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I clicked my heels twice and said there is no place like home. I heard the shower and was sure that Bobby Ewing would be in there...alive and well. I caught the winning touchdown pass in the Super Bowl from Joe Namath. Turns out it wasn't a dream after all. The Cubs did actually get swept by the Dodgers in the NLCS. Rats.

Anyway...

* I must say TheDaughter always knows how to make me smile and on Sunday afternoon she was able to do just that. Realizing that I was disappointed at having to put the 'W' flag away for the season, she looked at me and said in her sweetest voice..."Don't worry daddy. Next year we are going to fly the 'W' flag all the way to the World Series." Keep in mind this is the same five-year old who wrote a letter for a school project to Aramis Ramirez. It is times like this that I do not know whether to tell her how proud I am that she is following in my footsteps and on her way to bleeding Cubbie blue... or, as the Dying Cubs Fan might suggest, simply shake my head and tell her I'm sorry.

* I hope the Cubs continue to play "Go Cubs Go" after every win at Wrigley as I really enjoy it. I never really understood the attraction of the Eddie Vedder "Go All the Way" song though and could not understand why the majority of the Chicago media insisted on jamming it down our throats. Far from serving as an inspiration, it always sounded kinda sad to me and when I heard it on Comcast Sports Net after the series ended, I thought it was rather fitting.

* Fondly remembering a journey which included spirit fingers, broken ankles and Whitney's backstabbing, Torrence Shipman managed to smile at the conclusion of the national cheerleading championship even with her Rancho Carne Torros losing the title to the East Compton Clovers. Arrving in Knoxville only to discover that the World's Fair left years ago and that the Sunsphere had turned into the Wigsphere could not take away from the fun of the open road for Bart, Milhouse, Martin and Nelson. And turning into a human blueberry may suck but it can never take away the joy of seeing the Chocolate Room or the pure wonder of lickable wallpaper.

I mention these less-than-happy endings, because, despite the way it ended, I really hate to hear people call the '08 season a failure and fail to remember the great times that we all enjoyed. Yes, at the end of the day, the Cubs failed to reach their ultimate goal. Nobody can deny that. But, nothing, and I mean nothing, can take away the fun that was the summer of 2008. Once again, I may sound corny, but there seemed to be a magic in the air. The great comeback against the Rockies, the four-game sweep at Miller Park, Z's no-no, the Soto game, Aramis' homer off Linebrink to win the Friday afternoon game of the Crosstown Classic and the subsequent Wrigley sweep. Great times that nobody should or will be able to forget.

After all, did the Griswold's enjoy their trek across country any less simply because Wally World was closed. I mean with the dead dog, and the dead aunt, and the missing diaphragm and all. Uh, never mind.

* Despite my inherent pessimism, I do believe that the Cubs will ultimately win the World Series and I have said for years that it will happen in 2014, as such year promises to appease the baseball gods and create a perfectly symmetrical baseball bell curve. Think about it...the Red Sox won in 1918 and 2004. The White Sox won in 1917 (one year earlier) and 2005 (one year later). Given that the Cubs last won in 1908 (nine years earlier than the White Sox), it stands to reason that 2014 will be the magic year. Maybe Felix Pee-Ay will learn to hit by then. If I am right you all owe me a Coke.

* I always wondered how many yards Barry Sanders could have run for had he not suddenly realized that he played for, well, the Lions. I can not help but contemplate what type of a career Dickey Simpkins could have had if he had, well, talent. I wonder what luck lady would have ended up with John Lennon if he had realized that he was married to, well, Yoko Ono. The lesson? Life is full of what-if's. And I ask whether anyone else is curious to know what Micah Hoffpaiur can do over a full season if given regular at-bats?

* I spend most of my time shopping at places like Target and the Dollar Tree, but, after Cameron, Sloan and I were able to convince the snooty clerk at the front that I was Abe Froman, I was able to take a look around the "$136 million dollar Emprorium of Fun" (yep, it's in Kennilworth...) to see what such big bucks can get you these days. In one corner, I noticed that you could you could buy a complete set of Reed Johnsons -- 104 of them to be exact -- all-out hustle included. In another corner, you could buy approximately 113,333 leather jackets with candy-stripe linings (although the price tag was missing and the actual price per jacket was never actually told). On the wall, I saw advertisements for two different possibilities. On one hand, you could adopt 136 baby hippos. On the other, you could spend 136 nights with Diana Murphy (no truth to the rumor that Ashton Kutcher must be allowed to watch). And on a final wall, there was an ad noting that you could buy 286 northeastern Wisconsin homes, one of which was most recently owned by Brett Favre (and there is no telling what might be in the medicine cabinet there...).

Finally, your could spend your hard-earned $136 million on an overrated, streaky, terrible in the clutch, even worse in the playoffs, can't field, non-hustlin', free-swinging, wannabe lead-off hitter, who at times will make you long for the days of Rondell White. Caveat emptor.

* The truth is that I cannot believe that anyone is suprised that Sammy Sosa Soriano failed so miserably in the playoffs. After all, there is a reason that I refer to him as the second coming of Steroid Sammy. Soriano actually improved as a clutch hitter in 2008, but I still trust him in a big spot about as much as I trust Jerry Angelo to draft a competent offensive player.

* Speaking of Reed Johnson, I can't help but wonder how much the poor guy had to pay for his ticket to the games if he was even there. It is unfathomable to me that he received the same number of at-bats in the series as Bea Arthur. Why not just give his roster spot to a goat? I imagine he was in the dugout during games one or two at Wrigley for the full nine innings, but I hope he said to hell with it and did something fun while out in LA. Perhaps give a nod to Dodger Stadium tradition and leave in the sixth to head out to the "Body Shop" or Disneyland, depending on whether he carries his cash in singles or hundreds.

* I have a number of guilty pleasures, most of which will not suprise anyone -- reruns of Saved By the Bell, cheesy 80's bubble metal music (give Ratt's "Round and Round" another listen...trust me, it's better than you remember), and, yes, sports talk radio. Yet, following a series like the NLDS, I find myself having to go cold turkey for at least a couple of weeks as I simply cannot take the stupidity of the vast majority of callers.

The biggest problem involves the utter fickleness of callers. One day, Lou is a genius and the next his stupidity makes Cubs' fans long for Preston Gomez or Herman Franks. First, Ryan Theriot should have sacrificed to move a runner into scoring position and second, the only bunting that should be allowed in Wrigley is that which hangs from the upper deck. One minute, the Cubs lost because the concession stands ran out of nachos and the key to Aramis' success if a pregame meal of processed, runny cheese. The next minute, the Dodgers won because cheese makes Aramis morph into Gary Scott.

Sheesh...which is it?!? It drives me absolutely crazy. Pick a lane and stick with it. I am certainly not always right with my opinions, but at least I try and be consistent (see: Soriano, Alfonso as exhibit A). And the problem extends to the hosts who often know less than the callers, but hold themselves out as the "experts." I cannot help but laugh everytime I hear the new ESPN 1000 slogan, "You know us, we know sports," which is about as misleading as five goofy-looking lads from Toronto calling themselves Barenaked Ladies or calling the jewels of a bull Rocky Mountain Oysters and selling them to unsuspecting Coors Field patrons.

I guess I better break out my Poison, Skid Row and Warrant CDs for the next couple of weeks. I have an awfully long commute after all.

* I have heard a lot of excuses for why the Cubs were swept three years in a row, my favorite being the unfortunate and consistent presence of Dick Stocktown in the radio booth. I have to admit that listening to Dirk Stockton was incredibly frustrating. The way he described Ryan Hampster's nine walks. The way he described Mike DeRosa's and Darrin Lee's errors in the fourth inning of game three. The way he described the way Manny Rodriguez hit a Sean Marshant pitch that was literally at his shoetops into the right-center field bleachers. And, of course, the way he described the way Fukadomanski's 976th strikeout of the series. Excrutiatingly painful.

* I mean can that frickin' guy get one fact right?!? At this rate, why doesn't he just run for president (on either ticket).

* Is there any chance we can claim that Fukudome was tainted with melamine and demand a recall? After all, I hear that Mr. Sparkle is looking for a new salesman.

* Yes, I know that he is from Japan and melamime controversy stems from China. Didn't I tell you I am taking fact checking lessons from Dick Stockton these days.

* "Um yes, good morning ladies and gentlemen of the International Olympic Committee. My name is Ful Ashite and I am the spokesman for the Chinese Gynastics Federation. We have done extensive study and discovered that, while melamime in no way causes kidney stones or otherwise harms babies, it turns out that it does have one major side effect. You see, it turns out that babies that are fed tainted milk age at an amazingly slow rate. Yes, you see, it causes girls who are sixteen to look unmistakenly like they are eight. Thank you."

* "Wait a minute...I know who you are. Didn't you use to work in the Middle East? Oh yeah, it is you. You used to be the Iraqi Information Minister! Oh well, we believe you. The IOC does not have a spine anyway. Have a good day."

* Glad to see that Rich Harden was removed from game 3 as a result of his having lost command of the strike zone. I know that Larry and Lou wanted to make sure he is completely ready to go at least six frames at West Side Willy's Bowl-a-Thon on Halloween weekend and I was worried that our hopes would unreasonably rest on the shoulders of Bobby Howry and Neal Cotts.

* A well-worn cliche' is that hindsight is 20/20. Well worn...but indeniably true. And there is no doubt that life would be a heck of a lot easier if we knew what was going to happen ahead of time. The Yankees would have played their third baseman on the edge of the grass to take away the bunt, despite Jake Taylor's imitation of Babe Ruth in the '32 Series. The Brady's would have never trusted that crusty old prospector in the Arizona ghost town and believed that Jesse James carved his initals into the wall of the jail cell (although I suppose we would have been robbed of one of the greatest TV scenes in history...when Mike's big boot finally did the trick). Jerry would have never worn his brand new leather jacket to his dinner with Alton Benes.

Now I suppose that some of you were sitting there begging Lou to remove Ryan Dempster from the game before Loney's grandslam, but, I doubt that most of the sports talk callers who bemoaned Lou's deicison to leave him in actually thought it was the proper move at the time (I'm not talking to you Bearister). Given Dempster's track record of being able to get out of jams (especially with the bases loaded), I thought -- and still think -- that keeping Ryan in the game was the right move. After all, who were they going to bring in? Dave Veres?

* At the end of the day, I think the majority of the blame has to fall squarely on the offense. After all, while the Blackhawks scored 7 goals in a single preseason game, the Cubs were able to manage a grand total of six runs in the entire season. Ouch! But that does leave me to my closing comments for today and a glimmer of hope for the Chicago sports future ... "Here come the Hawks, the mightly Blackhawks..."

Jump on the bandwagon now!!

The Dream Derailed

"I've got season tickets to watch the Angels now.
And that's just what I'm gonna do.
But you, the living, you're stuck with the Cubs.
So, it's me, who feels sorry for you."

- A Dying Cubs Fan's Last Request: Steve Goodman


Unless you have been living under a rock, was a surpise contestent on Survivor, or have watched nothing but the "America's Next Top Model" network (formally known as MTV) for the past six months, you are no doubt familiar with the song "Go Cubs Go," written by noted Cubs fan and 70's folk musician Steve Goodman. Far fewer are familiar with Goodman's other "tribute" to the Chicago National League Ballclub -- quoted above -- and, after watching Sammy Sosa Soriano take a half-hearted swing at a 58-foot breaking ball to end the Cubs so-called "dream season," I could not help but immediately think of Goodman's words.

(By the way, the dying Cubs fan quoted above is referring to Janet Klinn, WrigleyBill, and John Travolta's character "Michael," not to Vladimir Guerrero, Chone Figgins and Doug DeCinces and certainly not to Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. Just want to make sure we are all on the same page here).

What can I say? I cannot help but be very disappointed and, well, -- to be completely honest with you -- very, very sad that the season ended the way it did. It always hurts to see the Cubs season come to an end, but especially this year after six months of so much promise. You know, there are times when I am incredibly jealous of people who, at the end of the day, simply do not care and are able to go about their business without giving it a second thought. People who honestly believe that it is just a game. I, however, cannot. And I keep thinking about the words of Random Thoughts commenter "Allinonthefirsthand Tom" who noted on his FaceBook page "Tom does not know why he cares so much about something that disappoints again and again and again." Well said.

The bottom line is I don't know either. I don't know why it matters so much. I just know that it does.

I have tried to figure it out. Heck, people a hell of a lot smarter than me have tried to figure it out. The problem is you just can't. You cannot explain why someone like me feels such joy when their favorite team wins and such agony when they lose. You cannot explain why my mood often IS dependent on whether Ryan Theriot perfectly executed a hit-and-run or whether Ted Lilly couldn't locate his curveball. I don't think anyone knows why some of us are wired the way we are.

Oh sure, I've still got the Bears, Indiana Hoosiers basketball, Blackhawks and Bulls, but for at least a little while I cannot help but feel a bit empty. The Cubs, after all, are different. It sounds corny, but the Cubs truly do hold a special place in my heart. After all, thanks to my parents (my mother primarily) I think I knew who Ernie Banks was before I knew Bugs Bunny. I grew up thinking that Oscar Meyer hot dogs and Frosty Malts were what they fed you in heaven. I thought Bill Buckner was the best hitter in baseball, Rick Reuschel was a legit Cy Young candidate, and the combination of Steve Ontiveros, Larry Bittner and Manny Trillo could be the magic formula.

I can still remember going to Osco Drug with my father every April for that year's first pack of Topps Baseball Cards and I remember hoping and hoping that I would get an Ivan DeJesus. I remember the mustache and I can picture myself sitting on my bedroom floor, reading every stat on the back of the card...his .278 batting average, his 24 doubles, and his 74 walks (no doubt nursing my bleeding gums... I mean, did they have to make the gum THAT hard?!?). I remember Tim Blackwell, Lenny Randle and Mike Krukow. I remember how I felt when my mother told be that we would NOT be going to Wrigley on a June afternoon thanks to an untimely spate of thunderstorms and I certainly remember that not even Bruce Jenner and the Village People could not make it all better despite their best efforts in the truly horrific movie "Can't Stop the Music" (it turns out that going to Randhurst to see the late 70's "classic" was my mother's inspired backup plan...).

I cried when the ball went through Durham's legs, cursed Will the Thrill and, for one day, believed that Tuffy Rhodes was the next Hammerin' Hank. I heard Harry successfully spell Doug Dascenzo's name backwards and chuckled at the thought of what he would do if Dan Quisenberry ever became the Cubs' closer. I wondered why Marla Collins and her too-sizes-too-small ballgirl shorts disappeared so suddenly (I guess they did not trust an innocent 14-year old boy with the truth...).

I was actually there when Brant Brown dropped the ball and I was in the building when Steve Trachsel pitched seven no-hit innings versus the Giants in game #163. I threw an O'Henry bar and, fortunately, avoided time in Milwaukee County Stadium jail. I questioned Moises' unorthodox way of hardening his hands, considered buying a Mark Prior model #22 MRI machine, and sat in stunned silence as D Lee put the Marlins ahead in the top of the 8th.

In other words, I live with this stuff every day and I have for the past 34 years (I trust that I was not consciously listening to Jack Brickhouse when I was two, although with my mother, I cannot say for sure).

We all know that it has been 100 years, but sometimes you have to step back and really think about it to realize how amazing (painful?) it is. 1908. One hundred years. You could not take off for a weekend getaway in the Keys in 1908. Heck, at that time, the Wright Brothers were only first considering how to turn a $10 airline ticket into a $350 total bill. In 1908, there were not people driving Hummers decked out with multiple video game systems and plasma televisions. 1908, in fact, was actually the first year of production for the The Model T. Arizona Diamonbacks and Alburquerque Isotopes? Heck, Arizona and New Mexico were not even states for gosh sakes.

Look, I am not going to insult anyone by saying "Wait Til' Next Year" and I will not even hazard a guess regarding whether 2009 will finally actually be the year. I suspect that the Cubs will have another excellent team next summer, but, the truth is that nobody really knows. Lilly could come down with a case of Prior-itis. Big Z could throw out his back trying to break Mike Fontenot over his knee. Einstein Jones could come back and kill us all. One just never knows.

But I do know that after the tears dry in a couple of weeks, I'll put my Cubs cap back on and try and figure out the riddle that is middle relief. And you can bet that I will be there come next April, watching every pitch and hoping against hope that 101 years is long enough. And although I appreciate the Dying Cubs Fan's sympathy and I may be both sad and disappointed, I remain forever proud to be a Cubs fan. It is, after all, who I am. And who I will always be.



***More on the Cubs and the end of the season coming later this week. Be sure to check back! Thanks!!

Keeping the Dream Alive

Calling me a pessimist is a bit like calling Random Thoughts Hottie #1 attractive. It is a bit like calling Kelvin Sampson a cheater. It is a bit like calling Nancy Pelosi a bitch (regardless of your politcal leanings...). We do, after all, hold these truths to be self-evident.

That said, I don't imagine many of you thought you would read the following words on this blog after the last two nights during which you could have sworn that the Cubs had returned to the days of Ricky Gutierrez, Eric Young and Willie Greene...

THE SEASON IS NOT OVER.

You see, I checked the MLB postseason rule book and it turns out that a team needs THREE victories to win a division series. THREE. I also checked espn.com this morning and it turns out that the Dodgers have only won TWO GAMES (and was absolutely shocked that I did not have to pay to be an "Insider" to gain such information. Who knew?).

So the Cubs lost the first two games of the series...at home. What can I say? It sucks. Does it suck worse than dropping the spirit stick at cheer camp? Yes. Does it suck worse than having to watch Kelly Kapowski date that slimeball manager of The Max? Yes. Does it suck worse that getting caught in the kitchen doing unmentionable things to a pie by your father? Well, no, I do not imagine that it sucks quite that bad. But it does still suck pretty bad.

But the simply truth is that the series is not over. It is going to take a herculean effort no doubt, but I beg everyone to please keep believin' (insert Journey lyrics here). I have to say that I was disgusted leaving Wrigley last night. Disgusted with Cubs' "fans." Shouting obscenities. Booing. Can you imagine what they would have done if Bob Howry had come into pitch. Somebody please call an ambulance.

And if you are one of those people who this morning is walking with your head down, relying all-too-soon on that well-worn mantra "wait til' next year," I take you back to 1984 and I ask you... after getting crushed in the first two games of the NLCS by the North Side, did the San Diego Padres simply fold up their tents? Did they think the series was over? Hell no.

Did Tony Gwynn think it was over? Hell no. He just bellied right back up to the buffet, had an ninth serving of pudding, put on his uniform and rapped out hits for three staight nights. (By the way, is anyone else wondering if he is planning on auditioning for a lead role in a remake of Jake and the Fatman?).

Did Eric Show think it was over? Hell no. He shrugged his shoulders, invited Alan Wiggins and Steve Howe over, picked up his crack pipe, and went about his business.

Did Steve Garvey think it was over? Hell no. He just raised that hairy size XXXXXL forearm of his, smiled his biggest smile, and said "first I am going to tear the hearts out of Cubs' fans everwhere by hitting a 1oth inning home run off Lee Smith and then I going to celebrate by sleeping with Terry Kennedy's wife...and Kevin McReynolds' wife... and Graig Nettles' wife... and, well pretty much all of southern California."

And for those of you who were too busy watching Tron to pay attention to the '84 Cubs (in other words, for those of you who were not insane enough to build a shrine to Bobby D, Ryno, Sarge, the Penguin, and others -- man, it was the coolest thing...it had all my baseball cards, hats, pennants...I should have taken a picture), I ask you to think back to 2003. Did the Florida Marlins think it was over after falling behind 3-1 in the series? Once again, hell no. Jack McKeon simply told Sophia Petrillo that she was going to have to find someone else to take her to the Shady Acres' senior dance on Thursday night because he was going to be busy managing his Marlins in Game Seven. Ugueth Urbina simply told his Venezuelan farm worker friends that they could breathe easy for another week or so, but to be sure to have plenty of gasoline and a large machete on hand when he does return. Josh Beckett simply...man, I frickin' hate Josh Beckett!

By the way, Greg Oden ended up taking Sophia to the dance. But, please do not feel to badly for Jose Contreras who spent the majority of the night drinking mojitos in Little Havana after being rejected by Sophia. It turns out that Blanche showed up at the bar shortly after one o'clock and, well, you know the rest. But I digress.

Anyway, want to know whether this is over? Ask Rich Harden, who was on the wrong end of a 3-2 series loss to the Red Sox in 2003... a series that Harden's A's led 2-0.

The Cubs have now lost eight playoff games in a row! Eight. Well, call Dick Van Patten. Give Willie Aames and Grant Goodeve seats next to Lou in the Cubs dugout. Break Adam Rich out of prison because eight is enough!

All summer everyone ran around saying this is our year. Well, this is still our gosh-darned year! We lived through the Karchner years! We suffered through Rey Sanchez! We cleansed the team of Felix Heredia and Jaime Navarro and Einstein Jones and Stephen Hawking Hairston and Dumb as Shit Gopherball Glendon and Thing One and Thing Two and all the other crap. Dave Wannstedt just called. And you're gosh darned right, Dave. All the frickin' pieces are in place!!!!

So, I implore the team to keep their heads up, go out to the left coach, and get the job done. Wear the Cubbie Blue with pride. Wear it with honor. Wear it with confidence. (Except you, Fukodome, you can leave your uniform at home...).

So is this over? I call on the wisdom of one Senator Bluto Blutarsky to sum up (creative license entirely mine)...

"Over? Did you say over? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! And it ain't over now! 'Cause when the going gets tough…the tough get going! Who's with me? Let's go!…"

"What the fuck happened to the Cubs I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts? Huh? This could be the greatest comeback of our lives, but you're going to let it be the worst. 'Oh, we're afraid to go with you. We might lose.' Well, just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I'm not gonna take this! Torre? He's a dead man. Juan Pierre? Dead! MANNY? DEEEEEAAAAAADDDDD"

I, for one, have no choice but to still believe...

Go CUBS!!!