8/08/2005 09:07:00 AM by Rob

Absolute dejection

OK, imagine you're Derrek Lee, for a moment.

incredibly futuristic sound effect here

Now. You're Derrek Lee. Don'tcha feel taller? And stronger?

And really tired? And kind of depressed?

You've been playing ball, every day, since March. You just had the greatest four months of your life. There is absolutely NOTHING more you could have done since day one. When you lay your head on the pillow, you can sleep the sleep of the just, for you have performed far beyond anyone's expectations of you. And, for what?

Your team still sucks. You came over from Florida, and you rightly figured that the Marlins would not repeat their performance again, not for a few years, anyway. You joined the team you were lucky to beat in the NLCS. You were one of several seemingly positive additions during that off-season after the Cubs' division title, and there was all the reason in the world to believe that the next several years would bring more of the same success.

You did okay last year, and looking around you, several other teammates had decent statistical seasons. But for the first time, you experienced firsthand the pain of having an overpriced, overrated clubhouse cancer on your team, and when they got rid of him in the offseason, you had every clue that the fresh air would blow the stench out of the dugout, and for the first time, you were the Man.

You've played your fucking ass off, and yet again, your team sucks, and when it is clear to all and sundry that a Radical change was needed to jumpstart the heart of this ballclub, Hendry gives us, what? Matt Lawton, and the reserves from the M*A*S*H unit. Your management isn't sticking their dicks out for you, so why should you? The next two months are going to last an eternity, and in the end, you're going to have to hide out all winter, to avoid having to answer the questions everyone is going to have, about whether or not you can do it again, and in the meantime, you know they're going to back up the truck and start over, and you're on your knees praying that your management team will do it right This Time.

You want to go back to your old self? I don't blame you...zzzappp!

Look, I don't know exactly what's wrong here, either. I think I know, but the one thing I am Certain of is that: Nothing will change between now and the last game of the year, and I'm not much of a Bear fan, so what in the fuck do I have to write about?

I spent time this weekend with an old friend from the big CC, he comes out here from time to time, and we talked about this here blog. In case yer new here, I started this actually at the advice of my therapist. She wanted me to journal, to get the toxins out of my head rather than letting them rattle around, making me miserable. So I became The Uncouth Sloth solely to bitch about what was bothering me, and being me, the topics were a) the Cubs, b) my last ex-wife, c) the other idiots wasting OUR oxygen in this here world, d) particularly the dyslexic party-boy currently serving as our POTUS, and e) the fact that this world is teeming with smokin' hott sluts, and due to my particular circumstances, I have absolutely NO chance in hell of ever porking one of them.

I don't know if it's to my credit or detriment that the topic taking up the most brain cells at that particular point in time was A) The Cubs. Fact is, I started this blog the same month that Dusty Baker was hired to manage the team, and regardless of my feelings about his laissez-faire management style now, the fact is that this was the Ballsiest move the Cubs had made in a long time. Dusty Baker gave us credibility, the Cubs became a Destination team, guys would sign free-agent contracts and waive their no-trade clauses to play for him.

So I started writing more and more about the Cubs, and less and less about the South Side bitch-face deserting twat, and the other stuff, at least I did up until the 2004 election. It came clear to me at that time that we were on the verge of actually Re-Electing the scumbag criminal that started a war solely for the financial benefit of his West Texas friends! I tried my best, but most of you people, including my old friend, shouted me down. You told me not to go political, that I lacked the knowledge, and to focus and stick with what I know; namely, the Cubs, and Jailbait.

Well, at this point, I can stand here and tell all you red-staters "Told Ya So!", and I just did. Past that, it isn't any fun. Likewise, I can tell all you Cubs fans "Told Ya So!", when we entered this season without a leadoff man, and without a closer. Dusty is only effective when All The Pieces are in Place. I knew we weren't going to win anything, yet I figured that when the meltdown occurred, it would be so terrible, so devastating, and so spectacular, that 2004 would pale in comparison. Coming into this year, all Cub fans thought that Prior, Zambrano, Wood and Maddux represented The State Of The Art in pitching, and to waste all that would cause such a rift in the psyche of the sports world that no fate would be too outlandish for us to endure.

Instead, this season is wasting away with a whimper. The world has finally learned that Kerry Wood embodies "flash in the pan" like no other. That Mark Prior may still become a Clemens-type stud, but not on THIS club. That Big Z may always suffer from the curse of his hot-blooded Latin forebearers, that the true pitching ace must have the ice-cube veins of a Michael Corleone, not the boiling-hot temper of Sonny. So now, there will be NO cry to the heavens about the wasting of a once-in-a-lifetime confluence of pitching excellence.

We now know that last year was the apocalypse, and as I said, I'm sure you'd be sick of reading "Told Ya So" as much as I'd be sick of writing it. So what else is there? Even the young breast-implant patients don't hold my interest as they did a couple of years ago. I'm PAST 40 now, and I'm honestly getting to the point in time where a really good, cold drink on a hot day compares favorably with a steamy, moist blowjob from a hott babe.

One summer during college, I worked at the chemical plant on an insulating crew. My foreman, who was a true loser, tried to convince me one day that, at his age, a good shit was better than a good fuck. I actually went home early that day, shocked to my core by his complete and utter lunacy. If I told you that if I squint into the sunset, I can see this wacky motherfucker in the distance now, do you understand why I'm having such a hard time writing this bitch?

---

8/05/2005 10:21:00 AM by Rob

Just another milestone foretold by the Judgements of the Apocalypse

In a way, I'm glad to see the beat writers on both major papers are firmly, solidly OFF of the 2005 bandwagon, that even if Superman, Spiderman, and Cap'n America got on the bus with Nomar, Williamson, and Wood, the Cubs aren't winning JACK this year.

Even if Cap'n Tightpants got on the bus...and hey, he WAS available?

It is sad that all hope is gone, that even the shill on the company rag can't muster any enthusiasm, and I am NOT proud and happy about it. I just like knowing that I am on the right track, when I look at my tellyvision set, and I think I see crap. When Society as a Whole agrees with me, then I can relax and still feel like I know something about the game. For example, I Love seeing all of SoxFanDumb walking around aimlessly with their fingers stuck up their asses because their team loses a game or two. They can bitch that the sky is falling all they want, and they will look like complete asscracks in October, when their paid mercenaries win the AL Central by double digits.

At least, when we say the sky is falling, we have the fuckin' broke ceiling tiles to prove it.

My problem today is that all the news sources seem to think that Corey Patterson is coming back, since Hairston is going on the DL. He isn't ready, he still swings at anything clean, and we don't need his negative vibe on the team now.

This way, Cedeno doesn't get sent back down...I'm assuming that Baker is planning on keeping his two favorite beaners, Macias and Perez. Without Patterson, you still have at least one outfielder on the bench, along with Cedeno and two other infielders. I'd much rather see what Cedeno can do that deal with the same old shit out of Corey. I'd rather have Perez than Corey at this point. Shit, I'd rather have Macias than Corey at this point. I'd much rather have crotch-rot than Corey at this point.

Pitchingwise, it appears that today marks the end of Remlinger's stay in town. Wood will push somebody back to Iowa, either Meat Tray or Wuertz, but we need one slot on the 40-man to accomodate Williamson, and Sling Blade Mark is the guy. I think on the whole, he was disappointing, but most relievers are inconsistent, and we overpaid for him after a stellar year in Atlanta. We ain't the first nor the last to have done so. So the only two guys we could count on at the end of 2003 are now toast. Hard business.

BTW: what does Isla have to do with any of this? Why does it matter? If you can't see the wisdom on having pictures of hott redheads with they tits hanging out, then you and me can't be friends.

---

8/04/2005 12:47:00 PM by Rob

Burn last night's game into your memory

Thanks to the Sports Guy, I now have Christina Applegate on the brain, and you guys have to deal with it. So deal with it.

The anniversary of my birth, which was yesterday, sucked wang, actually, and the Chicago Cubs deserve much of the credit for such wang suckage. I've been down on the field manager the last month or so, for good reason. I've also been down on the general manager for not getting the exact parts we need to make a real run at this thing, and for good reason. However, given the circumstances last night, the Cubs could have one-fifth the talent they currently have, and they still should have won that game.

When the season comes to an end, and whether you want to blame Dusty, Hendry, Bartman, or whomever, I want you to vividly remember what happened on August 3rd, and realize that this team, as comprised, doesn't deserve to win anything, and the fault squarely sits on the shoulders of the guys who play the game. Dusty shouldn't have to tell a big-league pitcher to cover first base. Dusty shouldn't have to tell a big-league catcher how to start a rundown. Dusty shouldn't have to tell big league hitters where the strike zone is, or the best way to make contact.

Dusty shouldn't have to tell big-league players how to move runners along, how to put them in scoring position, how to drive them in. This is something that you'd think they've been able to do at every level, or else they'd wouldn't be here.

With this talent, we should be much closer to the Cards. With this level of judgment displayed daily, we should be much closer to the cellar.

---

8/02/2005 11:42:00 AM by Rob

Big Guy comes out firing



Oh, man, what a great speech!

What a crowd...Forklift was right, the place was overrun by fanboys, like myself. They said there was 28,000 in attendance at the ceremony. It honestly didn't seem like there was half that many, but it was over 80% Cub fans. I actually felt a little sorry for Wade Boggs. I knew he wasn't anywhere near as beloved by Yankee or BoSox fans as Ryno is, but when the head of the HOF introduced him as "...like Rod Carew, just a little bit better", she was right. He was definitely second-hand news on Sunday.

We turned out en masse, I think, more than anything, to help Ryno. Turns out he didn't need our help much at all, just smacking SamMe Sosa (and Raffy Palmiero, who knew?) around with body shots. Revenge is best served cold, they say, and whether he knew it or not, Ryne Sandberg is enjoying the ultimate revenge today, sitting high on the throne while the man who fucked his wife (allegedly, yes, yes) sweats his future out for the next ten days, and for the next five years.

Of course, anyone who took the 3-1 odds on me forgetting my motherfucking camera won, again. There wasn't a whole lot to see. There was a sweet little display case at the very front of the Hall, with game used bat, glove, spikes, shirt, I forget from what error-less streaks or what milestone homers he hit.

The Hall, itself, and maybe it was because it was so crowded, but it didn't do much for me. You can actually touch the plaques, and everything was slickly displayed. I think in an attempt to make it more touchy-feeley, they took a lot of the mystique away. It really wasn't that big, either, too many things were crammed together, but once again, on a normal day, that might have been just peachy. I caught my brother flogging his log in front of the Stan Musial locker.

The ceremony kind of sucked, only because there was a 100 foot square area front and center of the stage that was fenced off for seats. Even if you got there at 7 in the morning, the best you were going to do is see Ryno on the Jumbotron. The promises of free water turned out to be swilling out of a tanker truck, which I personally did not partake of. I didn't see Bill Murray, or really any celebrities except Bud Light, who I literally bumped into (I could have killed him with my bare hands) and Fergie Jenkins, from which I paid $30 for the privilege of his autograph, which I would easily pay again. Good guy.

Other sights seen:

- two dudes had the stones to go into a Main street memorabilia store and asked if they had any pink Cub caps.
- Mike D. would have been beside himself with the toady looking dude who kept standing up in front of me. I saw him later in his car going home, alone. Turns out he's a pastor in something called the Living Water Church. He didn't flinch, though, when I called him a wanker.
- Who in their right mind drove Ronnie Woo to Cooperstown, and why in God's name did they buy him a Seat there? I thought you had to pay upwards of $500 for the privilege in sitting in one of the folding chairs?
- Syracuse, NY, has some outstanding Italian restaurants. Big Ups to Delmonico's and Dominick's.

---