7/23/2004 09:09:00 AM by Rob

Prohibition

It is high time that I address the most overused word in the English language.  Actually, it is a two-word hyphenate, or perhaps a compound word, depending on how you spell.

Wild-card.

My beautiful wife, being a reasonable person and a new Cub fan, was in agreement with me on the Cubs' chances this year.  She opened the paper, saw the double-digit lead the Deadbirds have on us, and readily accepted the fact that the season is over.

But yesterday, someone told her about the wild-card, so now she is marching around like the rest of the blue-kool-aid-sipping pollyannas, calculating our wild-card chances.

I know Florida last year and Anaheim in 2002 won the whole enchilada as a Wild-card.  Worst thing that could have happened, in my opinion, because it completely invalidates the regular season, and gives unwarranted hope to legions of fans across the baseball world. 

 I'm a purist, okay, and I happen to think that the extra-super-excessively-long regular season ought to count for something!  Only those who finish at the top should be rewarded.  If we're going to invite extra teams in the playoff mix, hey, more money can be made if we expand the field to ALL second place finishers, and the top 2 third place finishers!  Let's make it like hockey!  Invite 16 teams in the playoffs!  An extra money-maker for the owners!  As it is, there are eight, so even a team like the Cubs, who have no leadoff man, no closer, no leadership and no composure to speak of, has a legitimate claim to dream of playoff entry, and once you get in the playoffs, who knows?  

Well, you might say, what's wrong with a little extra hope, whether it's unwarranted or not?  Isn't hope good?

Sure it is, I love it as much as the next guy.  But there are concepts even more important than hope, such as fairness.  It is good to have hope in something that is within your control, because that way, if you work hard and stay true to your hopes, eventually you will receive your fair reward.  It was good, in my opinion, for us to have hopes of winning the Central this year.  You whip the Deadbirds, the AssTrolls, and the others, you're fairly assured of winning the division.

So far this year, we are playing the division pretty even, and that's where we are today: a little above .500, and light-years behind the leader. 

Now, let's talk about the wild-card, which is a far more complicated scenario.  Here, instead of dealing with five other teams, one or two of which are any good, now you have ALL the teams in the NL, most of which have some sort of shot at this.  The permutations of what could happen that affects the wild-card race are far too numerous to even comprehend. (A doctoral dissertation could be written about the machinations behind the 1998 wild-card race, which eventually was won and lost by a Neifi Perez homer and a desperate flop-dive by Mark Grace to catch a popped-up bunt.)

The point is, with the wild-card, you could play excellent ball, and take care of your own business, and if someone else is playing EVEN better, you get bit.  If teams take turns beating each other, it can work against you.  If the leaders of the divisions, including your own, fall back to earth to the benefit of the teams playing against them, it can spell doom to our chances.  There's only ONE wild-card to hand out, and there are too many factors that may work against you in your bid to be the BEST second-place team, which just isn't FAIR.

So I am not going to refer to, hope for, or discuss the chances of a wild-card berth, and I urge you to prohibit the term from your own vocabulary, too.  If they make it, then we'll come back and revisit the issue.  Until then, don't bug me with it.

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7/22/2004 12:06:00 PM by Rob

A Funeral Sermon for a tragic death



I doubt that there is anyone in this sanctuary right now, who would want
to trade places with me and do what surely cries out to be done. Namely, to offer some words of comfort in the midst of so many unanswered questions and such a painful loss. For something you have cared about, and respected, has wasted its chances in one of those agonizing acts of the anxious soul.
 
Our emotions can swing from shock to grief,
-- from hurt to anger,
-- from guilt, to accusation,
-- from acceptance to judgment.
-- and then all over again, from grief to puzzlement.
 
If I did have a word that would ease such pain, I would use it now. But, being human, all I have is words, and these so weak and frail. However, I must nevertheless try.  In some sense, I believe there is a lot of truth in the statement that "we all die when we want to":

-- we give up trying,
-- we grow discouraged or disillusioned,
-- we grow old either in body or in emotions
-- and finally the will gives assent.

Naturally, we say to ourselves,
if only I had been able to persuade Corey to take a pitch,
if only Hendry would have agreed to get help,
if only Dusty could have seen how many people cared for him
-- the 'if onlys' are endless.

However, having mentioned all of this, I don't believe that we serve this year's  memory or further our own well-being, by dwelling on the manner of the demise of the Cubs. By doing so we allow the victimization of their own turmoil to continue within our own lives. There are some things we will never know this side of the grave--like why it was that a runner with a bad groin would be sent home from second on a sharply hit single; why a man entrusted with the role of 'closer' would request to be left alone by the press.

We have, then, no choice but to learn to live in the midst of that mystery. Nor is this a time to concentrate on the season that might have been. It is, nevertheless, a time to give thanks for the joy and laughter that you have experienced in watching the games and treasured, as hope sprang eternal every April.

But I also stand here now, not just as a friend or acquaintance of some of you, but more particularly I stand in this place as a voice of reason and responsibility, attempting to offer out of that tradition and faith, not a mindless faith, but a realistic faith born of promise and dedication, words of healing hope and assurance. 
 
The issue of faith becomes, for me at least the willingness to dare to believe that behind this world, even in the midst of unspeakable suffering or grief, there is a hidden and all-embracing love which rests on the gracious conviction, that there is more mercy in God than sin in us. If this is so, then God has set a value on the Cubs winning a pennant, and on our own values, that nothing can destroy, not even death. Those, therefore, whom God does not cease to love, cannot cease to exist, however long it takes for our beloved ball team to finally figure out the mystery. 
 
Let us pray.....

Thank you, Rev. C. Wayne Hilliker  
 

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7/21/2004 10:16:00 AM by Rob

thanx, grief.com
 
Good morning.  I am Mr. Sloth, and this is the visitation and wake of the Chicago Cubs' pennant chances for 2004.  Please note that no expense was spared, even using the solid copper "Tribune" casket for its eternal rest.
 
I do apologize for what appeared to be a revival yesterday, but ultimately it was a false alarm.  They say that sometimes the deceased exhibit "pangs of regret" that are really unfortunate side effects of rigor mortis, the petrifying of the corpse.  Please be assured that today's service will be a solemn event.
 
Seating is in the back.  Thank you.  I have been asked to aid with the grieving by attributing the cause of death.
 
Ah, but will it really be that simple?  Let's look at some of the complicating factors.
 
Venial stupidity:
 
There was the unnecessary headfirst slide by Aramis Ramirez, which resulted in the pulled groin muscle that knocked him out in the most inopportune time.  At the same time, Todd Hollandsworth fouled a ball off of his shin, a shin which was so profoundly damaged three years ago, that nerves were shattered and he missed a season of play.  Why no shin guard, Todd?  Wouldn't Sam-Me lend you his?
 
More critical stupidity:
 
Must Moises Alou swing at the first pitch everytime?  For that matter, how about the rest of the team?  Ever heard of a "pitch count"?  The other club abides by it, too.  If you make the other pitcher throw more, he will get tired, and less effective, unless he has some sort of ugly nickname, like "Unit".
 
Corey Patterson, you learned your lesson too late.  Laying down bunts is a good thing when you are fast, and hitting line drives is even better.  Please don't forget it.  As for you, Carlos Zambrano, if you came up to ME and pumped your fist, I would either giggle or shake my head.  However, it seems to have a different effect on umpires, teammates, and most importantly, opposing batters.  We love your fire, and your balls, but chill.
 
Arrogance and conceit.
 
Kerry Wood and Mark Prior.  Men, if I may use this term loosely?  You were both scanned, examined, and x-ray'ed by the top names in the Sports Medicine profession.  Nobody could find any structural damage on either one of you.
 
You are being paid multi-millions to PITCH!  Pitching is hard.  It is unnatural.  It hurts.  So does ditch digging, hammering nails, even sitting in a car on the Eisenhower for three hours every day strains the muscles.  Gibson hurt.  Ryan, Fergie, Lefty, Seaver.  Cy Young.  The Big Train.  They all hurt.  Why the fuck do you think they invented whirlpool tubs, ice packs, Nuprin, Vicodin, and whiskey? 
 
"Oh, well, we're too VALUABLE to perform with dissss-comfort...."
 
Jeez, I'm sorry, guys.  Next time, why don't you ask your husbands to step in for you?
 
Lethal stupidity:
 
Jim Hendry, you assembled an organization with both cavernous holes and rotting surpluses.  You have no leadoff man, no catching depth to speak of, and very little position depth in the minors.  You have committed the most Cublike of sins, over-valuing your own players.  You have too many second basemen, because you over-valued Mark the Grud, leaving Todd Walker to pollute the waters with his (understandable) discontent.  He has also over-valued Captain Tightpants, and Sling Blade in the pen.  Not to mention the biggest, most egregious mis-calculation of them all, namely the has-been needle-junkie who plays right field.
 
On the other hand, you have starting pitching stockpiled from here to Boise, and it's rotting on the vine.  While other teams trade for mid-season needs, you stand by, waiting for LaTroy Hawkins to put his cape on.  Hawkins is a fine pitcher...in the 7th and 8th innings.  He lacks sack...he told you as much several times, while proven closers toil in obscurity in various forgotten corners of the AL. 

Mortal Stupidity

Wendell Kim, you're a near-sighted little squint, and I hate your fucking guts...ahem.  Sorry.  I guess it isn't YOUR fault that you have to keep shuffling over to the 3rd base coaches' box every inning.  That blame would fall squarely on Dusty Baker.  
 
You fraud.  Tax fraud.  You phony flim-flam side-show Harold Hill stick-chewing matchbox-playing  stoner!!   I can see now why the guy in SF cut you loose.  You take credit for everything, and you do NOTHING!  You keep running Kim out there, keep running Hawkins out there, keep writing Sosa's and Alou's names in the middle of the order, even though they couldn't hit water in the middle of the ocean!  You don't motivate, yell, instruct, or even stay awake for the games.  You believe in "treating them like men" and letting everyone do his own thing, because "doing their own thing got them to the majors". 
 
Doing their own thing has doomed us to failure since 1945, and it fucking killed us again this year!
 
Finally, sheer, unadulterated disease.
 
The word "quit" isn't in Sammy Sosa's vocabulary.  Let me point out some other key words and phrases he doesn't know about.
 
Situational baseball.  Teamwork.  Humility.  Hitting the cutoff man.  Shortening your swing.  Making contact.  Taking one for the team.  Sacrifice.  Compromise.  Adjustment.  Honesty.  Loyalty.  Intelligence.  Fair play.  The rule about cork in your bat.  Not showing up the opponents.  Appropriateness.  Mental toughness.  Winning the big game.  Doing WHATEVER it takes to win.  Earning the $20M he cashes every year.  Giving back to his community. 
 
Winning the World Series.
 
For a man who is one of the five highest paid players in the game, he has truly sucked this year.  When it is painfully obvious to even the most casual observers of the game that it would be most prudent to cut down your swing to simply make contact with the ball in key game situations, the Arrogant, Egotistical Sammy Sosa knows that it is best to wind up his entire being, then UNCOIL with such force that his spit flies, his muscles tear and his lungs flatten, all the while missing the ball and squandering yet another opportunity for his team and his fans.
 
I would trade you now for a loaf of bread.  I would cut you loose without another second's thought.  The team and the fans would be better off with Jose Macias or Jason Dubois in right field, for more balls would be caught, more runners would not die on the basepaths, and more headaches would be avoided from not having to hear shitty salsa music at jet engine decibels in the locker room.
 
You, amongst others, are most responsbile for the death of the Cubs of 2004.
 
Please sign the vistors' book below.

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7/20/2004 02:20:00 PM by Rob

Who peed in THEIR Cheerio's today?
 
So the Cubs knocked Mutt Morris out in the 2nd today.  Rachael Ray says Wheeeee!

 

 
Oh hells yeah, she'll make you a hot, tasty, quick dinner in just a bra and a mini-skirt.  She'll drink a lot of wine, and you can carry her drunken carcass upstairs for your own "30 minute meal".
 
Yep, I'm obsessed.  She even beats out Paige Davis for "All-Time High Cable Channel Babe"



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