Things That I Know About Chicago Sports

1. Our teams always choke when they're favored--unless it's MJ versus the world.

2. You can only win championships when nobody gets hurt--which almost never happens to Chicago sports teams.

3. As the losses pile up, the manager quickly becomes despised--see Riggleman, Wannstedt, Manuel, etc.

4. The press whips up public opinion by declaring that the front office is chock full of idiots; also by calling out the owners for being cheapskates--see the sports section of the Chicago Sun-Times and the Chicago Tribune pretty much always.

5. Management responds to fan backlash with a bunch of bad deals, setting in motion horrendous fortunes for many years to come.

Brock-for-Broglio, Maddux-for-nobody, the signings of Salaam and Enis--these and many, many other bad moves were primarily based on crappy instincts, injuries, or the potential for injuries. Of course, if a team can avoid the first rule, the other four will never come into play, barring the possibility of some action based on bad instincts or poor reactions due to health concerns.

However, it's ridiculous to expect that each and every athlete will remain 100% healthy for an entire season. Most of the time, though, the team that avoids injuries will win the championship. Unfortunately for fans of the Windy City, our guys have a terrible propensity toward long-term ailments and freak injuries.

Take this year's Cub team, for example. Their pre-season disabled list already includes "Numbers 1 and 1-A," who MUST make 20 starts each if we have any chance in hell of beating Houston and St. Louis. Yet, Prior is playing catch, Wood is throwing a dozen pitches at most, and the season starts in four days. What a joke.

The Sox, on the other hand, begin the season with everybody healthy and jizzing over themselves over the 2005 championship. Last year, they miraculously kept everybody healthy, from start to finish. What is the likelihood that all of their guys stay healthy for the entire year again in 2006? Pretty low, I'd wager. I really hope (and, as a Chicagoan, I expect) that this bullshit cutesy Jerry-Kenny-Ozzie hugs-and-kisses crap morphs into a terrible soap opera involving many firings and bad moves after--let's just say--Podsednik, Cotts, and Buehrle go down. Nothing like that happened last year, but it's bound to happen some time. Just you wait, Sux Side Faithful, for the d.l. is creeping up on you, and you're not even aware of it.

One other thing: Is anybody else totally sick of NFL draft coverage?

Patpourri

"Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd."--Voltaire

Oh!

Hold On...

I promised I wasn't going to write anything for a bit, but I have to post this. Bye!

Good vs. Evil

Today was like a study in temperance, highlighting the ancient struggle of good vs bad:

Good: Slept with the windows open last night.
Bad: Everything was blown to the floor.

Good: That girl's skirt is really short.
Bad: That girl weighs 230 pounds.

Good: The street is pretty quiet.
Bad: Quality time with the panhandlers.

Good: This line is reasonably short.
Bad: One clerk working; forty clerks talking.

Good: My dad would dig that suit.
Bad: That suit is lavender.

Good: All alone in the office.
Bad: I don't know how to switch on night service.

Good.

Bad.

Nice.

Breather

I'm taking some time off from the blog, I think, the reason being that I've received word that my posts of late have been unenjoyable and boring. Sorry for the pause, but I'll be back better than ever in no time. Until then...

Yes, Yes, YES!

Apparently Allan Ray is fine. Whew!

No, No, NO!

Preliminary reports are that Allan Ray's eyeball popped out of its socket.

I think I'm about to cry.

Main Line Merde

What the hell happened tonight?! The 'Nova boys couldn't hit a shot to save their freakin' lives! Remember my discourse about their 4-1 and 3-2 offenses? Well, tonight they played the 2-3 for the first time this year. I couldn't believe my eyes. What in the world was Chris Charles doing out there?! This wasn't Farleigh-Dickinson in November at the Pavilion--this was Pitt at the fucking Garden in the Big East tournament!

And could we see a little retribution for ARay please?! They should have had Dunleavy go out there to crack one of those Pitt weasels straight in the grapes. (Oh yeah--we're the Villanova Wildcats, not Temple Owls. Spank!) In reality, the train was going off the rail long before ARay went down. I hope he's okay. What is a "serious eye injury" anyway? Was it just a poke, or...oh good God...a laceration? Gasp--a separation? What is happening right now?!

It's been one of those classic March dead-ends, when good players freeze up, keeping college hoops fanatics awake long into the night. Nothing we tried worked. Rebounding, steals, loose balls--this was the first time we didn't spank the other team in the "little thing" categories. I don't even want to look up the stats. It's like we barely showed up, and that's the first time that has happened this year. I'm sad right now.

WBC: Day 10

So, Canada beats both Mexico and the US, yet the vanquished advance. Weird rules.

No Comment

This past weekend, I reportedly said to a girl, "You're a too little short, but you've got a lot of spunk." Then I flicked a lit cigarette at her.

Life can be brutal in the big city.

Hear Herd

Clip of an interview with Jay Wright about the Big East tournament. The mini-rant at the end about errant wrecking balls is hysterical.

Good clip, good clip. Round of applause. And...out...

Number TwoConn

ScrewConn just lost to 'Cuse in the second round of the Big East tournament. One week ago today, DePaul, who didn't even qualify for conference tourney play, embarassed 'Cuse by 39 points. Take, ScrewConn, take!

How does Number One 'Nova sound to you?

Patpourri

"Baseball is not necessarily an obsessive-compulsive disorder, like washing your hands 100 times a day, but it's beginning to seem that way. We're reaching the point where you can be a truly dedicated, state-of-the-art fan or you can have a life. Take your pick."--Thomas Boswell, Washington Post, April 13, 1990

WBC: Day 6

Round 2 Teams:

Pool A: Japan, Korea
Pool B: US, Canada
Pool C: PR, Cuba
Pool D: Venezuela, DR

Now that Canada is (for the moment) the king of North American baseball, those hosers to the north will move on to Round 2, while los hombres to the south will head to Spring Training, home, or who knows where--hot, crowded places with a couple of Xs in the name, I suppose. That was the only real question mark this early in the tournament. Now, with teams like Italy and Taiwan out of the way, the level of competition should improve drastically. I see no reason to believe that it won't be either US-Venezuela or US-DR in the final, though Japan could be a wild card, especially with the last few days off.

Not that one game really matters in the greater scheme of the tournament, but what went wrong in the US-Canada debacle? Given that pitching is usually everything, my first reaction was, "Dontrelle Willis must have been throwing beach balls." But apparently our defense did us in: no errors, but 5 earned runs on just 6 hits for Willis (2005 ERA of 2.63; Wednesday ERA of 16.87). I nearly crapped myself when I turned it on in the 6th to see the score at 8-6 in Canada's favor, a score which would stand to become the final.

Shocking, but not the end of the world. Instead of sweeping through the Stadium Formerly Known as The BOB, the South Africa game is a must-win in order to advance. That's right: Thanks to freakin' Canada, the US-South Africa contest has some meaning, and that's just a laughable thought when you get right down to it.

Random Thought of the Day

Know what's pretty cool? Plucking the cellophane bottom off an empty pack of cigarettes. Give it a try some time if you don't believe me.

Basic Cable's Night of (Mostly) Crappy Movies

USA: "Coyote Ugly." Maybe the dumbest movie of all time. Hot, anonymous starlets acting gay as hell. I am sad to admit that I actually saw this piece of crap in a theater in Jersey. How was I supposed to know what I was getting myself into? I just didn't know, man!

ABC Family: "Jack Frost." Actually, this one gets my vote as the dumbest movie of all time. Michael Keaton dies, is ressurrected as a snowman, attends his son's hockey championship (the team is coached by metalhead Henry Rollins, of all people), and ultimately melts to death. I actually had this on tape at one point during college, for the simple reason that it's so amazingly stupid.

AMC Part 1: "Murder by Numbers." Sandra Bullock hunts down a gang of wily teenagers as they commit a string of murders. I couldn't reach for the controller fast enough.

AMC, Part 2: "The Philadelphia Story." Not really much you can say to bag on this one, as it's resoundingly considered a classic. That being said, it takes an awful lot for me to get geared up to watch a black-and-white romantic comedy--namely, a bottle of hard liquor, plus a cute and insistent girl. Katherine Hepburn plays a woman named Tracy Lord, which makes me wonder if, under all that 40s/50s/60s air of propriety, she was half the dirty sex muffin that Traci Lords was. (Ebert I ain't.)

FX: "Anger Management." As one might expect from the title, this film contains a ton of screaming and slapstick comedy, and includes a bad love story just so there's something for everybody. Watching Adam Sandler take down a cop on the field at Yankee Stadium is worth the price of admission, even if the ensuing speech to Sandra Bullock is nauseatingly sappy, and the movie itself nauseatingly crappy.

There were a number of other bad movies on, but I gave up channel-surfing pretty quickly. Luckily, MLBtv.com was re-broadcasting Game 6 of the 1991 World Series, in which Kirby Puckett blasted a Charlie Leibrandt circle change into deep center field in the 11th inning to force Game 7. It was sweet relief from a night that would have otherwise been spent watching a bad movie with commercial interruptions, or else finishing up my off-season baseball reading list. Thank God (and Al Gore) for the Internet.

More Ammo

Go on--give me another reason to despise you.

Cool Reading

The birth of basketball, in Naismith's words.

Is anyone else really pumped for March Madness? If 'Nova goes to Indy, I go to Indy, no question. But first, the Big East title...

Seamus's Almost Birthday

Kirby Puckett's life story could be written in two acts. In the first, he survived childhood in the Federal Street projects and became a hero. In the last, he grew massive and died. It's ultimately a sad tale, but I suppose not if that's how he wanted it. Judging by the way he packed on the weight in recent years, I think it's pretty safe to say that he never expected to live into his 80s anyway.

Short of stature and oddly shaped, he was surprisingly quick and agile. Turns out his quick, compact leg action translated well to moving around a baseball field. This ebullient guy, the one who looked least likely, somehow managed to gain 137 stolen bases and eight Gold Glove awards for center field. His production was nearly as strange as his physique. He barely ever walked (never more than 57 times in a season), but he didn't strike out much either (never more than 100 times in a season). His high on-base percentage (.360) would lead one to expect a high overall OPS, but his slugging percentage was surprisingly low (.477). Puckett hit a ton of singles and chipped in the occasional home run--the two foundations of the prototypical hitter. When you have a name like Kirby Puckett, your name complements the legend--memorable, endearing, unique.

See ya later, Kirby.


In honor of Seamus's birthday, which is actually Tuesday and not today (Monday), a bunch of us went to Ron of Japan for dinner, before venturing to the Wrightwood Tap for some music. At Wrightwood, we reclined on the leather couches in the back room, and battled against the food comas resulting from massive amounts of Japanese food. Our conversation (read: muttering about food coma and Japanese food) naturally led to a discussion of MSG, what the debate was all about, and the reasons why it's so bad for you. While Seamus shed a little light this mysterious substance, I kept thinking to myself, "Does MSG have anything to do with my innards' uncontrollable twitching?" I ended up resolving the immediate problem in the lockable of the two women's rooms, because the men's room was missing its stall door, despite the massive renovations undertaken a couple years previously. Ten flat screens, but no shitter door; MSG-burdened weak sauce.


Only Jerry Jones would think, "I'm holding a serious press conference about the labor agreement; I'd better take a cheerleader with me." ESPN News ran clips of this travesty all night. That link contains the only photographic evidence of the event I could find, because NFL.com is a bunch of bastards with regard to copying its images.

Screw football anyhow. Spring is in the air.


I found myself sprawled out on Matt's couch, half-listening to Puckett memorials on t.v., but more intently gazing out the window--a wonderful aspect of being drunk in Chicago. I was struck by the realization that our skyline views are reminiscient of sweeping cubist paintings--all of these unique squares and rectangles and spires, the variety of colors, dancing lights and odd shadows, the swaying domes of the treetops, and stretches of open sky. My gazing was rudely (and wisely) interrupted by a gutteral instinct that exclaimed: "Home!" Once I finally got there, I continued to stare out the window, this time at a different example of the Chicago cubist form. Then I passed out fully clothed on my bed.


Happy real birthday, Seamus!!!

Review

As far as I'm concerned, the really remarkable thing about What I See is the massive amount of material I've produced considering how much there is that I won't write about. My stories are at a minimum 90% true. The 10% that's invented are primarily identification details--I usually use a different name for bars and the like, and people are always assigned a handle. What's cut out is usually mundane and unimportant. If you read along, you are very likely aware of this, since I've restated the point multiple times throughout the months. What I mean when I say "the things I can't write about" are the pieces that I don't let happen. For example, I might re-read something and think, "That's funny but too crude," or "That's smoothly written but pointless," or "What a heap of crap," so I'll click the back button without saving it. There have been more than a few instances when I've posted something for a few hours, reconsidered it at some later point in time, and removed the entry. Sometimes I keep the rejected pieces; other times I delete them. On occasion I'll revisit a certain article--sometimes weeks later--and completely gut the crap out of it before republishing.

I love to surprise people with what I come up with. For instance, I might make some off-handed comment to someone along the lines of, "I'm writing about last night," and their immediate reaction is usually, "If I get in trouble because of it, I'm going to kill you." To their surprise, I'll turn around and write something completely unrelated and allusive about the evening's events, or something that might have happened regardless of the night's specific circumstances. In my mind, that's the key to great writing: the ability to lead people along through a train of thought that they were not expecting. It's easy to make a list of taverns and people. First, there is no art in making lists; that's too pedestrian for a person of my intellect. Second, diaries are bound to be overly personal, so I've steered away from that format into slightly more esoteric topics that challenge my skills of writing and contemplation.

Admittedly, in the beginning, most of my posts were recollections of specific events, primarily revolving around drinking and misbehaving. However, back around Halloween, right around the time when people close to me began to find out about what I see, I noticed that people sometimes acted differently when they thought I was thinking about writing. The irony of this is, the first moment that I sense a person might be putting on a show for my benefit, a little voice in my head strongly insists that I ignore them. The little voice is powered by three very good considerations:

• This vehicle is not meant to read like an outline of a script for my life, and therefore there are no stars of What I See. At best, the characters in my life make for an ensemble effort. Given that it's What I See, I think it's only right that the subjects of the material are my reactions, rather than a dialogue or events-driven give-and-take revolving around others.


• It's not like I'm desperate for material when I sit down at the computer. I find inspiration in a wide variety of places, so I'd rather keep it organic, preferring not to force the issue. Plus, when I don't have any idea of what to write about, I'll just write about baseball or sports.


• I don't have an editor pointing a gun at my head, and there are no deadlines or really even any expectations that drive me to write. I just flat out do it whenever I get the itch, and because the motivation comes from within, it is extremely easy to come up with ideas. If ideas prove hard to come by, so be it: I simply won't write that day.

The bottom line is, I gain a strong sense of freedom from producing this blog. It's great to hear positive feedback from people, because it's awesome to know that I'm entertaining my readers as much as I possibly can. Moreover, What I See has greatly enhanced my love of writing and provides me with a constructive and satisfying hobby. So, thanks for checking out what I had in mind during any particular day. Much more to come...

Also: Sorry, Ellen.

Twitchy

I'm watching Cubs-Giants on WGN right now, and I want to be there so bad. Spring Training is awesome.

WBC: Day 3

Like I said before, today doesn't really matter. Taiwan beat China--screw the commies. Korea is beating Japan 3-2 in the top of the eighth. Japan is the better team, just not in this contest. Big deal. Either of these teams will go down like a clown to us or to one of the South American teams. The game of inches works, in small part, because we have 6'9 guys playing first, a commodity Asian countries simply lack. We beat them by just a little, and a little is all it takes in the greatest sport of them all.

Man, I have got to get to bed. International competitions take a huge toll on sleepy time.

Go WBC.

A Dollar for Your Thoughts

"Fuck me. He's gonna get hurt again, isn't he?"

Where the--?!

Where the hell is Tequila Rick?! I mean, Christ, man! Call me!

Fairy Wuss

I'm so disgusted with this guy that I can't even rant about it any more.

WBC: Day 2

I didn't see any of today's games from Japan, because the first was only on ESPN Deportes, and the second started at 4 a.m. In order to get score updates of the Japan-Taiwan test, I was forced to endure Friday Night Fights which irritated me to no end. I found it terribly ironic that the boxing match, which featured two Hispanic youngsters, was not on the Spanish-language channel, because who's watching boxing except for Hispanics?

I ought to be ESPN's programming director. Poker? Pshaw! Figure skating? Pshaw! Bass fishing? Pshaw! Replays of the 1975 World Series? Now, that's more like it!

I'd contemplated staying up to watch the late contest between Korea and China, but a few too many Fat Tires (two at my brother's apartment, four at the Local Option, for a grand total of six--a new record) and a blacked-out, passed-out cutie named Ellen convinced me otherwise.

The games tonight, Japan-Korea and China-Taiwan, will have no effect on the forthcoming rounds, since Japan and Korea each secured the two wins necessary to advance. Political rift aside, China and Chinese Taipei (Taiwan to the rest of us) are finally united by the fact that they are completely incompetent in terms of baseball aptitude. As I commented the other night, Korea has a very strong pitching staff and thus deserves to make it to the next round, though I doubt they'll advance to later rounds. Japan could be the sleeper of the tournament. Their team is loaded with seasoned professionals, and the players are motivated by a desire to prove that the Japan league is, in fact, a major league. I don't necessarily agree with that position, but it should make for a very interesting story line going forward.

WBC: Day 1

Two games today, both from the Tokyo Dome.

South Korea 2, Taiwan 0. Decent game--baseball is baseball. Korea used 4 MLB pitchers; Taiwan didn't have a chance. Korea will get brutalized in the later rounds if all they can muster is two lousy runs against Taiwan. Both teams are pretty good defensively, but it's tough to make any judgements about the offense just yet. Pitching is by far the most notable difference. These guys just don't have the zig-zag-zip of a Santana or a Clemens--or even a Sean Estes. Jeff Brantley sounded like he was suffering from either jet lag or one too many pre-game sake bombs.

Japan 18, China 2. To say that the Chinese were overmatched is the understatement of the year--I can't believe they even managed to score two runs. A pretty good American high school team could murder the Chinese squad, and I know I could play a better left field than the guy they had out there. Why the heck did I stay up to watch this mismatch? Oh yeah--I'm hopelessly addicted to baseball. Ichiro is one of my heroes. A couple of these other guys could definitely play in the Bigs, particularly their second baseman, Nishioka. That 10-year contract rule in Japan is a crock--where's the Japanese version of Marvin Miller when you need him?

The Tokyo Dome looks like a pretty cool environment. Nets extend all the way around the foul lines to prevent foul balls going in the stands, or, I suppose, to discourage crazy drunken kamakazi runs onto the field. I've always wanted to see a Japanese baseball game, but they're never televised. ESPN broadcasts the freakin' spelling bee, but not the Japanese championship--what's with that? Japanese fans are certainly a vocal bunch. These Asian coaches are out of the dugout, cheering their players on, shouting out direction, really engaged in the game, and the players seem to react well to it--maybe Dusty could take note.

Judging by these first two games, this tournament is going to be a ton of fun to watch. I'm suddenly very psyched.

A Gaggle of Thoughts

My lunch partner today offered up the following: "I mentioned to my daughter just the other day, the one thing that's really strikes me about people of your generation is, there's a genuine dedication to honesty. Like, guys my age, we were raised to be bullshit artists. But kids these days are somehow more noble than us." I took that as a compliment--we are, after all, the evolution of the social revolution, even though the social revolutionaries turned into Me Generation bastards.


Incidentally, at that same meeting, which took place at a health club dining room, I had an unsatisfying bowl of soup that amounted to water, chopped vegetables, and a little pepper. Health food blows.


I'm still feeling the effects of introducing an empty stomach to a number of Fat Tires. Ellen said, "What Bell's Oberon is to Mike Sheehan, Fat Tire is to me." I second that, little lady!


Essential reading for Dahlgren, Master At-The-Bat, and any other baseball fan getting geared up for the new season: Baseball Prospectus.


I would kill to go to the airport and hit up Spring Training right now.


One way in which Panic and the Dead are strikingly similar: Jerry, Bob, and JB sometimes forget the words during super-heated jams; these fumbles are completely acceptable.


What's up with things? I mean, there are so many of them out there that it's tough to get a handle sometimes.


I hate to say it, but I've got a bearish outlook on the economy in the short-term. Why? If I could pinpoint the reason exactly, I'd bet on it--just a strong gut feeling.


"Yeah, I know it's stupid, but what am I supposed to do about it?" Ya know? Sheesh!


I am sick and tired of logging on to Cubs.com and having that sappy video promoting the World Baseball Classic pop on automatically. Then again, since nobody knows how this event is going to be received, it's impossible to guess the best way to promote it. It is not going to have World Series intensity. It'll be like a better version of the Olympics, maybe, but not October baseball.


I hate playing games with people; it's such a waste of time. State your point, and let's just get on with it. Why go out of your way to muddle everything?


Why does every story about Mark Prior contain a phrase along the lines of "continuing to make progress?" What exactly is he progressing from? He didn't finish on the d.l. or have any type of surgery. By all appearances, he's as healthy as any other 27-year old athlete. There's this automatic level of doom surounding this club. I'm sick of it. Just freakin' get the job done.

Random Thought of the Day

The great thing about pre-packaged cookies: crunchy tablespoons of raw sugar.

A Dollar For Your Thoughts

"Should I just get tonight's special at Don & Charlie's, or...?"

A Prayer Answered

Good call, Curt--see ya next year, better than ever!