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Now that we’ve got that “Back to the Future II” prediction out of the way, here are a few truths (and not-so-truths), from the Sun-Times perspective, about the ’16 Cubs. I’d like to note that the Sun-Times likens Maddon’s “embracing the target” approach this season to George Custer embracing the target of the Sioux Nation in 1876. I’m canceling my subscription.
Joe
Okay, cotton balls, take a knee.
Is it just me, or has the tendon that connects Rob Manfred’s cranium to his sphincter suddenly grown long enough to wrap around his man grapes?
As if the bonehead 30-second clock wasn’t enough to boil the cholesterol in my blood, the Commish’s office just approved a slide rule at second base. A slide rule at second base? Are you dry humping me? I thought we already had two slide rules at second base: 1) you better slide on a double play, so the shortstop’s throw doesn’t knock your teeth out; and 2) unless you knock the shortstop on his ass trying to break up the double play, don’t bother coming back to the dugout — just leave five hundred big ones on the skipper’s desk and beg his forgiveness at the hotel bar. Maybe he’ll let you play again in … oh, I don’t know … A FRIGGIN’ MONTH!
Tighten up, melon balls.
I got a craw, and there’s something jammed in it pretty tight. Actually, really tight, you know? Like pickles. Sardines. Like a Krakus canned ham. Know what I’m sayin’?
It’s called the Commissioner’s Office and it’s got me feeling a little salty.
Far be it for yours truly to criticize the genius sitting in that particular ivory tower, but didn’t Bud Selig retire? I kinda hoped when he broke wind in his high-back leather chair for the last time he’d be taking his ham-fisted decisions with him. (Can anyone say inter-league play, and a 7-7 tie in the FRIGGIN’ ’02 ALL-STAR GAME?!)
No such luck, pallie. It seems while I was outside grabbing some air after Selig finished crop dusting the room, Rob Manfred stepped in to give us — after, like, nine hundred years of sports perfection — a clock on the field to limit, of all things, the time a coach takes to start and finish a mound visit. I’m sorry, cheese doodles, was that a problem? I got news for Robbie: the only thing wrong with the game is the amount time I spend waiting for the Old Style vendor to reload. Other than that, the game’s fine. Leave it alone.
Let me spell it out for you, sports fans: the commissioner is going to make the game better by speeding it up. And the way he’s going to do that is by starting a 30-second clock when the coach leaves the dugout on his way to the mound? Hey, I’m all for fast games — win or lose inside two-fifteen, I say. Nobody likes their infielders falling asleep, and since they stop pouring beer in the eighth … well, I start to get a little parched. Know what I’m sayin’? But is making a coach run to the mound and back really the answer? Hey, Robbie, you think for two seconds how much time it will take for the paramedics to resuscitate Chris Bosio when he collapses on the infield grass? Hell, Lou could light up a pitcher for thirty seconds before he crossed the foul line. Makes no sense to me.
Want to make the game faster, Robbie? Lose the DH in the sissy league, instant replay, and inter-league play. And for God’s sake stop letting TV dictate when the next pitch is thrown.
Joe
Roger Ebert, perhaps the best movie critic EVER, died today. A moment of silence, please.
Thanks.
I was thinking that there are some parallels between watching movies for a living (like Mr Ebert did) and being a die hard Cubs fan (like you and me). I mean when you’re being paid to critique movies, you pretty much gotta see the credits roll in every piece of crap Hollywood dishes. And I mean crap with a capital K, pal. How ’bout Hansel and Gretel, or Oz the Great and Powerful? And lemme tell ya, if anyone knew the difference between a good movie and a turd, it was Ebert. How he could sit through stuff like that, I’ll never know. And maybe he couldn’t. There’s a rumor going around that he died from complications resulting from watching A Good Day to Die Hard, perhaps the worst 97 minutes excreted by Hollywood in the last 10 years. And I’m a Bruce Willis fan, for Crissakes!
I’m just saying that having to watch movies all the time, when most of them suck, is a whole lot like watching Cubs baseball games, when most of THEM suck, too. I mean how different is it? You pay waaaaaaay too much to get in, you munch on stuff that’s not good for you (but is deeeeeelicious), and you already know how it’s gonna end within the first 20 minutes.
One and Oh my friends! Feels good to be sure on this fine morning after. Yeah I know, Marmol tried to wreck it for us. Again. More on that later. Let’s just keep the good feeling going for a couple more moments, shall we?
Jeff “The Shark” Samardzija turned in the kind of performance yesterday that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, those first 4 or 5 years when he pitched like a steaming turd were just a fluke. Those fastballs to the backstop … history! Those sliders that got parked in the bleachers … forgotten! It could happen, right? Of course right. Now I will admit that when a guy like Samardzija is a team’s number one Opening Day starter, it worries me a bit. Kind of like putting Mario Mendoza in the clean-up spot. And I also will admit asking myself more than once over the past several years, (usually every 5th day) “Why didn’t he choose football? He was a big football star at Notre Dame after all, so why did he choose baseball? Why, God, oh why?” But I am washing those feelings aside this morning and will live in the 15 watt glow of his fine performance yesterday, at least for another 4 days.
Which brings me to the black cloud that is Carlos Marmol. Seriously, Carlos… THE VERY FIRST FREAKIN GAME OF THE YEAR?!!! Marmol’s like the guy who shows up at your party uninvited, drinks your last Old Style, and then blows chunks all over your Mom’s carpet. Of course he comes from a long line of chunk-blowing closers, so what can we expect? Mel Rojas anyone? Dave Smith? Turk Wendell, Rod Beck, Kevin Gregg? How about the 6 fingered wonder that was Antonio Alphonseca? The Cubs could have their own Crappy Closer Hall of Fame for Chrissakes!
The misses is yellin at me to cheer up. The Cubbies are One and Oh.
Go Shark!
Joe
The Cubs ended their spring in Ho Ho Kam in a way that reminds us that they are, in fact, the Chicago Cubs. They ended up a couple of games below .500 and blew an 8th inning lead in the spring finale, losing to the Mariners 6-4. Another typical March; in like a lamb, out like a lamb. I hope they can locate some lion from April forward. But I also hope for Hugh Hefner to turn over the keys to the mansion, and everything female in it.
Las Vegas currently has us at 75/1 to win the Series this year. I know that sounds hopeless, but they’ve also got 6 teams listed with worse odds than that, including the Astros at 300/1. I mean, compared to that … we’re a friggin’ lock.
Bottom line is this; we’re currently tied for first. Spring hope is eternal, my friend.
Joe
Before I begin, I gotta say that anybody who disrespects someone because of the color of their skin is a friggin’ a-hole. There’s simply no excuse for that. There are causes; most notably Pea Brain Syndrome, but that can be corrected if someone wants. So … no excuses. If that’s you, please find another team besides the Cubs to root for.
Ok, so anybody hear what Milton Bradley said about Chicago Cubs baseball fans yesterday? Anybody kicked in the stomach, spit on or sucker punched yesterday? Kinda the same thing.
Now, I don’t want any of you to think that I give a rat’s ass about what Milton Bradley says about Cubs fans. But I just gotta respond to someone who takes a cheap shot at us, even if the source is a light-hitting, grossly over-paid, whining, sulking, pain-in-the-ass like the Monopoly guy. (He was called something else by Lou, but I’ll just leave that one alone.)
I got one friggin’ question for Mark McGwire … if performance-enhancing drugs don’t enhance your performance, bat rack, then why are they called ‘performance-enhancing drugs’?
I’d say the guy is smokin’ crack, but crack probably doesn’t have an any effect on him.
Whoever or whatever is controlling Big Mac — perhaps aliens, or maybe a wizard or Barry Bonds — has convinced him that he, Mark McGwire, is the only human on the planet that is immune to the effects of anabolic steroids. His physiology is different than the rest of us. He is a species of one.
Apparently this major piece of beefcake doesn’t think steroids had one iota of influence on his home run production; says the good Lord gave him the strength to be a home run hitter. Too friggin’ bad he didn’t give him enough strength to tell the truth. I’ll tell you what, pallie … you wanna see an enhanced performance? Watch the Costas interview. McGwire could get a guest shot on Inside the Actor’s Studio based on that. He’s got the quivering lip. He’s got the cracking voice. For a minute there I thought I was watching Vivien Leigh in Gone With the Wind. Criminy. Get me a tissue, Tito.
So I guess, according to the special sauce inside Big Mac’s head, the Olympic Committee ought to rescind their ban on performance-enhancing drugs. Right?
Joe
You know, all this hubbub about Tiger Woods using his driver on every hole in sight got me thinking about Milton Bradley. Not cuz he can’t keep his putter in his own bag, though. I mean, Milton’s no prize, but as far as I know he doesn’t try to score unless he’s in uniform. He’s not too good at it, but you know what I’m sayin’, right?
Anyway, I’m thinking Elin Woods isn’t gonna do the ‘stand by your man’ thing. She’d look like an idiot. Same goes for the Cubs and the Monopoly guy. I’ll tell you this, my friend; if Stand by your Man had been penned by the twangy Joe Schlombowski rather than that country vixen, Tammy Wynette, it woulda gone a whole lot different…
(Alright, you gotta hear the tune in your head, now.)
Sometimes it’s hard to be a Cubs fan
When you got an A-hole out in right
You’ll have bad times
And he’ll have mad times
Doing things that you don’t understand
I could go on, but you get the point. And speaking of things I don’t understand, I heard Billy Williams ain’t ready to broom Bradley yet. And that just boggles the mind, doesn’t it? How can B-Dub even have the first second of that thought enter his head without calling his doctor?! I mean really.
Joe
Hey there snowballs, Joe Schlombowski here, with another “general manager” off season tip.
So, I’m thinking the Giants oughta sign Cheech & Chong. I mean, if an itty-bitty bag of weed can turn Lincecum into a Nolan Ryan/Louis Tiant hybrid … imagine, just imagine what those two could do. Friggin’ lights out, that’s what.
Besides, I think half the San Francisco population has a prescription for medical marijuana, so it’s a natural fit. And think of the cross promotion possibilities with fast food joints. You could have Munchies Night, or Jack in the Bong Night … stuff like that. I’m tellin’ you that ballpark would be packed. Nobody would care about the outcome, but it would be packed.
Anyway, that’s my tip for you, Brian Sabean.
You’re welcome, pal.
Joe