The Umpire

2006-08-01T20:59:00.000-05:00

Hey! I'm Back... And Bashing the GOP

I heard this piece on a local radio station today during drive time. I thought that it merited a place on this blog not so much because I agree with everything it says (although I do agree with a vast majority of it), but mostly because... Damn. It's been awhile since I have posted.

Plus I'm interested to read your views on this. The person who authored it was once a card carrying outspoken member of the Republican party but in lieu of the current administration's constant failures has "filed for divorce" from the GOP. The following are his 35 reasons for doing so.

1. That the primary role of government from a Judeo-Christian viewpoint is the restraining of evil for the purposes of protecting the citizenry. President George W. Bush has not governed according to this principle.

2. President George W. Bush refuses to enforce immigration laws that are designed to protect our national sovereignty despite the fact we are at a state of war.

3. President George W. Bush refuses to punish American companies that are wantonly violating our immigration laws for the purposes of circumventing the American tax and labor infrastructure, thus shifting the cost burden for these illegal aliens to American taxpayers.

4. Under President George W. Bush's watch, these illegal aliens are to either be given amnesty as a reward for breaking the law, or allowed to exist as nothing more than glorified indentured servants for the purposes of cheap labor. One option demeans the rule of law; the other demeans them to second-class, or servant-class, status.

5. Despite election campaign promises to the contrary, the size and scope of the federal government and pork barrel spending has increased exponentially under President George W. Bush and the current Republican Congress.

6. President George W. Bush launched the first pre-emptive war in American history on the basis of faulty intelligence. And if the intelligence was not faulty than the current Commander-in-Chief has arguably created a more dangerous environment via Operation Iraqi Freedom by allowing those weapons of mass destruction to fall into the far more notorious hands of enemy nations like Iran and Syria.

7. To this day there has never been a satisfactory explanation for what happened to those weapons of mass destruction that was the original basis for launching Operation Iraqi Freedom, contrary to the current stated goals of the war being about bringing democracy to the Middle East.

8. Likely out of fear of a media backlash, the administration of President George W. Bush did not use the full brutal effectiveness of the United States Military during the prosecution phase of Operation Iraqi Freedom. This created an unstable environment on the ground in Iraq that still exists three years later, because pockets of resistance derived from the remnant of the enemy as well as an infusion of other Islamic terrorists have established a foot-hold in Iraq. This has led to unnecessary and tragic violence for both our military and the Iraqi people.

9. The administration of President George W. Bush continues to underestimate the level of resistance in Iraq, and throughout the Arab world for that matter, because President George W. Bush doesn't understand the nature of the enemy in this war. He refuses to recognize Islam as being incompatible with a Judeo-Christian worldview, the same worldview that originally established our form of government. He believes that the establishment of secular democracies will bring about lasting peace in the Middle East. This, in essence, is the reverse domino theory, the same faulty premise that failed during the Cold War.

10. As history has shown time and time again, peace is only ultimately achieved through victory. The Muslim world will not police itself through transparent, secular, and democratically-elected governments because democratically-elected, transparent, and secular governments run contrary to the Koranic worldview. The only form of government allowed under a Koranic worldview is theocracy, which explains why there has never been a transparent, secular, and democratically-elected government in the history of the Muslim world.

11. Therefore, President George W. Bush's ultimate end-game for victory in the war on Islamic terrorism is an unattainable, unrealistic, and presumptively dangerous.

12. Under pressure from the administration of President George W. Bush, the nation of Israel – our only true ally in the Middle East – has agreed to fork over land for peace. Appeasement of the enemy never works, and the current conflict in Lebanon indicates it hasn't work for Israel this time around, either.

13. Under the watch of President George W. Bush, the nation of Palestine has been established for the first time. There previously has been no such thing as the Palestinian people. There previously has been no such tangible thing known as a Palestinian state. It had previously existed only in the mind of an anti-Semitic Roman general named Hadrian or in the fertile imaginations of Islamic crusaders down through the ages. That is until now.

14. By encouraging the nation of Israel to agree to a Palestinian state, President George W. Bush has put them in greater harm by allowing the Islamic terrorist organization known as Hamas to become the duly elected government of the people, allowing Hamas a base of operations on Israel's doorstep.

15. President George W. Bush and his wife have each publicly praised the government of Egypt as being a democratic friend to America, despite the fact the government there is corrupt, not transparent, and its people celebrated in the streets on 9/11.

16. President George W. Bush and his administration repeatedly touts Saudi Arabia as our friend, despite the fact the majority of 9/11 hijackers hailed from that country, which also happens to be the worldwide headquarters of Wahibist Islamic teaching.

17. President George W. Bush considers Russian President Vladmir Putin to be a great friend, despite the fact that Putin's government violated U.N. restrictions on doing business with Iraq prior to Operation Iraqi Freedom and is currently aiding and abetting Iran's dangerous nuclear weapons program.

18. The debt load of our government and the current War on Islamic terrorism is partially being underwritten by China, the only nation on Earth with the capacity to challenge American economic and military superiority. And a nation that has openly admitted it plans to do so.

19. That the presidency of George W. Bush had the right response originally to 9/11, and was heroic in those early days, weeks, and months after we were attacked. However, since the lack of certifiable evidence of WMDs in Iraq the administration of President George W. Bush has lost its nerve, has been on the defensive, has lost standing both domestically and globally, and has allowed the world to become a far more dangerous place as a result of its own ineptitude and lack of moral clarity.

20. That President George W. Bush has repeatedly punted when faced with an opportunity to confront what ails us as a nation, and there are several examples of this.

21. He pandered to race-baiters both during Hurricane Katrina and at a recent speech to the NAACP, missing real opportunities to re-define social justice and heal the racial rift in America.

22. His chief advisor, Karl Rove, pandered to race-baiters during a recent speech to a group known as La Raza, as opposed to upholding the rule of law.

23. He has welcomed race-baiters and proven liars and charlatans like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton to the White House.

24. Other than good legislation passed early on in his presidency to stop partial-birth or late-term abortions, he has done little or nothing to stop the bloodshed of infanticide in America.

25. Federal government subsidies for Planned Parenthood, the largest baby-killer in the world, have actually increased during the administration of President George W. Bush.

26. He bypassed an opportunity to make a statement in the 2004 Pennsylvania primary and instead supported incumbent Senator Arlen Specter, a poster-child for everything wrong with the modern Republican Party.

27. The administration of President George W. Bush has advocated the protection of marriage as a God-given institution between one man and one woman as the foundation of a civilized culture only for sheer political gain. He has not really done anything to help Americans take this threat to our way of life seriously, nor has he really done anything in deed to back up his words on the subject.

28. The administration of President George W. Bush joined its predecessor in lifting the embargo on HIV-infected people visiting America not for the purposes of getting medical treatment, but so they could attend the Gay Games in Chicago this summer.

29. President George W. Bush gave up his promise of school vouchers to increase education competition being included in his "No Child Left Behind" legislation as a way of appeasing political opposition. There can be no real results or reform in public education without competition, and the administration of President George W. Bush has done little or nothing to encourage it. Thus, the scam of federal and state-funded government education goes on undaunted, and a generation of youngsters is suffering from secular-liberal indoctrination and American taxpayers are being pilfered as a result.

30. For whatever reason – whether it is a lack of fervor, consistency, or effort – President George W. Bush has done little to attempt to inspire a culture that continues to sink into the abyss of materialism, relativism, and paganism.

31. President George W. Bush hasn't articulated a coherent energy policy, the number one problem facing the American economy in the long-run. This has led to haphazard and unhealthy alliances with so-called "moderate Arab nations" that either fund Islamic terrorism or turn a blind eye to it to provide us oil, a continual sell-out to radical environmentalists, and a lack of vision needed to spark a real attempt for alternative fuel sources from America's leading industrial and technological sectors.

32. President George W. Bush has done little or nothing to preserve and defend our nation's Judeo-Christian heritage, neither in word nor deed.

33. In fact, under the watch of President George W. Bush, secular humanism has repeatedly made successful inroads at establishing revisionist history as conventional wisdom or, even worse yet, the law of the land. This has led to a further loss of the American identity and American heritage while President George W. Bush is in the White House.

34. President George W. Bush has failed time and again to vie for the hearts and minds of the American people.

35. The two terms of President George W. Bush will go down as one of the most inconsistent and unaccomplished presidencies in American history.

2006-06-17T22:10:00.000-05:00

FYI

The following is a three part series called Twisted and True. Though it was written in three parts, I have re-aligned it so that it reads like one big story, to eliminate all the backtracking.

All three parts are now published. If you have read parts one or two, just scroll down until you get to a chapter that you haven't read yet.

Or, if you would rather, just pitch that idea all together and find something else to do. It really doesn't matter to me.

2006-06-12T12:39:00.000-05:00

Twisted and True

Shep and I had planned for several months to take a trip to Chicago this past Memorial Day Weekend, and like most of the trips that we have taken in the past, this one turned out to be full of spontaneous surprise and undisciplined indulgence. The original plan was to simply book a room in Chicago, see some good live music, catch a Cubs game and possibly stop and meet the Uncouth Sloth for some beer and chicken on our exhausted ride home.

I should have known something was going to go awry.

I didn't get up to Shep's house in Northern Iowa until 7:00 Friday night. We were to be at a Chicago bar called The Empty Bottle later in the evening for a Memorial Day Weekend punk rock bash that was called Blackout Chicago.

We weren't too concerned about the Friday night shows, as we were running quite a few hours behind schedule. We figured that at least we could catch the Oblivians with Mr. Quintron on Saturday night, after a drunk afternoon at Wrigley Field with the Cubs.

What we didn't count on was not making it to Chicago at all.

I should have known better. Afterall, I was with Shep... The Iowan equivalent of what Ralph Steadman was to Hunter S. Thompson.

Actually, in many cases in my travels with Shep, it's more equal than that... As if there were two Hunter Thompsons and no Ralph Steadmans. Neither one of us is really any good at art, but are both capable of turning on the gonzo switch when the going gets weird.

We don't concern ourselves much with safety and consenquences, which was a Steadman trait... And like the Good Doctor, we tend to get easily sidetracked from the planned objective.

In the case of this last trip it didn't take us long.

Since we were running late, I thought that I'd call the hotel that we were to be staying at in Chicago and give them a cordial heads up to our late arrival. It turns out the owner got cold feet when we weren't there earlier, and rented out the room that we had reserved. There was some animated conversation with the hotel owner, as my room was supposedly guaranteed according to the hotel- finding website on which I had booked the reservation a few months earlier.

I was starting to get a little pissed off.

It was already getting late... About 8:00. I had already spent the majority of the day driving, first from my job which I worked until mid afternoon, and then on the drive from my house to Shep's which was a good two and a half hour trip in itself.

My intention of calling the hotel in Chicago was to bring some serenity to my day, which was plagued with unpredictable shenanigans, chock full of examples from the coveted Laws of Murphy.

As is often the case, Murphy wasn't done with me yet. Not having an affordable hotel can be a very bad thing in Chicago. I've spent the weekend on those cruel streets before... And trust me, I'm getting a little too old for that. Not having that guaranteed room took the air out of my tires so to speak, and I became a little bit frazzled.

"Look, Shep, " I said. "Let's get a room in Iowa City and stay there. We'll hit it hard tonight, and sort everything out tomorrow. Maybe we can get an early start and make that noon game at Wrigley, find an affordable hotel and still make it to the show tomorrow (Saturday) night."

"Sounds good to me."

Shep has never been one to argue. Bless his heart. Besides, he had already let me in on the happenings of his day... Which rivaled mine for inconsistency and inefficiency.

Iowa City was a good bet.

There was sure to be some live music, and having once lived there several years ago, I was familiar with the bar scene. We pulled into a hotel parking lot about a quarter till ten and booked a room. Immediately we called a cab, and got a ride downtown, where we began to drink heavily. Chicago cash goes a long way in Iowa City, so we weren't holding back. Shots were pounded as we made our way around the bar circuit, as were gallons of beer. We drank huge martinis at the Piano Bar, and pounded a few more shots while flooding the hapless pianist with impossible requests.

"Do you know Itchy-koo Park?" I'd shout.

"Know what?", the puzzled musician would ask.

"Never mind that," Dave intervened. "Play something by Neil Young!"

"I LOVE Neil Young!" The piano player said, looking at us with huge eyeballs, as if he and we were the only three people in the world who had ever heard of the god father of grunge.

"Well let's hear it then!"

The piano player then played a Neil Young song (I don't remember the title) totally butchering the vocals.

Yep that's what I said. As impossible as it sounds, he did butcher the vocals of a Neil Young song. But we had a good bartender, so we stuck around.

As the pianist played people would walk up to the piano and write out a song request... And stuff a buck or two into the fish bowl that sat atop the front of the piano... Which of course is what one is supposed to do. Not Shep and I. As soon as one song ended, we were shouting out another one with machine gun rapid fire intensity. All from the comfort of our barstools.

"Play Lovely Rita!... Play some Eddie Cochran!... Play Great Balls of Fire!... Anything by Elvis!"

Eventually it became time to go so we each stuffed a ten spot in the fish bowl and walked out into the Iowa City night. The Yacht Club was just around the corner, and we knew that there was a band playing.

We had met the band earlier in the evening as they loaded in their equipment, and approached them as writers from a rock and roll fanzine. They didn't seem to be all that impressed with us, maybe they knew that we were lying, but we shook their hands with a wink and told them that we'd be back later to catch their set. If we liked it, we said, then we might feature them in an article, or better yet make arrangements for an interview.

I don't even remember what the name of the band was... Maybe Shep does... But once inside the Yacht Club we walked right up to the stage and made our appearance known. They were in the middle of a song, so after our initial greeting we grabbed a beer and took up residence next to a curtain that was "back stage." It was actually to the side of the stage, and there was plenty of room there for us to stand.

I stuck my face behind the curtain and caught what must have been the opening band sucking on a big tightly rolled hooter. They were passing it back and fort, oblivious to the fact that I was standing there for a few seconds watching them.

"Hey!" I said, making my way behind the curtain. "Can I hit that?"

Puzzled and obviously very high, the dude holding the joint passed it to me. I took a long drag off of it and passed it to Shep who had followed me behind the curtain. We passed it back and forth for awhile as the band slowly began to dissipate from behind the curtain. There wasn't a lot of room back there, with a 5-piece band and all of their equipment... And our imposing on their little party. There was a couch however, and as the band slowly left one by one, we soon had a seat on the sofa with the one remaning musician. We gave him the spiel about us being writers for a rock and roll fanzine, and that we were here to catch the (current playing) bands act and that we were sorry to have missed his set, but if he wanted he could give us a "sample" CD and we'd give it a listen to and whether or not if we liked it we might schedule an interview or feature his band in an article.

"What's the name of your magazine?" the guy asked.

We told him and he said "Excuse me" and left us alone on the couch behind the curtain.

Shep still had the joint in his hand, so we sat there finishing it off laughing at ourselves and this silly situation that we had just found ourself in. Somehow... Almost magically... We had imposed our presence at a back stage college rock show totally disrespecting all boundaries and had even nudged a band out of their ganja and off of their couch. We could see the live band on the stage from where we were sitting, and we took a lot of pride in the fact that we had gotten the very best seat in the house, without even trying.

It seemed once and for all that Murphy's Law was finally done with us... That is until I woke up Saturday morning.

To be continued...

2006-06-12T12:34:00.000-05:00

Twisted and True part 2

Forget about the guy in the Piano Bar.

Forget the fact that we solicited two bands with false credentials.

Forget the fact the we invaded one of these band's private space, and essentially took it over.

Never mind the fact that we managed to get a cab in a busy college town at two thirty in the morning.

Never mind the fact that we made it back to our room, and despite our session of power drinking, still managed to get out of bed after just a few hours of sleep... Without any real hangover effects.

We were tired... But who wouldn't be?

After getting back to the hotel at 2:30 in the morning we grabbed a bite to eat at Perkins before heading into our room. 8:00 came pretty fast, but like real professionals we managed to get out of bed as the alarm went off.

But none of that mattered anymore. Upon waking up I made an inventory of all that was sacred to me, and discovered that I didn't have my debit card. Murphy's Law had struck again. Now I was completely broke as I wasn't carrying any cash.

Must have been the karma, but it's actually pretty typical. Routine isn't a word that commonly describes the events when Shep and I get together.

I went into brainstorming mode.

I called the Perkins restaurant, which didn't have my card. I called and woke up the cabbie at his house.

"Hey did you find my bank card in your cab last night?" I asked after he answered the phone on the 12th ring.

"Whaaat? No, there is no bank card in my cab..."

"Are you sure about that?" In my estimation, this dude was probably into his second or third hour of sleep.

I knew I paid him with a credit card... And left him a helluva tip too. In fact, that's why he gave us his home number... In case we might need his services again. I'm guessing that good tippers might be hard to come by in a college town, especially now that school is out of session.

He seemed confused and very tired. I pressed him a little harder.

"You're sure I didn't leave my card with you... Cause that's all I got. If you got it, please do the right thing and give it back to me!"

I did have another credit card, but I didn't think I had used it. It was reserved for emergency use only. I didn't have the receipt, so I couldn't be sure which card I had used to pay the fare.

"Look man, I do not have your card!... You callin' me a thief?" was his reply.

"Well I know I paid with a credit card, because I wrote you a helluva tip... Was it green or brown?"

"Whaaat?... What, the card?... I don't remember!" He was really tired. I could tell that he was getting angry and very anxious to end this call.

"Alright, dude. Sorry to bother you at home."

I hung up.

I was satisfied that he didn't have my card. I did have a faint memory of giving my debit card to the bartender at the Yacht Club when I bought that first round of drinks. It was almost closing time when we got there, and I didn't remember picking it up on my way out.

Yeah. It had to be at the Yacht Club.

I fumbled through the phone book and got the number. I dialed it, but it just rang forever. After ringing about 50 times I was satisfied that there was nobody there, and hung up the phone.

"Well Shep," I said. "What do you want to do? I don't really want to leave Iowa City without my money... And the Yacht Club doesn't even open until 4:00." (At that point I was still only about 50% sure that my card was there. I wasn't really eager to leave my card behind in Iowa City.)

"No biggie," said Shep. "Let's just kick it downtown until 4:00."

"Alright, then... No Wrigley Field for us." I wasn't even really upset about missing the game at this point. I just wanted my card back.

"Aw, we wouldn't make it there on time anyway... We'll catch it on a big screen downtown somewhere." Hanging with Shep is very easy. Nothing seems to rattle his cage. "Alright, bro, I said, "sounds like a plan."

We checked out of the hotel and drove downtown. It was almost 10:00, and we immediately went to the Yacht Club to satisfy my concern that somebody might be there. Of course there wasn't, so we stepped into Mickey's Irish Pub for a moment.

I used to work at Mickey's 15 years ago... And was well aware that Lou, my boss at the time still did. From visiting with a waitress the night before, I knew that Lou was working this morning and wanted to stop in and say hi.

Lou rocked. Best boss ever, hands down.

Berke Breathed once lived in Iowa City and it's been said that he based all of the characters in his Bloom County comic strip off of real residents of the town.

I knew Cutter John... For real... And had a pretty good hunch that I knew Michael Binkley too. It was heavily rumored that Lou was the basis for Bill the Cat.

I had no reason whatsoever to doubt that notion.

We stopped at Mickey's and said hi to Lou, who seemed happy to see me. We relived some old times with him, and then said our goodbyes.

Lou still had that good vibe thing going for him. I was happy to hear that he was now married and had some kids. The world needs more Lous in it, I thought.

Shep and I had a whole afternoon to kill. We ended up at Buffalo Wild Wings in the mall for breakfast... A plate of 25 buffalo wings and a couple of pints of beer.

Noon was inching closer and closer and eventually the Cubs game would come on. We sat and watched it and continued to drink beer after beer after beer... Almost suddenly it seemed that the game was over. The Cubs lost, and I was thinking that I was glad that I missed it in person.

It was 3:00 and was amazed at how fast the day was moving.

I didn't have any money on me to speak of, so Shep picked up the tab at Wild Wings.

We walked out into the pedestrian mall in Iowa City and felt the sun as it baked our half crocked faces. Dave knew a lady from a previous trip he had taken to Iowa City who ran a record store. She used to be famous in some circles, in the New York City underground garage music scene.

As the name Wild Girl she used to DJ at some heady places in Gotham. She personally knew gods of the genre, like Joey Ramone and Handsome Dick Manitoba. Somehow through cheap circumstance and the curse of time she and her husband ended up in Iowa City, where she now runs her little shop.

Shep and I were hammered. By the time wew got to her shop we were laughing hard at ourselves and the ridicularity of the whole weekend so far. She immediately recognized Shep and they broke off into conversation. I browsed around in her store, looking at old vinyl albums and cassettes, and the little novelty signs and figures that made up the rest of her merchandise. She kept a pretty killer t-shirt rack and also sold wrestling figurines and the like. It was a very cool store.

After a bit of conversation she announced that she needed some caffeine and wondered if we would mind keeping an eye on her shop. We looked at eachother and shrugged. Of course we didn't mind. She was only to be gone for a few moments she said, and asked us if we wanted anything.

I didn't. Shep ordered iced coffee.

She left and Shep and I were left to mind her store. We had fun playing with the little wrestling figures and reading her signs. Then I discovered a row of vintage wrestling masks on a high shelf and put one on. Shep, following my lead put one on too. Suddenly we were transformed into the Mexican wrestling icon, El Santo.

Two Santos in the same store. Side by side. A hell of a force to reckon with, you can be sure. We were eager for some customers to walk in, and we were still very drunk.

There was nobody in the store, so I tried to put Shep in a souflex. He was too quick however and countered my attack with a Boston Crab. It hurt, but I struggled and eventually broke free. Not enjoying the pain, I rushed Shep for a quick takedown. The idea was that I'd get him down on the ground, work a quick reversal on him, and get him in position for the Piledriver. I wasn't really going to finish him off, but wanted to set a precedent as a means to let him know that I was the faster wrestler.

Afterall, we were wearing El Santo masks.

I was wrong again. He blocked my reversal and held me down on the hardwood floor wrapping me up tight in a curled ball. Then we got customers.

As the couple walked in, I was wrapped up tighter than an El Rey burrito unable to move. With his free hand Shep pounded his palm on the wooden floor to the count of three. He stood up with his hands raised high in the air celebrating his victory.

The couple looked around as if to see who was running the shop.

"Can I help you guys?" I asked, getting to my feet.

They blew me off. After browsing for a few moments they left without buying anything. I'm not sure if they even spoke at all. I went and sat behind the counter still wearing the mask.

Wild Girl soon arrived, and laughed at us in our wrestling masks.

"El Santo is one of my all time favorite heroes, she said. That's why I sell his mask here and not just anybody's."

"Yeah, we like it too man," said Shep.

"It like makes us want to wrestle and shit, " I chimed. "These masks are freakin' killer."

"Would you give us a deal on two?" asked Shep.

"Of course I will, guys..."

So the transaction was made. Dave paid her for two masks which we had not yet taken off of our heads. I could tell that there was an invisible challenge in the air... That Shep was going to leave his mask on as long as I did. Of course, I wasn't going to take mine off until he did...

"Hey," I asked Wild Girl. "Do you have a magic marker... and some cardboard or paper or something?"

"Yeah... What for?" she asked.

"I wanna make a sign."

She got me a marker and some paper, and I began to write: Will Wrestle for Food. Iowa City is a pretty freewheeling town. Street musicians and peddlers are rampant; it's not uncommon to be approached by some scrounge on the street looking for a free hand out. Frankly, I have no time for these people, so I decided to make a mockery of the whole thing.

So suddenly Shep and I are standing in the pedestrian mall wearing wrestling masks holding up a sign that said, Will Wrestle for Food. We weren't given much attention. We didn't even generate a laugh... I think people thought we were trying to be legitimate.

Man. This town has seen some weird fucking people, I thought.

It was about time to check the Yacht Club for my debit card, so we started to walk that way. Yes, we still had the masks on...

To be continued...

2006-06-12T12:30:00.000-05:00

Twisted and True part 3

It was hot. The combination of the sun beating down on us and the Iowa summer humidity made wearing the mask unbearable. I took mine off just before approaching the Yacht Club, and Dave did the same thing.

Yeah, he outlasted me with the mask. Big whoopee fucking deal. I was hot. Besides nobody was laughing at us anyway, because apparently it takes more than a couple of fellas in wrestling masks to make "freak status" in downtown Iowa City.

Had we been in my hometown, or say one of the historic Iowa river towns, we might have generated some buzz... Probably got our asses kicked... But not in Iowa City.

I entered the Yacht Club and went downstairs. It wasn't open yet, but a couple of guys were cleaning the place up. It was empty and uncrowded.... Quite a transition from the night before.

"Did I leave my debit card here?" I asked the guy cleaning behind the bar.

"Uh, yeah... I think you did." He handed a card to me without even asking for identification or what my name was. It didn't matter, because it was my card.

What a relief. It felt good to have it back in my possession.

"Let's get outta here Shep."

We were too hammered to drive anywhere safely, so we decided to spend another night in Iowa City. The plan was to get a room, and a couple of hours of sleep. Buffalo Wild Wings was showing the UFC fight on the big screen at 9:00, and we decided that after a bit of a nap that we would go there.

The combination of a day's worth of drinking and the hot Iowa sun made a nap a very appealing... We pulled into the first hotel that we passed, an old dump called The Big Ten Inn. The lobby smelled like a slaughter house, but our room was clean and it had two beds. It wasn't but a few minutes and we were both sleeping.

I woke up and looked at the clock. It was 8:00. Shep was still sleeping on his bed in a heavy snore.

Cool, I thought. I felt rested. VERY rested.

I opened up the curtains and immediately felt that something wasn't right.

The window faced west, but yet there was no sun in my face.

What the fuck... I wondered.

I turned on the television and was greeted with a church service. Then it hit me.

"Wake up Shep!" I shouted loudly. " I think it's Sunday morning!"

Sure enough, it was Sunday morning. We had slept throughout the rest of Saturday, losing about 15 hours in the process.

Shep got himself out of bed.

The room looked hardly used... Except for the beds.

Our suitcases were nowhere to be seen, as they were still in the car. Except for the pile of clothes at the floor of each of our beds, nothing else seemed out of place. The remote was still on the table next to the television, and all of the towels were still folded hanging neatly on the towel rack. The little basket next to the sink still contained a miniature bar of soap which was still wrapped up in it's little wax paper wrapper, along side a pair of shampoo bottles. There wasn't so much as a drop of water in the sink.

"Wow. We must have been tired, huh?" I laughed. I still couldn't believe that we had slept for 15 hours.

Shep took a shower, and I put on my wrestling mask, which I found stuffed into the back pocket of my shorts. When he came out and saw me he instantly began to chuckle, and I was glad that wrestling masks were indeed funny... Even to the groggy and sober.

Fuck Iowa City, I thought. A plaid suit and an ape mask wouldn't generate a smile here.

We got ourselves ready for the day, and walked back into the hotel lobby which still smelled like a slaughter house. I paid the bill and we went outside and got into the car.

"This place smells funny, Shep." I said.

"Yep. It sure does."

We got in the car and Shep started driving. Without saying a word, he got on the interstate and drove out of town.

Words weren't necessary. It was obvious that we had shot our wad in Iowa City.

We had already spent more time there that we had originally planned, 15 hours of which seemingly vanished from our lives, as if we were abducted by aliens like those campers from the Alagash Incident.

It's funny. There is a sign on Interstate 80 about 10 miles east of Newton. It's on of those green interstate signs that let's one know how many miles there is to the next town. Usually, of course these signs list the next closest town, and then a town that may be further away but a bit bigger or have historical significance or something. Sometimes they go as far to display the mileage to a far off distance city such as Chicago.

This particular one just east of Newton says:

Grinnell 6
Iowa City 66

I've always called that stretch of the interstate the devil's highway, but it actually goes deeper than that. Grinnell and Iowa City are by far the two most liberal cities in Iowa, blowing away the competetion, with virtually not a single town in third place. In other words, these two towns are in a class all by themselves - the Dennis Kuciniches if you will, of towns in Iowa.

We're all fucked, I thought, if the aliens choose Iowa City as a location for abducting citizens. These communists will break like a guilty child.

However, I thought, Iowa City would be well represented if it happened to be Shep and I who were abducted. Especially if we were still wearing our wrestling masks...

"Where do you want to go?" Asked Shep. We were well down the interstate by now heading east towards Davenport.

"Ever been to Spook Cave?" I asked.

I was looking at an Iowa map, and Spook Cave jumped out at me as a possible destination.

"Yeah, I've been there", said Shep. "Years ago..."

We'd all been there. Every person who grew up in Iowa has been there. It was one of those summer vacation spots that every Iowan has visited at least once... Probably on a summer vacation as a kid.

It's a natural cave that was discovered a zillion years ago by locals who investigated weird sounds that were coming from below the Earth's surface. (Hence the name, Spook Cave.) A couple of dynamite blasts later, a wonderful underground natural water spring was discovered that was encompassed by a very unique underground cave. It was explored and refurbished, and is now one of the vacation hot spots here in Iowa. It is only accessible by boat, as it still feeds itself from the underground spring. Guided tours are taken all summer long, with the guides being high school kids from the local schools. It's pretty cool, especially for Iowa, and as I was about to find out, not much about Spook Cave has changed since when I visited it as a kid.

We headed north on an old Iowa highway now known as the Avenue of the Saints. It is part Highway 35 and part Interstate 380 and connects St Louis with St Paul, earning it it's name.
It's a beautiful highway abundant with Norwegian architecture and festive little towns. Around noon we pulled into a place called the Stadium for some lunch. We were in Guttengerg, a town that I had visited once years ago. The town probably didn't remember me - that I could be sure of. However, I remember it as it was there that I experienced one of my all time great hangovers.

It was the final leg of RAGBRAI in 1987, a commercially sponsored bike ride that takes place every year in Iowa. Thousands of people gather to ride it each year, and it has gained quite a reputation as one of the all time great bike rides in this nation.

In 1987 I took my last ride on Ragbrai. It was a week of debauchery that I won't soon forget. It started off on the Missouri River in Onawa, Iowa, where I befriended a motorcycle gang. While everybody else in my group was at the bars and the Ragbrai opening ceremony, I was tucked away at some little hide-away with these heathens, drinking their whiskey and taking all the speed that these guys would give me. I had some valiums that a friend had given me for the journey, and was soon distributing them amongst my new friends... Who payed me back with more speed.

From that night on it was full throttle, and I hit each town like it was New Year's Eve.

In Storm Lake I rode my bicycle into a roadside pie stand that some ladies from a local church had set up. I was hammered on Tortilla Tequila... The worse tequila ever... and didn't stop in time before plowing into their lovely little table. Pies went flying everywhere, as did the ladies, and I ended up head first in lilac bush. I excused myself as politely as I could, and got back on my bike and wobbled down the road.

It was either in Osage or Forest City where I challenged (and beat) a Native American to an "Indian wrestling match," on the town square, and was later assisted by a state trooper who helped me get back on my bicycle and even gave me a friendly push down the road. I thought for sure that I was going to jail when he approached me, as I was way too drunk to be walking, let alone riding a bicycle.

My neighbors in the next night's campground probably wished that I had been arrested, because I spent the entire night with my friend Jeff inside a giant cardboard box singing made up blues songs. It was thunderstorming outside and though people were tired and pissed, only a few ventured out of their comfort zone to berate us, to no avail.

We literally sang our blues song until the morning light.

Here comes an old lady... (Da na na na) Who's gonna kick our ass... (Da na na na) She looks really pissed... (Da na na na) she's coming real fast... (Da na na na) She's beating on our box... (Da na na na ) Telling us to shut up... ( Da na na na ) She's really angry now... (Da na na na) She's kicking our box... (Da na na na)

... And so it went. All night long.

By the time I reached Guttenberg on that trip my body had had enough. The Karma gods (Or was it that awful tequila?) socked it to me the night before sending me on a puker that ruined my buddy's tent. I ended up forfeiting my bicycle for the more comfortable back seat of a stranger's car for that final leg of the trip, and forced that couple to deal with my uncontrollable sickness all day long. They had to pull over every 30 miles or so, to let me gag up another pint of bile onto the roadside. I was in bad shape.

I had a week's worth of hangover on that final day on Ragbrai in Guttenberg. It wasn't a town that brought back fond memories. In fact I didn't have any memories of Guttenberg at all, as I spent most of my time there asleep.

Shep pulled his car into the Stadium parking lot and we went inside for a little lunch. We were immediately greeted with bad service from the bartender.

In fact we were completely ignored for the better part of ten minutes.

"Hey Slick, Can we get some menus?" Asked Shep.

"And some beers?" I added.

The bartender was an asshole. He acted like we were putting him in a bind, and with a huff and a smirk, he threw us a couple of menus.

"Whatdya drinkin'?" he asked, still with a facefull of bemusement.

We ordered a couple bottles of Old Style - which we finally got after about a three minute wait. Of course the bartender had to finish wiping down the spot on the bar that he was working on when we made our order. Then he had to flirt a bit with the young waitress, who obviously wanted nothing to do with his creepy advances.

"Busy lunch today?" I asked the grumpy fucker. We were two of probably 14 people still left in the place.

"Yeah." He answered, rolling his eyes.

He and the waitress were discussing who was responsible for cleaning the bathrooms that afternoon. It eventually came down to him agreeing to do it, after the young waitress basically flat out told him that it wasn't in her job description.

I got the feeling that bathroom duty was his job, and carrying on that awkward conversation was his way of flirting with the poor girl.

"Hey, where is the bathroom?" I asked.

"Over there," said the girl, smiling. She pointed to the corner over by the entrance.

This gave her a break to get away from the creepy bartender, and she left the area from behind the bar to finish up with her tables.

I got up and walked to the bathroom. Apparently I had a pretty big piss brewing up inside me because I pissed for what seemed like 3 minutes. Not once did I hit inside the urinal or inside the toilet. However, I did manage to hit every other part of the bathroom with my spray, leaving that grumpy fucker behind the bar with a lot to deal with. Hoping that I was the last to use the bathroom before another customer, I even soaked the toilet paper that was in the dispenser.

Back at the bar, I motioned to the bartender.

"Man, I know why you don't want to deal with that bathroom. It's a freaking mess in there... What happened?"

"It's always like that after lunch," he mumbled, not realizing the extent of damage that I had just done.

We gave him our food order and I watched with nervous amusement as a man behind us got up to use the bathroom. After about a minute in the john he was up at the bar complaining to our bartender.

"John, there's a water leak in there or something," he said pointing his thumb towards the bathroom. "...At least I hope it's water!"

"Alright", said John our grumpy bartender. He went into the back room and returned a few seconds later with a towel and something in a spray bottle.

"You're going to need a mop too," the man said. "There's water everywhere in there. Even on the mirror."

"Yeah, it looks like a water pipe burst or something." I added. "Surely it's not like that every day after lunch."

The bartender went to the bathroom to have a look. In a sluggish stride he came back to the bar to get his cleaning supplies.

"Keep an eye on the bar," he told somebody in the back room. "I'm gonna be awhile."

When we got our food, John still hadn't returned from the bathroom, except for just a brief moment when he retrieved some fresh toilet paper and some bleach. He only came out as we were finishing up our meal and were ready to pay.

"I got this one Shep." I said, remembering how my friend had basically carried me financially the day before in Iowa City. The bill came to $23.79.

"Here you go," I said to the bartender, handing him a twenty and four ones. "Keep the change."

A couple of hours later we were in McGregor Iowa, home of Spook Cave. We did the tour which, as I said earlier, hasn't changed much from when I took it as kid. We rode in a boat with 7 other people... All strangers... And they were a pretty fun group. They had all obviously taken the tour once or twice before too, as they pretty much pre-meditated each occurrence before it happened. Nobody minded though, and it was a pleasant way to end a very fucked up weekend.

Dave drove us the 2 hour trip back to his house in Waverly and back to my car. I said my goodbyes to Shep and his family, and started my own two hour trip back to my house. It was Sunday night during Memorial Weekend. I still had another day off in front of me, and looked forward to seeing my family again and visiting the cemeteries where my grandpa and uncles were buried.

As I drove I thought about Chicago, and the pattern of events that prohibited us from getting there this weekend. I thought about Rob, the Uncouth Sloth, whom I had previously arranged to meet in Ladd Illinois for chicken and beer. I wondered if he thought I was blowing him off... Which I kind of did... Or if he just chalked me up as another internet fool who can't be trusted to keep a date.

I should have known better, and probably should have warned him.

When Shep and I get together for these little trips, nothing seems to go according to a plan, so what business did I have arranging that meeting in the first place?

however, In my wildest dream, not once did It occur to me that we wouldn't make it to Chicago...

2006-05-24T21:52:00.000-05:00

Photo Caption Winner

Haws wins the book Clever Card Tricks for the Hopelessly Clumsy, by Bob Longe. His winning caption was one of only three... (Yeah, two were his) But it was the funniest of the three and therefore he wins.

The winning caption?

President George W. Bush addresses a gathering of concerned citizens on illegal immigration: "Some people say I live in a bubble, insulated from the real world. To them I ask, 'What bubble?'"

(Click here to see photo.)

The book will be in the mail this afternoon, Haws. Enjoy!

2006-05-24T21:06:00.000-05:00

Gasp! Another Post About Barrett

From Bat Girl, a blog from the Twin Cities, about the Twins. (Used with permission. Thanks BG!)

The Brawl at the Bitch: A Reenactment

It seems many of BG's readers missed the exciting AJ-inspired Bitch Sox/Cubs brawl on Saturday at US Bitchular Field. This breaks BG's heart and as a service to her readers, she provides for you a reenactment, with Legos.

With the bases loaded, Brian Anderson steps up to the plate.

A sac fly! AJ Pierzynski takes off from third! There's going to be a play at the plate!

Crash! AJ barrels into catcher Michael Barrett! His hat goes flying off!

Safe! Unbridled joy causes AJ to smack home plate.

But my hat! AJ goes for it and bumps into Barrett...

Who punches him in the face.

You bastard! Pods cries, tackling Barrett, Not AJ! He's sensitive!

While the ump restrains Barrett, the benches clear.

Brian Anderson takes a swing at John Mabry, but misses.

The ump pulls Mabry away from Anderson while the crowd shouts, "Rowand would have had that!"

From the dugout, AJ surveys the scene. Animals! You're all animals!

Twins fans are a lot like Cubs fans... We have way too much time on our hands! Check out all of Bat Girl's lego reenactments at her legovision archives site.

2006-05-23T19:27:00.000-05:00

We Might Suck, but at Least We Can Fight

When the White Sox come to Wrigley in late June I'm going to be the first one to wear a My Catcher can Beat Up Your Catcher T-shirt to the game..

Yeah.

2006-05-23T08:08:00.000-05:00

Wang Thang

If you've been with me for awhile you have probably read about my accounts of dining at one of Iowa's finer establishments, Wang's Chinese Diner. It's in Boone, in the part of town known as "Little China".

I thought about ol' Wang this morning after reading this tidbit, at Shep's Kulture Corner.

Shep is a great writer, and has a pretty interesting account of one of his Chinese dining experiences. Go check it out. It's a great read.

Tell him Gooseneck sent ya.

2006-05-22T07:42:00.000-05:00

"I Didn't Have the Ball Bitch!"

That's what AJ Pierzynski told reporters that Michael Barrett said just before landing an unsuspected blow to Pierzynski's face Saturday.

Ok.

It's been a long time since anything with the Cubs has made me smile, but Barrett's comment to Pierzynski, if it did indeed happen just before cleaning his clock did cause me to chuckle. That doesn't mean that I think that Barrett was in the right.

Barrett was wrong in punching Pierzinski... A play at the plate is just that, and Barrett needs to be man enough to play his position properly. A runner barrelling in from third doesn't necessarily know if the catcher is holding the ball or not and has no real way to ascertain that knowledge until the umpire makes the call. Barrett needed to man up in that situation, and instead of unleashing the fist of fury to AJ's grill, his time might have been better spent appealing the call to the umpire that Pierzynski caused interference.

While bench clearing brawls are definitely fun to watch from a fan's standpoint, it ultimately hurts the clubs that are involved. The Cubs have struggled mightily this past month and they can ill afford to lose Barrett who, unlike most of his teammates, has been playing rather good baseball as of late. From what I could gather, Barrett landed a sucker punch that resulted from his lack to control his emotions. The Cubs also lost utility player John Mabry for a while because he was injured during the melee.

Here is a great analogy from the Goat Riders site. It talks about this situation and the Cubs in general and how the wheels have fallen off. It questions Dusty Baker's ability to control his team, which I think is a valid point, and it refers to Andy MacPhail's inability to field a winner. It's a well written piece.

Bottom line is, something needs to happen SOON.

It's officially time for Dusty's head to roll followed perhaps, by a phone call to Jack McKeon to see if he can be lured out of retirement.

I don't know if anything else could save this season.

2006-05-20T08:34:00.000-05:00

The Umpire's 1st Annual Photo Contest

I am offering a prize to the person that leaves the funniest caption to the above photo. The prize is a book, Clever Card Tricks for the Hopelessly Clumsy, by Bob Longe. It's kinda like those For Dummies home instruction manuals that have become so popular lately. You know... For instance: Raising Wild Lions for Dummies.

The contest will run through Wednesday night, and I will personally pick the winner on Thursday morning and announce it here. I'll contact the winner and have him/her send me his/her mailing information, and then swift as a wink I'll get the book off in the mail. Hell, I might even throw in a couple of playing cards... say the 7 of Diamonds and the 9 of Clubs.

Anybody can have a photo caption contest... But only The Umpire offers real winnings!

2006-05-19T23:12:00.000-05:00

The Bunt that Ended a Season

Yeah... I'm like way over due for a post. So, without further ado...

Today's loss to the Sox was a travesty. The Cubs are in for a looong weekend.

You gotta figure that if Maddux can't find his groove against the Sox then there is certainly no hope for tomorrow with Rich Hill taking the mound. His 7.63 ERA dangles out there like an injured deer... Waiting to be attacked and eaten by a pack of wolves. One team from Chicago will show up tomorrow with an insatiable desire to win, but it wont to be the Cubs. Not only are they not playing well enough to win, but they are doing everything in their power to lose.

I'm talking about The Bunt. What, on God's green Earth, was that?

Yesterday's game had all the makings for an instant classic. The Cubs down by 2 in the ninth... A runner on first and third... 2 outs... The Wrigley Field crowd on it's feet... The Cubs got the momentum... Then the pitch... Neifi Perez lays down a bunt that fizzles back to the pitcher who gingerly tosses it to first base to end the game.

Will someone please tell me, WHAT THE FUCK was Neifi thinking?

"What he's thinking is that the third baseman was way back," Cubs manager Dusty Baker said. "If he gets that ball down anywhere but to the pitcher, he beats it out and we have Mabry up next... It's not a bad play, especially because the third baseman was way deep.

"If he gets that ball anywhere close to the line, he beats that out and we've got a run and we've got runners at first and second. It didn't work."

Surely Neifi wasn't instructed to lay down a bunt... But if he was that instructor needs to be let go IMMEDIATELY. Even if that person was the man with the toothpick in his mouth. Escort that idiot to the clubhouse door, give him a swift kick in the pants and tell him to get lost.

It was not a good play no matter how far back the third baseman was playing because:

A. He didn't hit towards the third baseman. He stabbed it back to the pitcher, thus creating a very easy out.

B. Allowing Neifi to swing away at least gave the Cubs a chance to win. A homerun, which ~~Neifi is~~ the Cubs are way over due for, could have been a pinnacle turning point for the entire season. How many times has a heroic late inning homerun sparked a player out of a slump? How many times has it ignited an entire team out of a slump? Taking a huge weight off of the shoulders of a struggling team, a dramatic walk off homerun has the ability to change the outlook for an entire season. Taking swings at the plate allows this possibility... Bunting with two on and two outs and the game on the line does not.

A strikeout would have provided a more dramatic finish.

It would have been disappointing... Sure, but it wouldn't leave us die hards shaking our heads wondering WHAT THE FUCK just happenend.

Speaking of dramatic finishes, this weekend was over before it started. Not only are the Cubs almost guaranteed to lose three to the White Sox, but the Cardinals are just as likely guaranteed to win three against their innertstate rivals, the Royals. That will put the Cubs 11.5 games out of first... and dangerously close to killing any hope for NL Chicago postseason baseball.

Things might be totally different... Had Neifi been swinging.

2006-05-10T09:46:00.000-05:00

The Umpire's Top Ten

Top ten things that were NOT said in the movie Brokeback Mountain:

10. "Hey Jack... I was just givin the ol' mare a pregnancy test and I got me this idea..."

9. "Up there on Brokeback Mountain... That's where I was reared."

8. "Some cowboy at the door, Jack... Calls himself the Duke... Says he wants to have some words with us."

7. "I don't know, I might... What's felch?"

6. "Hey Ennis! Whatcha putting that condom on for? It's not like you can get me pregnant!"

5. "Could I offer you some coffee, Jack?... Or a tea bag?"

4. "Working with you on this ranch is a pain in the ass!"

3. "Oh yeah... I've driven some cattle in my time."

2. "C'mon Ennis... Is this really Western dressing?"

1. "Only thing that comes from Wyoming is steers and queers and you don't look like no steer!"

2006-05-10T09:11:00.000-05:00

1000

I have surpassed 1000 hits at this site.

A glorious milestone to be sure... At least on the surface... But in reality I know that it means that each one of you has been here like 330 times... Congratulations.

Now... Don't you have a job or something?

2006-05-08T14:12:00.000-05:00

The Weekend

Well I had to peek.

At the weekend scores that is... Which was a huge mistake. That was no way to start off a Monday.

I boycotted all things Cubs this weekend and concentrated my energies on more productive concerns like garbage, the garage and the garden.

This is the week for the city's annual spring cleaning gig, which means lots and lots of junk cluttering the curbsides. We did our part here at the Gooseneck household, even going as far as tearing the back wall off of the garage and laying it out there for the vultures to go through.

They are everywhere... These vultures.

They pull up in their beat up pick-up trucks and pile out of the cab like clowns in a Volkswagen. They sift through the trash heap looking for that special something that is re-usable or can be sold for profit. Usually they'll take an old bicycle frame, or the lawn mower wheels that have been in storage for 25 years.. Some might be interested in the retro boom box that has the cassette deck smashed in... Or the old dented tri-painted metal desk.

Bowling balls seem to be a hot item... I've noticed that they don't last very long on the curb.

All day and all night people come by and sort through the garbage - usually making a huge mess in the process. Gina said that she got up at 4:00 to pee this morning and saw a dude with a flashlight picking through our pile. I told her she should have let Jaxon out on him.

(In case you are new to this scene, Jaxon is my one and only pet... A trusty ol' chupacabra.)

(Yeah... For real.)

Jaxon, my trusty chupacabra

That man nor any others found anything of value in our trash heap, unless the price of rotted lumber shot up when I wasn't looking.

I was extra careful to leave all of the nails intact with the wood to discourage these scavengers, which I then piled on top of my other junk. There were parts to an old grill in the heap, some appendages to an old weight bench that never gets any use, a few magazines that have been in our possession for WAY too long, and several pounds of rotting mouse carcass that I pulled out of the back of my work truck.

Yep. I said mouse carcass.

Being in the pest control business, I don't have any trouble accumulating mouse pelts. I'm sure that whoever the lucky bastard was that opened that bucket will think twice about stopping here next year.

We also spent time in the yard... I bought a new mower this weekend, and a gas powered trimmer. It is a weed eating machine. Not only is the yard looking nice and tight, but the garden is too. Gina was able to get in there for awhile and rid it of those pesky weeds.

The onions are starting to come up, and the tomato plants are looking healthy and happy. Everybody knows that a happy tomato plant bears the most fruit... And our tomato plants sing.

We're going to have tomatoes coming out of our armpits.

Last night we grilled shrimp on the fire, and enjoyed a weekend toast of margaritas. We sat in the yard swing and watched the kids play kickball next door. Later, I toyed with the idea of coming downstairs and checking the status of the Cubs, but didn't want to risk the chance of spoiling a great weekend. I opted instead for some playoff NBA basketball... Before it bored me to death and forced me to bed.

I waited till this morning, and ruined a Monday instead.

Actually, that is a lie. I expected as much to be totally honest with you.

I was prepared mentally to take on this wicked reality, and wasn't sucker punched with the Cubs tragic weekend performance.

Not that it would have mattered if the Cubs won. Old wounds are hard to heal. You can only kick me in the nuts for so many straight years before I wise up and lose faith in you. My expectations are so low right now, that it would take a 10 game winning streak to even pique my interest again. And since that isn't going to happen any time soon, maybe it's time to concentrate on tailgate plans at Arrowhead. I see the Broncos will be in town on Thanksgiving.

2006-05-06T01:22:00.000-05:00

Sinko de Curveball

Tonight in an obvious mockery of the whole immigrant situation I went out and ate cheap tortillas wrapped with every thing delicious and slammed a good amount of Hussongs Tequila. We went through about a dozen limes and some salt. The salt we consumed, I proudly boistered, "Was made in America!"

(In reality I have no idea where salt is made.)

In reality I have no idea what this post is about. The Cubs have once again been shut out... While once again flagrantly denying Carlos Zambrano an ounce of run support.

I think back to the day that was what, three weeks ago... And think about the Cubs when Matt Merton was smackin' RBI's like a hungry leprhacaun and Juan Pierre was leading off first base like he had a pair of balls. Aramis Ramirez was a feared presence in the batter's box, and Todd Walker was batting close to 1.000.

Oh how I miss the days of old.

Zambrano needs run support in order to have a chance to win ball games. Maddux didn't have it early last year and it's a symptom that has always plagued Wood. Like a fatal attraction this strange malady seemingly attaches itself to one Cubs pitcher every year, forcing the said pitcher to throw near perfect baseball in order to record a victory. Apparently this year Zambrano is taking his turn. You can pitch lights out but your bound to lose if you don't score runs.

Shall we call it Cub's pitching disease?

No. Lets call it Dusty Baker can't Produce an Effective Lineup Card Disease.

Fuck it.

I say pass the potato salad... The kind that mama makes... and forget about it... Maybe put on some Waylon Jennings.

I need to step away from the game for awhile. This team has been shut out like what... 6 days in a row? It's taking an emotional toll on me.

Well I take that back. We did manage to beat Pittsburgh earlier this week... With a whopping two runs. Metaphorically the Cubs must have shot their wad because they only scored once more the rest of the week.

My shoulder hurts and my wife complains that I drink out of the milk carton.

I need a vacation.

2006-04-29T21:13:00.000-05:00

Get Fucked... Sports

As if I don't have enough on my plate already, I have been handed the keys to another website, Fucked Sports.

Once a major player in the sports blog arena, Fucked Sports has seen the big time. It was once ranked number 4 on Forbes.com list of sports blogs, and enjoyed national success as the site to turn to when one wanted to keep up with all that is crazy, weird, unnatural and strange in the corporate world of sporting events and people.

With so much hype printed in the sporting world, Fucked Sports was the one outlet that provided insight to all that is wrong in this athleltic world.

Creator Buddy MacGuire's real life documentary to sporting events, and the idiots who were fucking things up were a delight to read. He mixed a dose of humor with two parts of reality, and left the reader laughing and wanting more.

Often times the reader was left just shaking his or her head.

Eventually the site became abandoned, and it's trademarked title was picked up by Privilia Inc. I've essentially been in contact with them about doing some writing for the site, and they have offered me the keys... Making me a primary contributor.

Obviously there is a lot of work to be done, but the plan is to get the site up and running again with some regularity, secure some advertising, and hoist it back up towards the top of the sports blog world where it once was ranked.

It's going to be a long trip, but I'm in for the haul. Wont you come along with me?

Welcome you fuckers.

2006-04-29T18:22:00.000-05:00

Uno de Mayo

I hope I don't crave a taco on Monday. May 1st has been proclaimed "The Day that Illegal Aliens Stay Home from Work Day."

That means that virtually every meat packing plant and Mexican restaurant in America will be closed down. By closing down, these meat packing plants and restaurants will be making a bold statement: We knowingly break the law by hiring illegal aliens.

Now somehow, hasn't this just gotten a little bit out of hand?

Not only have these scabs secured a voice in the political arena while showing disrespect for private property, but now they have declared themselves a national STAY HOME holiday to protest the fact that most of the people in America are not yet ready to give these knuckle draggers a free pass and amnesty for breaking one of the very laws that our constitution was based off of?

It's not enough to hijack the American political circus, now they have to trump a historic American holiday (May Day) to make their frivilous point?

How ridiculous.

First of all, May First falls on a Monday.

There is no better day of the week to make a point than on a Monday. Afterall, it is normally the SLOWEST day of the week for restaurants! There is some quality organization going on here... Whoever is in charge of this train wreck should be nominated for the Nobel Prize. While making a point, they have managed to do so with the least amount of consenquence to the very industry that brought them here in the first place.

This STAY HOME day will not affect Taco Tuesday... Nor Softshell Saturday. No. It will have no bearing on a busy weekend restaurant rush, and will not in the least affect the majority of Americans... In any city.

Well done, losers.

Thank God you didn't choose a Friday for your pointless demonstration. That would force us legals to choose an alternative cuisine for our weekend night out at the local restaurants. Not having enchiladas as an option would push many of us to the breaking point, forcing us to choose Italian, Chinese, or (gasp!) American dining to satisfy our hunger. Not to mention that Friday is Cinco de Mayo... The one day of the year that Americans go out of their way to frequent Mexican establishments. That would have been a disastrous day to make your message heard.

Now if I was in charge, I'd trump these fuckers on their self proclaimed holiday and deem Monday "Send an Illegal Alien Back Home Day."

The masses... The majority of the people, could help these hombres pack up thier tortillas and the rest of their uninvited belongings and send them swimming south back across the Rio Grande. No longer would they milk the American tax dollar while demanding unprecedented special rights on our sacred soil. No longer would the Mexican flag be hoisted on school grounds above the Red White and Blue... And no longer would anybody who disagrees with this nonsence be labeled a bigot for voicing what is right... And no longer would these United States be held hostage by a bunch of criminal refugees who have absolutely no right to voice an opinion in this country.

Period.

2006-04-25T18:21:00.000-05:00

Wave that Flag

30 years ago today Rick Monday, then a Chicago Cubs center fielder, rescued an American flag from a couple of protestors who were attempting to set it on fire at Dodger Stadium.

This is the story according to Rick, who now is a sports announcer in the Dodgers' organization:

"In between the top and bottom of the fourth inning, I was just getting loose in the outfield, throwing the ball back and forth. Jose Cardenal was in left field and I was in center.

I don't know if I heard the crowd first or saw the guys first, but two people ran on the field.

After a number of years of playing, when someone comes on the field, you don't know what's going to happen. Is it because they had too much to drink? Is it because they're trying to win a bet? Is it because they don't like you or do they have a message that they're trying to present?

"When these two guys ran on the field, something wasn't right. And it wasn't right from the standpoint that one of them had something cradled under his arm. It turned out to be an American flag. They came from the left-field corner, went past Cardenal to shallow left-center field.

"That's when I saw the flag. They unfurled it as if it was a picnic blanket. They knelt beside it, not to pay homage but to harm it as one of the guys was pulling out of his pocket somewhere a big can of lighter fluid. He began to douse it.

"What they were doing was wrong then, in 1976. In my mind, it's wrong now, in 2006. It's the way I was raised. My thoughts were reinforced with my six years in the Marine Corp Reserves. It was also reinforced by a lot of friends who lost their lives protecting the rights and freedoms that flag represented.

"So I started to run after them. To this day, I couldn't tell you what was running through my mind except I was mad, I was angry and it was wrong for a lot of reasons.

"Then the wind blew the first match out. There was hardly ever any wind at Dodger Stadium. The second match was lit, just as I got there. I did think that if I could bowl them over, they can't do what they're trying to do.

"I saw them go and put the match down to the flag. It's soaked in lighter fluid at this time. Well, they can't light it if they don't have it. So I just scooped it up.

"My first thought was, 'Is this on fire?' Well, fortunately, it was not. I continue to run. One of the men threw the can of lighter fluid at me. We found out he was not a prospect. He did not have a good arm. Thank goodness.

"Tommy Lasorda was in his last year as third-base coach before he took over for Hall of Fame manager Walter Alston. Tommy ran past me and called these guys every name in the longshoreman's encyclopedia..."

You can read the rest of this amazing story here. Go ahead... You'll be glad you did.

(Thanks to Haws for the tip.)

Oh, and a big Happy Birthday to my wife Gina, who was a rather young girl 30 years ago!

2006-04-21T18:28:00.000-05:00

I Hate Astrology

Derek Lee is out 6-8 weeks with a broken wrist. It's the first time since he has been in the big leagues that he has been placed on the disabled list.

What timing. What stupid, typical, automatic, cubs luck timing.

Not only did D.L. JUST sign a 100 year contract with the Cubs for over a gazillion dollars, but we Cubs fans were getting anxiously close to having a complete roster for the first time in the 2006 season. Kerry Wood and Mark Prior, two of the most feared pitchers in all of baseball and veteran disabled list connoisseurs, are due to join the team in just a matter of weeks... Giving us in Wrigleyville supreme visions of hope for winning a pennant.

Afterall, if the Cubs can go 9-5 with both of their aces sitting in the trainer's room, it's only feasible to think that they could do even better with these boys on the mound.

However, as it is written in the stars, this Cubs' season will be staggered with injuries that keep them just a fart hair away from achieving that golden moment. It will give our opponents fodder for making fun of us, and it will become a measly excuse for us die-hards who are left only with dreams of what if?.

It doesn't help any that the Cubs are immediately due to arrive in St Louis for what should be have been a blistering series with the much hated Cardinals - the first visit for the Cubs to the Cardinals' new digs, Busch Stadium II... Or Busch Lite as I like to call it.

The Cubs handed the Cardinals their ass on a broom handle last weekend in the friendly confines, and certainly the redbirds are hungry for a taste of revenge. It would be nice to know that Derrick Lee was playing... He is afterall the Cubs' man on the silver mountain.

Hell, we could put our ENTIRE pitching staff on the D.L. and I'd take solace in knowing that Derrick was playing, and therefore have a chance for a Cubs' victory.

Yeah. He's that good.

Or something.

He has that winning aura around him. I noticed it right away on his arrival from Florida. Finally the Cubs had a bona- fide star on their roster, one who came everyday to play baseball. He was different than that selfish right fielder that played for us a few years back - the real deal... Derrick Lee is a great player who's not enthralled by his own production but plays his position like a superstar and provides a dangerous presence in the batter's box.

Any fool knows that last year was a pass for the Cubs; an opportunity to build new relationships and celebrate the exorcism of Sammy Sosa's selfish looming shadow. There was a new found life in the north sider's locker room, and as painful as it was to watch, the Cubs were learning all over again how to play baseball and have fun doing it. Any time there is rebuilding, there is bad baseball and it makes the fan base uneasy and anxious, but more often than not a patient fan is rewarded with positive results.

This was the year for Cub fans to reap their reward. At least so I thought.

The one thing I overlooked was the writing in the stars. The symptom of a down. The one curse in baseball that seems to be holding it's own.

It's too early to give up. But the scenery is looking all too familiar. I'd certainly feel better if I hadn't been down this road so many times before.

2006-04-20T20:44:00.000-05:00

April Showers

Bring mushroom towers.

I love spring time in Iowa. It gives us one of the finest delicacies in the world, the morel mushroom.

My wife and I took off work at noon today and drove to the woods. I had heard that the spores were popping up, something that only happens for a few weeks a year, usually in late April and early May. Almost instantly we confirmed that notion. We hadn't been in the trees for 30 seconds before we found one and bagged it... And then another just a few seconds later.

An hour later we left the woods with a plastic bag half full... A good amount for the first time out we figured. After stopping for some ice cream we brought them home and immediately soaked them in a bath of salt water. After storing them in the fridge for about three hours, I pulled them out and cut each mushroom in half. All together I'd say we had found 40 -50 mushrooms, which cut in half adds up to 80 -100.

I rolled a few in some flour... seared them in a hot skillet with a little bit of real butter... And goddamn if that aint some of the best eatin' in the world, then I want to know what is.

Hell yeah. Sometimes living in Iowa is pretty cool.

2006-04-14T21:56:00.000-05:00

Gieseneck

Giese... Great to see you!

Me, Giese and Haws

Giese is the best whistler in the world.

For real.

2006-04-13T17:46:00.000-05:00

(Dead) Cat Blogging

2006-04-12T23:42:00.000-05:00

Do I have this right?

A Mexican comes into the Untited States illegally... Shows false identification to land a job... Takes the paycheck from that job and sends the majority of it back to Mexico... Which inspires his brother and sister to enter the United States illegally...

Brother gets a job, also with false credentials, and he too sends the money to the rest of his family in Mexico... Sister doesn't get a job right away, instead she opts for social services and lives on a weekly paycheck funded by American taxpayers...

Brother number one ends up in prison because he knifed somebody in the bathroom of a Latino bar, thus also becoming a tax burden...

Meanwhile brother number two continues to work and continues to send his paychecks back to Mexico...

Sister gets knocked up and has a kid... The kid, an American citizen by birth also lives off of the social services that his mother is milking... In fact, his mere existence qualifies her to get more money from the American taxbase, which in turn inspires her to have another kid... And so on...

This kid grows up and goes to public school... Is on the free lunch program because mom can't afford a lunch ticket... Becomes educated on the American tax dollar... Learns English but uses it as a second language... Becomes part of a growing Hispanic population living in the United States made up mostly of non American citizens...

As he grows he starts to pay homage to the Mexican flag though he was born an American, never minding the fact that Mexico is a corrupt and brutal nation that oppresses it's people and encourages them to travel to the United States and remain there illegally to thwart it's own irresponsible population...

One day this kid realizes that because of it's rapid growth the Hispanic population he is a part of has some how gained a voice in the American national political arena... Hispanics are pandered to by both republicans and democrats, and make up to 25% of the voting base in many regions... Immigration policy becomes a national event which spurs thousands of illegals to gather in marches and demostrations nationwide...

The kid, still in school and not old enough to vote, and not paying any taxes whatsoever, decides to organize a rally from the middle school level... His feeble immature mind feels apathy for the plight of "his people"... He organizes a rally, and while disrupting other kids' who are interested in learning, he gets hundreds of Hispanic school kids to suddenly walk out of class and form a group on the school house lawn... they stand together arm in arm with the Mexican flag draped over their shoulders chanting and speaking in Spanish... Suddenly the Mexican flag is hoisted up onto the flag pole amongst cheers from the demonstration... The cheer gets even louder when the American flag is hoisted below it, but upside down...

Do I have to go on?

2006-04-11T21:48:00.000-05:00

I'll Take the Blame for this One

On one hand I need to keep my big mouth shut.

As soon as I mention that Will Ohman is off to a good start and has yet to give up a hit and a run, he offers a bowling ball sized wiffle ball to Edwin Encarnacion who immediately takes it out of the park for a grand slam.

Not that it mattered.

The Cubs were already down by four runs... It seems that this Reds team has a knack for taking the Cubs deep. They had four solo shots in the books, all off of Glendon Rusch, before the end of the National Anthem. In the three games they have played each other this season Cincinatti has hit something like 6 dozen home runs angainst the Cubs.

Even that hippie Bronson Arroyo went yard. It was his second homerun of the season, and his second off of Glendon Rusch. Today Rusch had him down on an 0-2 count before serving a 75 MPH straightball right down the middle of the plate at Arroyo's waist. Arroyo's mother would have hit it out of the park.

Whatcha gonna do?.. Get flustered and upset six games into the season?

Nah.

Spring ball means that there is still a long season in front of us. If the Cubs go 4-6 in every 6 game series from here on out, they'd have one helluva season.

Last year the White Sox got their big lead in the AL Central by winning regular season series games against their opponents. (It didn't hurt that they are in the AL Central.) They would win two out of three here and there, and the wins piled up quickly. Sure they almost pissed it away towards the end of the season when Cleveland and Minnesota got hot, but because of the wins they had stockpiled they were able to keep themselves safely in first place.

This is what the Cubs should be doing this year, taking each game one at a time, and focusing their attention on winning each individual series. This should be automatic while playing at home (It wasn't last year). A place as magical and loyal as Wrigley Field should generate good baseball, and the Cubs can't afford to let anything different happen.

They signed Derrick Lee long term, they have a solid defense, and they have already proved that they can win without the contributions of Wood and Prior. Dusty seems to be making the right calls, he's not as adamant about handing the other team free outs with the sacrifice bunt as he was last year. This year he has some speed to play with, and seemingly has that form he possessed a few years ago when he coached the Giants to a 100 win season.

This team seems different than the team of last year. There I said it. It is a different team.

When I hear the lineup I don't get that spine rattling quiver in my stress bone that I so often got last year. This team competes and it manufactures runs. It's a relatively young team and is made up of players who are used to winning. It doesn't have that aura of impending doom that became a Cubs trademark in recent years past. It is a team that wants to, is used to, and expects to win.

That being said, I probably just cursed them for the entire season.

Crap! Sorry about that.

2006-04-10T20:05:00.000-05:00

Broom Ball

Well I guess this blog isn't going to write itself...

See what a little rest can do for you? The Cubs have taken three days off in the last eight and have compiled a record of 4-1. Of course a good chunk of that winning came at the expense of the Cardinals, who have looked pretty good against, well... Everybody else they have played. If it wasn't for the Cubs three game sweep this past weekend, the Cardinals would be undefeated.

This tells me three things:

1. The Cardinal bullpen isn't what it used to be... At least against a challenging lineup. (Philadelphia, whom the Cardinals swept early on hasn't shown any promise this year, and everybody and their grandma knows that Milwaukee's hot start was a fluke, minus the obvious raw talent of Prince Fielder.) If the Cardinals continue to use Isringhausen as thier main middle relief set up guy, then they are in for a very long season. And this Josh Hancock kid? He should have been a waiter at a spaghetti restaurant the way he served middle of the plate meatballs. I really hope that LaRussa offers him a chance at redemption in a couple of weeks against the Cubs. But I don't see that happening. LaRussa is smarter than that. He doesn't need another Rick Ankiel in his dugout. That being said, his bullpen is surely due for some changes.

2. The Cub bullpen has already exceeded expectations, and after receiving an extension on his contract, Cub's General Manager Jim Hendry has already said that he's willing to spend the money if needed to make the bullpen better. Will Ohman, who has pitched in three game has yet to give up a hit, and is pitching with a flair of confidence that he didn't seem to have last season. Bob Howry has held his opponents to a miniscule .167 batting average, also in three appearances, and has struck out 5. Ryan Dempster has a save, and looks incredibly strong in his closer roll. He'd have 4 saves if the Cubs had not scored so many runs in other games, thus cancelling his save situations.

3. The National League Central is entirely up for grabs. In other words, it's there for the Cubs to win if they want it. Whoever wins the head to head series against the Cubs and the Cardinals will probably be the division champs. The Astros don't have the pitching, especially without Clemons, to piece together another miraculous season as they did last year. Everyone else in the division is just filler, and won't amount to any kind of post season threat. I know it's only the second week of April, but I see the winner of the Cubs / Cardinal series as division champs.

Chirp Chirp.

Cardinal fans wasted a good hour of local sports talk radio talking smack about the sweep... While the Cub fans sat idle in a strange cloud of silence. It was pretty ironic really... Most of the time you'd expect the opposite.

The weird thing is however, this cloud of silence that engulfed the Cub fans was a calm cloud of silence. It didn't have nervousness associated with it, and it wasn't an intimidated silence. It was a very serene silence, like that of a martial arts master at an amateur Tae Kwon Do competition.

Still, the Cardinal fans kept calling in, making excuses, bringing up the past, and making non-funny acronyms with the letters C-U-B-S.

Alas. The national pastime.

Apparently there is alot to do when you aren't enjoying baseball.

2006-03-28T21:54:00.000-06:00

Terribleness...

We'd been drinking heavily since sundown. The sky closed silently around us as we sat in the bar's darkness... When I finally went outside it was dark. I could feel the hair in my armpits curl.

Yeah.

The wolves of madness were baying but I didn't pay them no mind.

I wasn't even capable... My mind was absorved with it's normal madness which seems to be it's prominent propiteter. I had enough to think about... I didn't need reminders of some other feeble existance... And no matter how I tried to shake it, I couldn't get rid of that unshaky feeling.

When it came time to divide up our night, I chose not to drive.

Continued next week!

2006-03-27T21:59:00.000-06:00

It's not Cinderella if you Picked it

This was the first year in about a century that I didn't bother to fill out NCAA basketball brackets.

It's too bad... I would have had George Mason going to the Final Four.

In fact, had I bothered to fill out brackets, I would have had George Mason winning it all, as they are destined to do early next week.

Yep. I'm going out on a limb here and predicting that George Mason will upset Florida... That LSU will anhiliate UCLA... And in the final game, George Mason will upset LSU for the national championship.

That should be enough to make Billy Packer shit himself silly... His archaic views and all. With a little luck this dissentary will result in a fatal heart attack and we in the land of the free will be spared of his unintelligent shoot from the hip views in NCAA tournaments of the future.

But back to George Mason...

George Mason will not simply stop at the national collegiate championship level. They will systematically rise to the top of the basketball world in early June when the challenge the NBA champion Detroit Pistons to a seven game series and take it four games to none.

Then they'll take on and beat down the Harlem Globetrotters... And then the "Dream Team" of the 1992 olympics... And then it'll be off to Iraq to finally shut down that pesky insurgency. At least one George will get it right.

If I had filled out brackets this year, you would have seen that I had George Mason going all the way to the national championship... And beyond.

But unfortunately, I didn't.

So... Just take my word for it.

2006-03-26T14:16:00.000-06:00

That Ol' Lonesome Sound...

Just got more lonesome.

2006-03-18T12:01:00.000-06:00

Hawkeye Hangover

St Patty's Day was great on so many levels.

The fact that it is socially acceptable to drink all day long makes this holiday particularly great, and I certainly did my part. Green beer, normal beer, Irish whiskey, Shepherds Pie... I mean really... Does it get any better than this?

Well it would have been better had the Hawkeyes not lost. What a heartbreaker. Northwestern State played them tough for the entire game, and it was obvious that the Hawks were struggling with their full court press. NWS kept the score close enough to keep the game interesting and in pure March Madness fashion, they were able to sink a three pointer with less than a second on the clock to win by just a single point. Wow.

I was at the Front Row, a little pub in Des Moines. It is a Hawkeye bar and it was at it's maximum capacity for the game. When NWS threw up that prayer and it went into the hoop the entire bar stopped for a moment in time. It was like every person exhaled at the same precise second... And everything stopped.

It was very surrealistic.

Of course it only lasted for a second. Then it was all groans and hisses.

Friday was Black Friday in Iowa. At least from a basketball standpoint. Iowa got knocked off, as did Northern Iowa, and Iowa State University held a press conference to announce the firing of their basketball coach, Wayne Morgan. It will go down as one of the ugliest days in the history of Iowa sports. For whatever reason, the basketball gods chose St. Patricks Day to lambaste their fury.

Overall the game was just a minor speed bump in the day. It's pretty easy to rebound from disaster when you are hell bent on drinking heavily, all in the name of celebration. We missed the parade in downtown Des Moines as it coincided with the Hawkeye game, but we made it to several hot spots afterward that felt the rush of the post parade crowd. I met up with some old friends at Flanagan's and before long I wasn't thinking about Iowa Basketball anymore. I was preoccupied with hearing the stories that shaped the last few years of my friends' lives, as it had been awhile since we had gotten together. After making a pretty sizable donation to the Irish green beer fund, we decided to move on to another hot spot.

The Royal Mile is in the court avenue district of Des Moines and it's about the most Irish place in the world, besides well... Ireland. Every day is St Patricks Day at the Royal Mile. We sampled several fluid ounces of the specialty beers which were all quite delicious, and then I noticed that they sold Chimay. Chimay is a very thick beer that is brewed by trappist monks in Belgium, and it is quite possibly the finest tasting beer in the world. It is common to drink it out of a goblet because a goblet has that little dip in it that catches the beer's settlings. Like most fine beers Chimay is not as filtered as it's domestic counterparts and it contains quite a bit of sediment.

Boy is it delicious. It's 9% alcohol, which in conjuntion with it's drinkability, is a potentially dangerous thing. We each got a bottle and went outside to the patio to listen to and encourage the street musicians. After doing that for awhile it was back inside for more Chimay and to get something to eat. I opted for the Shepherds Pie which was made with a Guinness Stout based lamb stew, and it was the perfect compliment to my stomach full of beer.

We finished off the night at the House of Bricks, a warehouse style bar that features seven nights of live music. My cousin plays guitar for Slopsycle and they were the first band of the evening. After several failed attempts at seeing these guys I finally made it, and it was freaking incredible. Jacob sizzles on the guitar... Which I already was aware of... but in this format with his bandmates, playing all original music, it was unbelievable. If you took No Doubt, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath and Stevie Vai, and scrambled them all together in a mixing bowl, you'd have Slopscycle. They are a musical force that needs to be reckoned with. They produce a very fresh sound that my ears are still thanking me for.

I made it to bed before midnight last night and I don't recall having any trouble falling asleep. I slept like a rock with that beer buzz humming in my brain, and had pleasant Irish dreams of lepracauns and shamrocks. It all came to a crashing end this morning when I awakened. I was shaken with the realization that something bad had happened yesterday, but I couldn't put my finger on it... As I put the pieces together it didn't become any clearer, everything that I could remember was festive and glorious...

BAM!

Suddenly I remembered the Hawkeye game and the devestating loss. Without a festive celebration and being surrounded by friends and beers, it wasn't as easy this morning to put it out of my mind. And I still haven't.

Like I said, St Patricks Day 2006 will be a historical black mark in the chronicles of Iowa sports. It's hard to imagine how that day, so dark and evil, was able to trump the Irish green and paint it black. This Hawkeye hangover doesn't seem to be going away any time soon. There is no amount of asprin in the closet that will numb the pain involved with this monster. I keep telling myself that it was a great basketball season regardless... But my broken heart keeps saying something different entirely.

My only comfort is knowing that baseball season is just around the corner...

2006-03-16T21:58:00.000-06:00

Ghost Post

2006-03-12T10:38:00.000-06:00

March Madness

2006-03-11T16:11:00.000-06:00

Cubs Faux Pas

I called my mother in law yesterday. She is in Mesa for the month enjoying spring training, and I caught her as the score was tied 6-6 in the top of the fifth. She gave me some live play by play of the action on the field which was cool, and during our conversation I asked her if she was doing any autograph hunting. She said that she hadn't yet, but might try in the next few days.

"Anybody in particular you want their autograph?" She asked me.

"Yeah," I replied. "See if you can get me Felix Pie's."

She answered, "I think it is pronounced Pee-Aay. the announcer is calling him Pee-Aay."

I wasn't understanding what she was telling me.

"It's not pronounced Pie, it's pronounced Pee-Aay."

"Oh.. Really? I am an idiot..."

Like most kids I collected baseball cards (still do) and I remember always pronouncing Ivan De Jesus wrong, sounding it out exactly as it is spelled. And I always thought that it was cool that Jorge Orta spelled his name different from the other Georges.

You'd think that by now, many years later, I'd have that Latin pronunciation thing down...

2006-03-08T15:20:00.000-06:00

You've Come a Long way Baby

I long for the days when Major League Baseball is king again.

It used to be king, not so long ago.

It was a glorious time; the game was respected by all. And it wasn't just the game that had the nation's respect, but the players, the managers, and the organizations too.

It was before modern super agents like Scott Boras, who encourages his clients to hold out for outrageous paychecks defying all loyalty to the fan bases that pay their salaries. All too often these players follow up huge contracts with sub performance seasons, while playing way past the peaks of their careers. They don't play for the love of the game but for the love of wealth.

MLB was king before the player strikes and cancelled World Series of '94... Before organizations and players lost their virtues and would scrutinize eachother to the public media... Before the spring classic All Star game ended in a tie... Before rampant drug use... When it was actually a shock that Tom Browning got caught with a joint in his pick up truck, or Steve Howe, Darryl Strawberry, and Dwight Gooden were messing with cocaine.

Major League Baseball had it's problems but it was left alone to work things out for itself. And usually it did work itself out.

As shocking as it was at the time, I don't remember a congressional hearing investigating the Yankees when cocaine was just as much a part of their clubhouse as sunflower seeds and gatorade. Not that it would have mattered if there were a congressional hearing... Howe, Strawberry, and Gooden all came clean when confronted with drug use allegations. They not only admitted guilt, but took the steps (to try) to kick the habit by attending sanctioned programs and rehab assignments. The game of baseball mattered to them, and despite serious addictions they did what they could to respect the game. All of these guys struggled. But the only image they tarnished was the ones of themselves.

Not in today's baseball world. The allegations of drug abuse are as rampant as ever, only this time it is performance enhancing drugs that dominate the sports page headlines, not the performance diminishing drugs that plagued the Yankees back in the day.

The speculation of steroid use could not have come at a worse time for Major League Baseball.

In 1995 MLB had a burst of credibility again after the players' strike of 1994 and the canceled World Series. Though fans were still leery and attendance was down at the ballparks, baseball made a dent in the hearts of America through good ol fashioned greatness.

It wasn't the home run race between Sammy Sosa and Mark MacGuire in the 1998 season that brought baseball back to popularity. That summer was just the peak of a slow process that started in 1995 when the last great baseball player, Cal Ripken, played in his 2131st consecutive game and broke Lou Gherig's record.

Sure the 1998 season was glorious... And what a way to end a century of the National Pastime!

Ultimately however instead of saving baseball and bringing it back to mainstream America, Sosa and MacGuire were more responsible for tarnishing baseball's credibility than making a contribution to it.

Shortly after 1998 around the turn of the century, several accusations were made about players using steroids. Of course Sosa and MacGuire's names were on the speculative list, as well as several other prominent players who had established careers. Books came out with details of who was using, how they were using, and where the drugs were coming from.

Records that had once stood for decades began to fall like stacked dominoes. Players would come to spring training looking like they had bulked up to twice the size they were before winter, and the allegations kept coming.

They got to be so fierce... The allegations that is, that the United States decided to have a congressional hearing to try to get a handle on the situation.

In what now looks like one of the ugliest days in Major League Baseball history, player after player testified under oath to congress that the accusations about steroid use were false and that the authors of these books were just out to make a buck.

Which in itself is very ironic.

One particular player will live in infamy forever for his role in the hearings, known more now for wagging his finger at congress and saying that he "never ever" used steroids, than for his illustrious baseball career. Of course, as everybody is now aware, Rafael Palmeiro tested positive for steroids just a few months later, slamming the breaks on his career and adding yet another coat to the tarnishment of baseball.

Suddenly baseball became the crack house next door.

Every player who hit over 40 homeruns was at least speculated to be a steroids user, and very few came out publicy and admitted their involvement. The few players who did acknowledge their involvement, particularly Jason Giambi, probably saved their careers.

However most still looked the cameras every single day into the eyes of America, and despite their impossible growth spurts and details of accusations, denied any involvement in knowingly using performance enhancing drugs.

Which brings us to 2006. It's spring training, the buzz is there amongst the radio sports shows, paper media and the bloggers... It's going to be another year in paradise. Right?

Well, there is very little written or said that is positive, as far as I can tell.

One thing in particular that has really stood out to me over the last couple of years is the fan's treatment of Sammy Sosa. Once considered perhaps the greatest Cub ever, Sosa didn't waste any time falling from grace.

More than once he let it be known that he wanted out of a Cubs uniform, even chastising the organization to the media before a potential trade to the Yankees was finalized. The trade fell through of course, and there was Sosa with his foot in his mouth looking like a 5 year old fool. Later, after he was finally let out of the organization, he repeated those ill feelings about the Cubs' organization and the fans of Chicago to the media.

He expected nothing but a warm reception in Baltimore, afterall he was the Great Sammy Sosa.

When he talked down on Chicago to the Baltimore press, the people paid attention. They never heard him take any of the blame for his loss in popularity, and that stuck with them. They knew all about his selfish me-first attitude that paved his career. It was a common topic in the national sports media. They simply looked at him as a player who might have one more good year in him and could help the team make it into the playoffs.

They were of course let down.

With the steroid police out in full force, and the increased chance of having to pee, Sosa was forced to play for the Orioles as himself... Not the Superman that he was during the years when he was a juiced up Cub. He had a miserable year in Baltimore, hitting a less than15 home runs and striking out once every 4.5 appearances at the plate. He only played in 102 games and carried a batting average of .221, just over the Mendoza line.

John Eisenberg of the Baltimore Sun, who incidentally opines that Sosa is worthy of an induction into the Hall of Fame wrote:

Anyone who watched Sosa swing and miss at a relentless diet of outside pitches while playing for the Orioles in 2005 knows he couldn't possibly help anyone this year, but such overwhelming evidence seldom stops some desperate, buzz-hungry team from taking a chance on such a player, hoping to get lucky and maybe sell a few tickets.

It seems that the lavish welcome wagon that Sosa was expecting only existed in his mind.

After the Orioles offered him a 2006 contract that matched his 2005 performance Sosa balked, threw a fit, and opted instead for retirement, leaving behind a legacy that was fueled by self-absorption and a crying baby's appetite for immediate attention.

Eisenberg's article goes on to say:

This time, it appears everyone paid attention and got the message. (As did Japan's teams, which, in a major upset, also have shunned Sosa.)

So there.

Was Sosa's legacy... The good one when he was loved in Chicago... Derived by an insatiable desire to achieve, or just an insatiable desire to achieve at any cost, to the extent of using performance enhancing drugs?

From what I've read, most people think the latter.

Like Superman without his cape, Sosa was simply unable to perform in Baltimore at the high level he once performed at in Chicago despite his new beginnings and his relatively young age (He was 36 during the 2006 season). If his desire were truly fueled by heart alone, wouldn't he have had a better season?

Maybe. Sometimes new beginnings bring anxieties. Sosa could very well be one of those players who needed a year to get the feel for a new environment. Some players do well in their second year at a new gig despite a dismal first year performance.

That being said, assuming the best years of his career were the result of a strong heart and a will to achieve, and not elevated by performance enhancing drugs, wouldn't at least one American League general manager consider this and jump at the chance to get him into a designated hitters' roll?

Wouldn't Japan come calling?

Hmmmm?

Des Moines is the off season home of two major league umpires, Tim McClelland and Eric Cooper. McClelland is the senior umpire on the MLB circuit and was behind the plate during many historical baseball moments, namely the George Brett pine tar situation and Sammy Sosa's corked bat incident. He and Cooper host a local sports radio talk show in the off season called Ump's Eye View on Des Moines's sports station, KXNO. It's a unique chance for us in Central Iowa to get an insider's scoop of the intricacies of Major League Baseball and the behind-the-scenes goings on . Not only does Coop and McClelland take calls and answer listener's questions, but they do so with such a brutal honesty and openness, that sometimes it seems that they are breaking an ethical code or something. If living in Central Iowa has any perks at all, this is one of them.

I called the show last week and asked McClelland what he thought Sosa's chances were at making the Hall of Fame. His answer was very revealing.

He said that if in the next 5 years the steroid talk dies down in MLB, then he is an obvious first choice balloter. He said if the steroid talk is still prevalent, then it's 50/50.

I took that as meaning that it is indeed a fact that Sosa was using steroids in his hey day and everybody knew it. Even the umpires. That'd be a pretty bold statement for somebody of his caliber to make if it was questionable.

Today new allegations have surfaced about steroid use by Barry Bonds.

It's not shocking... We baseball fans have become numb to such diatribe. It's been assumed for years that Barry was juicing up, and his place in history has been heavily debated on sports talk shows around the nation for quite some time.

Without definitive proof there was a great chance that he'd be heralded as one of the greatest ever, though probably not by our generation.

With proof... Well we are about to see what happens.

This new book authored by San Francisco Chronicle reporters Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams is quite damning, and will likely spell the end of Barry's career.

(There is) seemingly irrefutable evidence the authors have amassed to back up their allegations, more than a thousand pages of documents reviewed by the authors, including transcripts of grand jury testimony and an enormous catalog of material relating to the BALCO investigation; memos, secret recordings, taped phone messages, and more than 200 interviews. Just for starters.

I predict a major overhaul in how Major League Baseball handles steroid use and the record books, and I foreseee many other players becoming exposed through even more intensive testing. (After the congressional hearings in March of last year, MLB stepped up it's testing program and instituted heavier penalties for positive results.) The steroid issue will not die down any time soon, and baseball will be right back at square one where it was after the strike of 1994. It will be severely tarnished and will result in scarring that may take decades to heal. There will now be that question in everybody's mind whenever somebody has a great power season, and every broken record will be looked at as suspect.

We don't need a record book full of asteriskss. We don't need cheaters in the record books. As a kid I never dreamed that this is where baseball would come.

Thank you Bonds, and Sosa, and McGuire, and Caminiti, and Canseco. Thank you Palmeiro, and to all of you suppliers out there who furnish the players with these drugs.

Thanks so very much for your selfishness and your cheating ways.

Thanks for forbidding my kids to grow up knowing baseball as I knew it when I was a kid...

When baseball was still king.

2006-03-07T17:06:00.000-06:00

Some People Should Die

Roger Bentley will serve his life in prison in isolation. That's too bad, unless of course by isolation they mean put him in a cell with no clothing, heat, water or food and leave him there to die.

He is the sadistic mother fucker who raped and killed a 10 year old girl last year near Iowa City.

Iowa of course doesn't have the death penalty, not even for sewage scum like Bentley, so he is deemed to spend what remains of his pathetic days inside an isolated prison cell... for his protection.

Like this guy needs to be protected. He was tough enough to kidnap a little girl, take her to an old abandoned rat infested mobile home, tie her up, use her as his personal sex toy, crush her windpipe with his hands as she choked to death, and then stuff her naked lifeless body into a dirty cabinet for what he was hoping would be eternity.

DNA test showed that his sperm was all over her body. Yet this piece of shit tried to plead innocent, only to be hog tied by a jury whom only took a couple of hours to find him guilty.

By law, he is to be incarcerated for the rest of his life without chance of parole. The penalty of death isn't even an option in the state of Iowa, as it isn't even on the books. What's even more sickening is that some local Democrats have used their legislative power to ensure that it stays that way, calling the death penalty "cruel and unusual punishment."

So much for that little girl's suffering, and that of her family. There's obviously nothing cruel and unusual about what Roger Bentley did.

He deserves nothing less than to be brought to a public square, tied up like a rodeo calf with his ankles duct taped behind his ears, and have his asshole driven with a tractor auger. We don't need any anethesiologist like those poor fuckers out in California, and we don't need to let this filfthy bastard have any last words. All we need is a murder of crows to come in and clean up the bloody mess.

There was a day not so long ago when the people of America had gonads the size of cannon balls. People were either good or bad, and if they were bad, they were dealt with appropriately. There wasn't any pussy footing. Now the PC movement has done their damage and has the nation castrated to the level where people like this piece of maggot shit still has rights.

What the fuck happenend?

2006-03-06T20:21:00.000-06:00

Kirby

Minneapolis is in mourning. The city's prodigal son has died. Kirby Puckett was only 44 yesterday when he suffered a stroke, and his body never recovered. He died late this afternoon in his Arizona hospital bed.

Not since Fran Tarkenton or Harmon Killebrew has a sports figure captured the hearts of Minnesotans as Kirby has. He carried the Twins to two world titles... Both of which they probably had no business winning. The Twins were the first underdog of the modern generation to defy all logistical consideration and place themselves in the record books as overachievers.

Or were they?

In 1987 the Twins carried home field advantage to a seventh game World Series victory against the Cardinals, and in 1991, they took another powerhouse National League team to seven games, the Atlanta Braves. Each of these years the Twins won the Western Division but neither time were they given much of a chance to do well in the playoffs. It was Kirby Puckett who led the charge. Against the Cardinals he hit a whopping .357 in World series play fueling a spark that was felt around the world; one that brought respectability to Minnesota baseball.

As a Chicago Cubs fan I know all too well that it is game 6 that makes or breaks a post season major league baseball series. This was the case in Minneapolis in 1991 against the Atlanta Braves.

The Twins were down, 3 games to 2, as they played Game 6 at the Metrodome. In the third inning, Puckett leaped high against the fence in left-center to rob Ron Gant of an extra-base hit and snuff an Atlanta rally. Then, in the last of the 11th, Puckett led off with a home run to left-center to win the game for the Twins. Of course the Twins went on to win game seven, also in extra innings, and the rest is history.

Puckett's career numbers were way better than I thought that they were. I had to do an internet search because I honestly was under the impression that he made the Hall of Fame only because of his post season heroics. As is common, I was wrong. In fact I had no idea. I was blown away by his achievements... A clear indidcation that I wasn't paying attention to much outside of Wrigley Field during the late 80's and the 90's.

Puckett won an Al batting title in 1989, he was a consecutive 10 time all star and an All Star Game MVP... And he did all this before being forced into retirement at the age of 35. He was elected into the hall five years later when his ballot became eligible becoming the youngest player ever to have that honor.

Kirby Puckett once said, "Don't take anything for granted, because tomorrow is not promised to any of us."

There will be many a beer poured in the Twin Cities tonight, and stories of Kirby Puckett will be the topic du jour. There will be vigils, and there will be tears. And the beer that is spilled will lay on the bar, reflecting an invisible reminder to the void that Kirby Puckett left in those nothern cities.

The beer may lay there forever, or at least until the end of the night... It will be the last thing on anyone's mind as they celebrate their hero. And at the end of the night, when the bartender finally wipes it up, it will be just one more reminder that Kirby isn't around anymore...

Batting cleanup.

2006-03-05T19:34:00.000-06:00

Time to Shine

Damn! Is it already that time of year again?

You know... The time of year when the sports world comes to a blazing crescendo with the arrival of March Madness?

The month when mere mortals become legends in college basketball circles?

When no name teams show up at the big dance to perform with the big boys, and sometimes beat them?

It happens every single year... A team that nobody has heard of comes into the tournament and makes a name for itself in the spirit of David and Goliath, opening bracket doors to the golden sweet sixteen, the elusive elite eight and sometimes even to the big show, the final four.

It doesn't get any better than this. The brackets... The polls... The seeds... The upsets... It's all a part of that amazing spectacular that is March Madness.

In a word, it's MAGIC.

At this time of year college basketball becomes spellbinding... It pulls each of us into it's web and dangles that elusive metaphoric carrot on a string in front of us, entrancing us to the television screen.. Forcing us to root for our bracketology... For teams we may have never heard of... Rooting for rivals... Whatever it takes to come out on top... To have that imaginary trophy to hold up on that imaginary office mantle... To have that prestige that comes with being the tournament bracket winner.

It's madness, the likes of which only comes around once a year... During the month of March. It's easily the greatest sports month of the year.

Because behind March and all of it's madness comes April and the beginning of another wonder, the game of baseball. Like a slow moving train it stretches itself throughout the summer and into the fall, and supplies us with another kind of sports magic - the marathon season.

The Chicago Cubs seem to be particularly magic, with a following that seems to grow each year despite an annual losing record... A quality that defines no other sports team in the world. They have a reputation as losers... As lovable losers... And it's always seemed to be a part of their charm.

But over the last couple of years there has been a difference in the Cubs faithful. Maybe it's because the Red Sox broke a curse and won a World Series a couple of seasons ago. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the White Sox's amazing season last year, rubbing the north siders noses into oblivion with the winning of a Series title.

Cubs fans are getting bent at always being the last to arrive, and I think it's about time. There's no more chants of "Wait till next year," after a lackluster season, just a boiling kettle of frustration and and a cache of rapid fire finger pointing.

There isn't that automatic feeling of optimism anymore during spring training, just that lingering feeling of the potential let down that is sure to come each year as fall arrives.

Unfortunately, this year doesn't seem to have the feeling of anything different. March madness brings April sadness.

Kerry Wood is back to the surgeon's table to get yet another one of his joints operated on... Mark Prior has been MIA for most of the early spring training amid rumors of a serious injury... The off season didn't spawn any of that big money talent - which may or may not prove to be a good thing for the Cubs.

Cubs Nation is engulfed with potential dread and low expectations, although the faithful are still at the ball park in Arizona, and the passion is still there in the writings of the bloggers and the media. Doomsday is still upon us, and like the broken clock that is still correct twice a day, Wood will have his annual spring training surgery and the underachieving Cubs will probably be out of the NL Central race by mid July.

Or maybe, like the brackets of March Madness, it's just too early to tell.

Just as there is always a game in the tournament when David conquers a Goliath, this time of year still brings us Cubs fans a glimmer of hope. Afterall, we haven't lost it yet. One can't help but think that it's our turn... Especially after Boston and the White Sox have taken theirs... And by any betting standard we are certainly due.

I for one am not ready to pack it in yet. Potentially this season could bring out the worst in me, but I'll take it as it comes. Anything can happen, and curses can be lifted. I'm going to approach this season with optimism and let it run it's course. Perhaps it won't be an annual beatdown, and I won't recognize it as such until it is...

Besides, we've barely started March and we still have all that madness ahead of us.

2006-03-05T07:56:00.000-06:00

Play Ball!

The Umpire is the least liked person in the arena at times.

The game is at his mercy... Every single action will be affected by his judgment and vision. Nobody comes home safely without his approval, and if he catches you sleeping... Well you won't even make it out of the batter's box to start that journey around the infield.

He can affect the emotions of a city. It's his call if that city sleeps peacefully throughout the winter... And his calls could cause some heads to roll.

His judgements write history, not unlike those in the Supreme Court and if he happens to make a bad call and it stands, then so be it. History is written and sealed.

As the Umpire, he has the final say. Whether or not you agree with him is up to you. It won't matter if you don't, because every crackpot in this stadium tries to do his job... Voicing their opinions and displeasures with boos and groans... Desperately clinging to their emotions as they voice their arguments... All the while knowing in the back of their mind that they do not have the close proximity or the angle, and therefore not the sharper point of view.

I am the Umpire in this arena and I'll call the game as I see fit. Whether you agree or disagree with me is up to you. But it doesn't matter. In this arena I have the final say.

Remember that when I write the imflamatory post that cracks open your emotional nutsack.

The Umpire will be about my two passions: The politics of sports and the sports of politics.

But it will be primarily about Cubs baseball. It will be written in an agressive style that will turn some people off... But with the promise of passion.

Being a life long Cubs fan I need a place to vent. There is way too much animosity and emotion brewed up inside me to let it sit idle...

Aaaahhhh! Thus: The Umpire.

Old friends, you are of course welcome here. New friends will be welcomed in too, especially those who share similar passions. You don't have to be a Cubs fan, or even agree with what is going to be written here. You just have to be real and sincere. If you bring along a little passion, that'd be nice too.

That being said: Idiots need not apply.

That's all I have for now. Play Ball!