtra bucks, and go with something that doesn't look like it came from a bottom of a box of Frosted Flakes.

Thanks also goes to the Sonic Drive-In corporation, for inventing the Ocean Water, the Cherry Limeade, and the Frito Pie. Dear Lord, we thank Thee for the nourishment You provide us.

Third, and lastly before I start picking apart the Cub effort this week, if you are still bitching (yes, I mean YOU, Glen Kozlowski of WGN) about Candace Parker winning the McDonald's All-American Slam Dunk contest, did you watch it? Really? Basically, the set-up is real simple: complete three dunks. Parker did, and the rest of the contestants (all male) about tore themselves in half attempting double-pump-between-the-legs-windmill-sidewinding-360's, and didn't even complete TWO dunks. Idiots.

Anyway, Wood looks spectacular, Maddux pitched well, as did Z, and Meat Tray had a solid effort. As for Clement, he keeps trending downwards, kids, and I wonder if and when Prior finally decides to sack up and pitch, if it wouldn't be cool to see what you could get for Clement. I'm not saying that Meat Tray should stay in there after one outing. I'm saying that there might be one drooling idiot that thinks that Clement is good. I'm sure Hendry spends a portion of every day trying to find said idiot.

As for the offense, it looks stinky, but since we have to trot a catcher out there every day, and Gonzalez, that's two strikes right there, and when Sammy isn't hot, in his customary place in the middle of it all, then you look bad. You just hope that he turns it on real soon, I guess.

But today is Opening Day, Happy Greg Maddux Day, and welcome back in the park, Lloyd McClendon and the Pyre-etts. Last time you were here, we had a big ole shindig. Thanks for rolling over and letting us whip you like a dead ole dog. We beseech thee for more of the same today, alleluia, amen.


Saturday, April 10

Jokes, on Saturday

I stole this one from my buddy Gunny:

Q: What's the difference between Courtney Love and a hockey player?

A: A hockey player showers after three periods.


Speaking of possible jokes, it's Sergio Mitre pitching tonight against the Braves.

I look at the Meat Tray's work early in the season as an audition. Yeah, he's here now to help, but I'm thinking old Sergio's trade bait come July or so. If he can show that he's made more Pemmican than Slim Jim, he might help us get a shortstop that doesn't strike out....or maybe a Pittsburgh catcher who knows how to hit near the top of the batting order.

This is assuming that the rest of the pitching staff doesn't fall down the shitter with blown elbows and holes in the hearts.....

Hey, it worked to bring half the Pirates' roster over to Chicago last year....


Unless something really, really cool happens that I feel the need to rant about, this is probably my last post as guest sloth, before the rightful owner returns from drunken stupor vacation. Just wanted to say that it's been fun. I know I can't do a third of what the Sloth does on a daily basis...but it felt good to get a couple of things out of my system.

If you enjoyed it, I'm over, nine days a week:

Big Stupid Tommy

15 Innings

I managed to catch the third through the thirteenth innings last night. Slept through the first couple (Dracula) and had to work, and the bastards wouldn't switch the radio station to the local Braves affiliate.

But in the time between the beginning and end of the game, I was married, had four kids (the triplets, Happiness, Joy and Wonder...and my crosseyed mute boy Festus), won the Presidency of Mexico, went to Disneyland twice, ate my weight in Godfathers Pizza and got divorced with my former wife Rachel Weisz getting custody of the kids.

Let me talk about these assholes at work. They say stuff to me like: We don't like baseball. And: It's boring.

Well, I don't like listening to your stupid asses all night, but I'm polite enough to listen to you prattle on about American Idol, your mother's masectomy and just how well the newly divorced 47 year old playa is getting on in the dating world.

And I especially don't like covering for that playa's dumb ass when he sneezes and shits in his pants. That mess ain't right, any which way you cover it. The more I think about it, the more I'm pissed that I got outvoted. I do more in a night than any two of those motherfuckers. I ought to get to choose the radio station, and turn it up doubly as loud.

But I did hear on the newsbreak that the Cubs had won in 15, so I did quite a bit of a happy dance. That's right. I laid out the cardboard and broke it down old school.

As for the Cubs? It's nice winning, fellers. And beating John Smoltz is pretty nifty....who the hell "locates pitches too well?" Have you heard John trying to play down the whole thing where he tried to iron a shirt while wearing it? He says he was simply turning a steamer on, and got some of the scalding water on him.

Some of us remember the interviews from the early nineties, where he talked about the tinfoil under the shirt, to keep from burning while he ironed it....and that it was something he'd done without incident before.....

Let me just bring a number up. I'm not a numbers guy, so this is all very alien to my dumb ass.

Two runs, right?

Twelve hits, and eight walks, right?

We put 18 guys on base who never scored?

God damn. I misses me some Kenny Lofton.

I just don't want to go through another season of waiting for the batting order to get hot.


Friday, April 9

Cubs in Atlanta

It doesn't look like it's in the card for me to make it to Hotlanta this weekend to see the Cubs and the Bravos light it up. It's a little disappointing, as the family's trek to Atlanta Fulton County Stadium for the Cubs weekend was a yearly (and sometimes twice yearly) event.

Now that we have roughly 70 teams playing in the NL now, the Cubs typically only make it to Atlanta once a year.

I thought that I'd missed them last year. And then a little thing called the NLDS popped up, and I was lucky enough to head down with my buddy Steven and my folks to see Kerry "I Kill You With Baseball" Wood and his friends beat the Braves.

It was probably the most fun I ever had at a baseball game. Atlanta is such a horrible, spoiled sports town. It was nice to see a lot of Cub fans at the game, and it was nice to see the Braves fans get riled enough by the invasion to make it a pretty rockin' night at Turner Field.

(Still, their fans aren't good enough to sell out the next sister and her boyfriend walked up and got two in the upper deck an hour before gametime for Game 2)

Who knows? Maybe I'll get to see it again in the fall.

Can't afford it this weekend. Damned porno and crack habit.

The Braves got hammered by the Mets' bats in their opening series. I'd say Bobby Cox has already kicked his dog at least once this week whenever he thought about the bullpen (which includes, I was surprised to learn, BSTommy's least favorite six-fingered freak, Antonio Alfucksucka--I just hadn't paid attention to where the hack landed).

The Braves offense was stout. Hopefully Carlos Zambrano can go past the fifth for the Cubbies and hammer down a Braves offense that, three games in, has shown that it doesn't need the homer to manufacture runs.

Holy Shit. What a novel concept. Patient, table-setting contact hitters who work deep into counts at the top of the order with a little bit of solid-hitting thunder in the middle and bottom of the order, manufacturing runs with singles, doubles and the occasional dong.

Of course, I think I could probably hit the Mets' bullpen. But still, it's an interesting way to go about offense, especially considering the Dusty Philosophy of "Close Your Eyes and Hack...You Might Hit Something...."


Thursday, April 8

Six Dollars and a Mayo Sammich for the Head of Sean Casey

I slept through the game today. Owing to that I sleep in the day, like Dracula. And that's when the game was played. During the day. While I was asleep. Like Dracula.

Sean Casey. Why couldn't somebody have taken that big tall sumbitch out at the knees before he went 3 for 4?

What are we paying Todd Hollandsworth for? Hockey has enforcers. Why not have a guy whose job it is to come out of the dugout and lay somebody out when it looks like they're getting hot? Let's put Mike Tyson under contract. Or Bill Romanowski. Or even Bill Goldberg. They're savages. I'm sure for enough cash and HGH they'd break a couple of necks for us. Romanowski took out his own teammate this year. Surely he'd have no qualms about crippling an Astro or two.

Sammy hit a home run today. Yet the Cubs lost. What an interesting phenomenon.

The Cubs are in Atlanta this weekend, which is a mere 3 hours or so from the Guest Sloth Compound, here in sunny Tennessee.....


Wednesday, April 7


Two jokes today. The Cubs loss was something of a sad joke. We gotta get these boys to hit deep into the count. It just seemed like there were a lot of first and second pitch outs. Dusty aggressive is one thing, but if it doesn't work in the first seven innings, it won't necessarily in the last two.

Also, I once got into trouble for telling this joke at work:

A man walks into a bar, and orders 21 shots of whiskey.

The bartender watches the man down one right after the other, first amused, then wondrous.

After the man downs the 21st, the bartender asks him: "What's the occasion, fella?"

"My first blowjob," says the man.

"Well!" the bartender says, "Here's another one, on the house!"

Before he can pour it, though, the man stops him.

"No sir, but thank you. If 21 didn't get that taste out of my mouth, I don't think 22 will, either....."


Tuesday, April 6

Ad Space

As a baseball fan, I try not to pay too much attention to the business aspect of the game.

For one, numbers are fucking boring to me. I'm not a numbers guy, and whether you're spouting attendance information, payroll information or the length in years and amount in dollars of the contract of some half-high school educated, semi-literate hillbilly from Crotch Spread, Kentucky who can bring the heat at 98 miles an hour, it just gets tiresome.

But for another, if I can pry myself away from Skinemax long enough to pay attention to certain things, I just start getting angry. No Skinemax, that's enough to boil the blood. But add to it that that a goofy sumbitch from San Pedro de Macoris is making more in one at bat, or more in his 2/3 of an inning he's coming out to pitch than I'm making in a year with my college (B.S.) degree working in the middle of the night. That shit bothers me.

So generally, I try to ignore it. Try to seperate things in my mind. I try to bullshit myself into thinking it's still about the game being played on the field.

But this made my ears perk up a little.

Seems Bud Selig, the used car salesman ostensibly in charge of our little game, and his ilk are looking into putting ads on uniforms. To increase revenue.

He's trying to shake me out of my delirium.

One of his minions:

"We're always looking for new ways to advance our business," Tim Brosnan, MLB's executive vice president for business, said.

Also: "We're unashamed of the fact that we are a business," Brosnan said. "We're mindful of the fans, but I don't think this is unreasonable."

Here exactly is the problem with Major League Baseball. The motherfuckers in charge of it. These pricks who are all so fucking aware that baseball is big business. For whom the biggest possible number underneath the bottom line is the primary goal.

These assholes who won't let it just be a game.

I think Brosnan's second statement is telling. We are mindful of the fans....but he doesn't think he's being unreasonable.

Let me tell you something. Unreasonable is in the eye of the beholder. Lizzie Borden didn't think she was being all that unreasonable when she was holding the axe, either.

He is mindful of the fans. He is mindful.

What in the blue fuck does that mean?

Any time I use the term "mindful" is when I'm doing something in spite of something else.

Yeah. Brosnan is mindful of the fans' ideas on this little piece of bullshit. He just doesn't give a shit.

I know chili dogs are bad for me. I am mindful of the notes several different medical agencies who say things like "There's rat hairs and cholesterol" in chili dogs. And how chili dogs are "bad for the heart and arteries." And "I shouldn't eat 9 in one sitting."

I'm mindful of all these things. But when you've got a plate of chili dogs in front of you? What's your priority? I'm gonna eat me nine chili dogs.

Actually, without trying to, I've kind of stumbled into a good metaphor.

My friends and family are also telling me that chili dogs are bad for me. Granted, they were my initial source of chili dogs, and they tell me all things in moderation. But they see and know that if I do nothing but consume chili dogs, and search for new sources of chili dogs, I will become unsightly to look at and be around.

Soon, the more chili dogs I bring to myself, the less my friends and family want to be around me.

The fans aren't Bud Selig's or Major League Baseball's first priority. Their priority is bringing in the cash, even though the fans were their first and most loyal source of chili

It's getting to be too much.

Bud, the more you try to get revenue from other sources, the less the ones you should be loyal to will want to be around you.

I don't have much uncouth to say about this, except Fuck the Car Salesman. He doesn't love baseball. He's not looking to make baseball the great game it could be. He's not looking for the game's best interests. He's looking to see how he and his owner friends can line their pockets to the highest degree.

I don't want to watch Kerry Wood (brought to you by Old English Malt Liquor) pitching to Alex Rodriguez (brought to you by Hardee's) in the George Foreman Grill World Series next fall.

It's becoming so not about the players or the game.

And I guess that's what pisses me off most of all.

I just want to watch the fucking game. A game that is happy to have me there, loyal and smiling.

But everything I see shows me that Bud Selig thinks I'm not the most important thing to the game. Because I can't belly up the most dollars for his pockets.

This is why I don't pay attention to the numbers aspect of the game.

Thanks to Bill McCabe for the link to the NY Post story.


Monday, April 5

Writers, and their cheapass words

Yeah, 7-4 is nice. Kerry was pumped. Too pumped, it seemed. I didn't think too much of how deep into counts he was working...I mean, this is the hardest working strikeout pitcher in baseball. But still, let's get this guy a fluffer, or something. Keep the man calm. Get somebody to do for him what the baseball world already does for Sammy "berry gud" Sosa.

Can I talk about something for just a second?

To you sportswriters: I realize that it's an easy 20-30 words and an inch or so of newspaper column for you to work in the "5 Outs Away Implosion" of last fall. But you don't have to work it into every single Cubs story of the year. We know already. Some of us saw Dusty, Bartman, the Moistest Alou and Alex "Iron Glove" Gonzales in our sleep for the longest time. We're well aware of the outcome of things last fall.

I just don't want too look in the sports briefs in June, to see that the Cubs eked one out over the Brewers, to have it read:

Cubs 19, Brewers 17

The Cubs, only five outs from their first World Series appearance since 1945, imploding against the Marlins in the NLCS last fall, edged out the Brewers in a slugfest....

or, when Sammy gets arrested for abusing some manner of mind control device, or cuteness drug, which is the secret behind his having snowed so many people into thinking he's the greatest thing since a regular bowel movement:

Cubs Slugger arrest for abusing Huginol

Sammy Sosa, slugging right-fielder for the Chicago Cubs, who were only five outs from their first World Series appearance since 1945, before imploding against the Florida Marlins in the NLCS last season, was arrested on charges of purchasing Huginol, a cuteness and hugability enhancing drug which was recently also found in the homes of TV talkshow host Kelly Ripa and the Olsen twins....


Braves Manager arrested for kicking wheelchair of child

Longtime Atlanta Braves manager Bobby Cox was charged with misdemeanor assault Tuesday, after kicking the wheelchair of a child visiting Turner Field, venting his frustration after losing 3-2 to Kerry Wood and the Chicago Cubs, who were only five outs from their first World Series appearance since 1945 before imploding against the Florida Marlins last season.


Pope Says No to Sports on Sunday

....the Pontiff reminded Catholics that Sundays are meant to be kept holy...not to be spent at Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs, who were only five outs from their first World Series appearance since 1945, when they imploded last season against the Florida Marlins in the NLCS.

It's just cheap, and some of you writers are better than that.

(I'm not talking to you, Jayson Stark. We all know you're not better than that.)


Sunday, April 4

Guest Slothing....

Howdy. I'm Big Stupid Tommy. I'm your guest Sloth. You can generally find my little bit of mumbo jumbo on my usual blog. Rob's asked me to step in while he stalks just-of-legal-age celebrities vacations in the sunshine.

Not much to say this Sunday. It's not Opening Day, despite what ESPN's tried to do with this Sunday Night Baseball shit.

Fuck the Orioles and Red Sox and their Sunday night game. Do I watch the Designated Hitter league, or do I watch The Simpsons? It isn't a hard choice, even given the horrible writing of the Simpsons the past couple of years. Besides, if Joe Morgan's favorite player, Joe Morgan, is announcing, I'll pass just on the grounds that his constant condescension makes me break out in murderous anger.

And Fuck the Yankees and Devil Rays and Bud Selig and Major League Baseball and 4 AM Central Time for that asinine trip to Japan last week. Don't we have a nice enough product that we don't have to go shopping it to the foreigners? Foreigners that, I might add, already have a professional baseball league all of their own.

If the Japanese want to see the Devil Rays, send them to Tampa. Nobody in Tampa's buying the product.

Piss on all that. Opening Day isn't until Kerry "I Kill You With Baseball" Wood and the rest of his Chicago Cubs start the lawnmower over in Cincinnati. A little less than 24 hours from now.

All that resentment at missing baseball because I'm at work (I work nights....and yes, I'd still rather watch the American League, even the Yankees, than work)'s a good week.

Baseball...real baseball....starts up. My March Madness is clearing up, along with that rash....and the Police Academy series is being released on DVD. It's gonna be a great week.

Now, where's all that Kool-Aid I've been hearing so much about.....?


Friday, April 2

BST is in the house

Big Stupid Tommy is going to graciously fill in with a big greezy sack of french fries for you all this week. Many thanks go to him for his patience of my slothful ways.

So you all do what the man says, and don't make him come over and take his shoes off. You don't want that, no way.

so cool...

I turned 3 years old in the Summer of Love. Nevertheless, I am as firm a believer in karma as anyone else you will find. Do unto others. What comes around, goes around. Big wheel in the sky keeps on turnin', don't know where I'll be tomorrow. All that "higher power" shit. Yep, I'm a believer.

So it is that today, when probably every other Cub Blogger is vowing holy jihad for the head of Jack McDowell, for taking time between tokes to insinuate that Mark Prior is on the joo-ice, I want to write about the man who shares a number with Fergie Jenkins, and who is going to have to stand on the podium with him one day when they retire the number once and for all at Beautiful Wrigley Field.

When Greg Maddux retires, he doesn't want a big ceremony.

He doesn't want Rick Sutcliffe wheeling a Cubbie Blue Hummer through the red doors in right. He doesn't want Tiger Woods to present him with a Platinum card that allows him free and clear tee times on every golf course in America, Europe, and Asia, though he'd probably accept it with a quiet thankee anyway. He doesn't want balloons, fly-bys from the Blue Angels, Wayne Messmer singing heartfelt ballads about him. No giant diamond-encrusted iced-out "300" medallion presented by El Jefe himself, the Samala. He doesn't even want a post-game hummer from Cindy Sandberg.

All Greg wants to do, according to a Tribune story, is have the groundscrew wet down the big blue tarp, like a kid's Slip-n-Slide, and take one last bellyflop across the infield.

I did not realize that the four infamous "floppers" on the overwrought, rain-soaked night the lights came on in Wrigley included the Mad Dog. I always had Mike Harkey at the scene of the crime, and even though he was on the roster then, the floppers included Les Lancaster and Al Nipper (which I knew), a washed-up Jo-Dee! Davis (really?) and Maddux himself.

The four floppers were fined a grand collective total of $500, which probably didn't even pay for the beer at the post-season party.

Now, maybe this was April Fools bullschit. But, you know, the fact that he even had that thought illustrates something.

He knows it's a game.

Maddux has this reputation of being some sort of pitching guru. I think it's more of a Peter Sellers-as-the-gardener kind of thing. I think he's just really uncomplicated. It's a game primarily played by kids. To most major leaguers, the game has become much's a business, a lifestyle, something that requires nutritional supplements, adjudication, incorporation, marketing, public relations.

In Baseball Prospectus, they quote Jaret Wright, poster child for uptight baseball-playing wasteoids, as saying that after spending part of a season with Maddux last year, he has to unlearn what he was told, because it was too confusing for him.

And you wonder why this beefsucker hasn't reached any of his potential. I'm sure all Greg was trying to get him to do is play Baseball, and forget about his stock portfolio, his shoe-n-glove deals, and his child abandonment litigation while he was between the chalk lines. I have the feeling that the vast majority of men wearing the uniform are as self-important and uptight as Wright is.

It is a grand and glorious thing to have Greg Maddux back with us. Like any baseball-crazy kid, he prepares because he cares. If ever anyone deserved to go out on top, in a blinding blaze of glory, it is he. And us. And, the Cubs. We don't have Prior for at least a month. They are being respectful and careful of Prior's health, in an well-intentioned attempt to have him in perfect condition for the post-season.

This may be the ultimate case of putting the cart before the horse, but WE'RE doing the presuming, for once! Will not the pure karma of having Greg Maddux back home carry us through this time?

Uh huh. It's hard for ME to believe, too.

NOTE: What kind of moron schedules his vacation during Opening Week? The Uncouth Sloth, that's who. I got confused. I knew the Cubs were starting out against Ken Griffey, Jr., and I know he lives in Orlando, and I know that he plays "close to home". So I am taking the kids on the Universal/SeaWorld/Wet-n-Wild tour, hoping to catch the Cubs and Junior in the process.

I've been told, though, that the games will be in Ohio. So I totally fucking blew that one. When I get back on the 12th, the Home opener, hopefully I can gloat, rather than bitch to you all.

I'm trying to convince Big Stupid Tommy to take time between filming Slim Jim commericals to put his $0.02 in while I am gone, so who knows? I didn't get this bright idea until 2:30 this afternoon. Nobody ever said I was smart.


Thursday, April 1

Tricks and Treats

Gotta give Kurt his props. He converted to the "dark" side overnight, and he went the whole nine...even grew a mullet, moved into a trailer, and started cooking meth in his kitchenette.

The next nice thing is in
Chuck's blog, where he lists out all of 2005's potential free agents on the side, for EZ reference. I notice he didn't put Sosa out there.

Joe has the first entry of Picture O' The Year on his rag. I appreciate a well-hung Jesus as much as anyone.

Derek bravely states that he isn't going to write about Achilles-gate, then he gets suckered into it.

Welcome to the boys' clubhouse, Michael Wuertz. We're going to need all the warm bodies we can round up in the pen, because every so often, Dusty is going to send out Sergio Meat-Tray to start games. I honestly don't know what he sees in him. It must be the phenomenom like we have at work. One of my co-workers is really deep down, a dumbfuck. But he's glib, as well as physically fit, and he always makes eye contact when he speaks to you, and seems concerned, so it's easy to feel CONFIDENT in him, provided you don't know ahead of time that he's a dumbfuck.

I suspect Mitre has that kind of effect on Dusty. He's a Cali boy, too, and can probably talk the talk. Because, judging from last year and all his appearences since it was fairly obvious that he would make the team, I myself could hit his silly ass.

April Fools' Day is a day for mean people. Some people spend MONTHS coming up with ways to terrorize the people around them. I've had my kid soak a t-shirt with ketchup, then hold it up to his eye and recruit two friends to help him inside my front door, saying that he fell off his bike and skewered himself with the handlebar. I've had the same kid saran-wrap the toilet bowl, so when I took my first piss of the morning (with my eyes closed, natch), I managed to Ping the stream across the room.

I can't remember the last time I went out of my way to April fool someone on April fools. I might do it other times of the year. But, then, it isn't as good, since people are looking out for it today.

Keep your head up and your eyes open today. Someone might be lathering your jock-strap with Capscium-L.