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Monday, April 25

The Sloth had one HELL of a weekend!

Saturday evening - Morton's Steakhouse

Wendy and I went to Morton's in Rosemont. In brief: major-ass steakhouses only have alacarte menus, and unless yer a big shooter, the idea of paying 45 bucks for JUST a piece of meat, no salad, no potato can be imposing. I had never been to one (for some reason, back in the expense account days, I always went to Ruth's Chris) and it was walking distance from our hotel, so I let it roll.

It could be great, or it could suck.

20 seconds after they hauled out my piece of prime rib, the maitre 'd took the time to walk to my table to ask me if I knew the chef. Maybe they do this for everyone, I dunno. But the end piece that I requested was at least three times the size of the slice to yer left. I paid less than a buck an ounce, which is unheard of in Morton's.

My wife and I sat across from each other, slicing and chewing our massive pieces of beef, smiling. 4 motherfucking stars.

Elton John - Allstate Arena

Wendy's the big Elton John fan; I just respect the body of work. I mean, he is a big ol' fag and all, and I wasn't real thrilled with paying $115 per, but I had promised her that I would take her someday, and good Lord, 4 more motherfucking stars.

What is he, pushin' 60? He and his incredible band played non-stop, 2 1/2 hours, the last 90 minutes of so were all extended "jams" of his old hits. We were 10 rows off stage left, about 50 feet from his well-worn ass, and that man worked hard for the money.

Seems that a good portion of the residents of North Halsted occupied the first three rows, and eventually they became as much of the show as Elton himself. When he busted out "Philadelphia Freedom" it became an all-out gay hoedown, dancing in the aisles, kisses, etc...when he launched into "The Bitch is Back" towards the end, it was almost like they flashed "START BUTT-FUCKING" on the Jumbotron. You wouldn't think Elton John would have a mosh pit? Oh yes, he most certainly does, the gayest moshpit in all creation. Simply Fabulous.

Then, to top it all off, on his last encore, he rambled on about what a huge baseball fan he was, and that he was priviledged to play in front of Greg Maddux tonight, and there he was, sitting pretty much where we were at, only stage right, and half the crowd went ape feces, some of them booed, and the gayboys kept swapping spit.

Once again, un-real.

Sunday afternoon, Section 204, row 1, plenty o' legroom

What happens when an Uncouth Sloth, an Ivy Chat Chuck, a Mike D and a dude named Oleg get lumped together in the front row of Terrace Reserved, and morons stand in front of them talking on their cell phones?

Well, Mike is gonna say his piece on the sheer arrogance of people who think that their cell minutes mean more than our enjoyment of the game. NOBODY fucking stands in front of Mike Donohue, Season Ticket Holder.

Corey didn't get the start, so we all played out what probably happened before the game; namely, Corey going to Dusty and pleading to take him out of the lineup, because CHUCK is in the house, and Chuck's SOOO mean to him!! We thought early on that we would be sunk, once again, by Dirty Sanchez as he doubled home the first two runs of the game.

After five innings and 70 pitches, Kerry Wood was taken out of the game. I went downstairs to the head to see if I could hear anything on the radio about as to why. Ron Santo was mumbling that he didn't know, and I mumbled to myself "probably menstrual cramps". The guy to my left got pissed, and yelled "That ain't right! It was vaginal itching, more likely." The guy to my right said that "it was definitely the clap, that he got in the front row of the Elton John concert last night."

Let's just say that Cubdom At Large is getting a little tired of Kerry Wood's act. He has become one of the New Whipping Boys, along with Dusty.

Whether Dusty finally woke up, or a higher authority spoke to him, but Hawkins is no longer the closer. And the skies parted, and manna poured from heaven, and the choirs of angels sang, with Vlad Guerrero on lead vocals.

Anyway, as you doubtlessly know, this is no longer Sosa's team, or Nomar's team, or even Ramirez' team. This is Neifi's team now, bitch, and for better or worse, that's how it's gonna ride from here on in.

It was a good old obnoxious time with a bunch of good guys and great fans, and anytime that one chick with the joocy booty packed in them black spanky pants wants to share her cotton candy again, e-mail me, sugar britches.