Slammin' Sammy

I suppose it's time for me to comment on the end of the Sammy Sosa era in Chicago. First and foremost, the word that comes to mind is "sad"...sad that it had to end at all and sad that it had to end the way it did. Let's be clear here: Sammy dug his own grave by being egotistical, selfish and apparently just a plain bad dude. I loved him anyway.

And the Cubs aren't innocent in this mess. When Sammy was hitting those dingers, the cash registers at Wrigley were loudly ringing. People seem to forget that from 1992-1997, the Cubs were awful. (Yes, they've been awful for many years, but Sammy's first season with the team was in 1992.) Sammy's exploits were the only baseball-related reason to venture to Wrigley. Then in 1998, his HR battle with Mark McGwire arguably re-energized fans across the country (hell, around the world, too) about major league baseball. The Cubs won the wildcard that year, and Sammy picked up his first (and only) MVP award.

Since '98, Sammy had some great years and some not-so-great ones (hello, 2004). He "accidentally" corked his bat. He sneezed his way onto the disabled list. Most egregiously, he quit on his team the final day of last year's disappointing season. Oh, and he may have used steroids, too.

Did he have to go? Yeah, I suppose he did. What bothers me is that he was basically given away, and it's pretty distateful how the Cubs turned on what is arguably a monster of their own creation. When Sammy's ego and love of the spotlight became the show in Chicago, the Cubs enabled him, no question about it. Now that he's on the decline and made a big mistake that final day last year, it was time to ride him out of town on a rail. It doesn't seem right to me. Ego-driven rat bastard or not -- Barry Rozner of The Daily Herald actually had the balls to call Sammy "evil" on Channel 5 last night -- Sammy deserved a better ending.

When the corked bat incident went down in 2003, I caught a lot of shit from co-workers and friends about it. Sammy was my favorite Cub for a long time -- though he was taken over for good when Mark Prior made his debut in 2002 -- and I'll miss him. What a lot of people who don't live here don't realize is that there's always been a very vocal minority of Sosa haters in this town (meaning Cubs fans; Sox fans have always hated him). Even when Sammy was at his peak, this minority would mock his "beisbol been berry good to me" accent and his showboating. They'd bring up his strikeouts and say he never came through in the clutch. They ignored his walkoff HRs and occasionally brilliant defense (very occasionally brilliant, but he made his share of key defensive plays in the rare pennant races he was in). It hurts that now these ignorant idiots are happy today.

Interesting to note, too, is that the love affair between Cubs GM Jim Hendry and the Chicago media is officially over with the completion of this one-sided deal. Hendry is getting slammed in the press, and there's even suggestions that if the Cubs fail this year, both he and manager Dusty Baker could be shown the door along with Sammy. I can't even fathom that, as I trusty Dusty, and Hendry has completely changed the losing culture at Clark and Addison. The 2005 Cubs definitely have some holes--and right now, I have to admit I can't see them contending as is, though their pitching will likely keep them afloat--but I have faith. See, that's what being a Cubs fan is all about.

California Screamin'

I've never been much of a Local H fan, which is tantamount to treason here in Chicago. I saw them once while living in Louisville, and I found them way too metallic and screamy for my taste. But I'm coming around, at least a little bit. My friend Cal makes a yearly best-of CD, and the last two have had Local H tunes: "President Forever" from 2003 and 2004's "California Songs." I've been blasting the latter lately; it's extremely catchy, if a tad sludgy musically, but it's the chorus that just cracks me up:

And here we go again
It's never gonna end
We're all so sick of California songs
Yeah we know you love L.A.
There's nothing' left to say
Please no more California songs
And fuck New York, too

Absolutely love that last aside. Anyway, those two songs, plus past classics like "All the Kids are Right" and "Eddie Vedder," assure that if Local H ever puts out a greatest-hits LP, I'm so there.

And being as clever as I am (cough), I came up with the headline to this post before reading this story about San Francisco legislators hurling insults at one another, but it sure is a perfect fit. (The item was found, along with other interesting stuff, at Fort Miley.) Classic. Lawmakers here are just corrupt; I wish they were this belligerent.

A Fair Question

Hours of heathen fun at http://www.churchsigngenerator.com.

So Sadma About Us

I'm feeling particularly uninspired these days, re: this blogging business. Not sure why, but it's likely a combination of basically being snowed in most of the weekend and feeling pretty sorry for myself about the state of my job.

This, however, kind of cheered me up this morning (thanks to the fine folk at Fort Recovery for the link).

This is my current favorite, in terms of sheer out-there scariness.

Turns out there may be an explanation for today's funk.

Magic Johnson

In my ongoing quest to direct people toward blogs more interesting than my own (I know...not difficult), take a look at my buddy Paul's discussion of Ken Burns' Jack Johnson documentary. I didn't see much of it (hey, The Amazing Race just begs to be watched), but thanks to Paul, I feel as though I did. Incredibly interesting stuff about The Los Angeles Times and its, shall we say, extremely non-PC editorial after Johnson defeated James Jeffries in 1910. I look forward to viewing this film at some point.

The Killing Moon

I had thought about discussing this ridiculous Randy Moss mooning controversy, but instead I'll direct you to my friend Jeff's thoughts on the issue. He captures it pretty well, in particular how Moss' idiotic comments after being fined were far worse than the actual act. (Scroll down to his 1/14 posting.)

Where I would differ slightly is that while the actual faux moon was innocuous, if incredibly stupid, simulating wiping his ass on the goalpost is what I think a lot of people, Joe Buck included, found objectionable.

Life is Just a Fantasy

Where have you gone, Aldo Nova? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you...

I play a lot of fantasy sports. Probably too many, but I've found it's a pretty fun little hobby. I mean, I could be collecting stamps or something. Since I spend a lot of time participating, I thought I'd post updates from time to time. I'll start with this season's football leagues. The short version: I did quite poorly, with all three of my teams missing the playoffs. The ugly details, in ascending order of relative importance:

Bluegrass (Yahoo!)
Mudder City Mudders: 6-7, .462, 9th place, 1354.84 points
This is a 14-team league, so there's a 13-week regular season that allows for a three-week, eight-team playoff schedule. Autopick draft. The sad part is, I did better this year than I did last year, and I still failed to make the playoffs (45 points short). The trash talk is pretty lame, and when it's not getting personal, there's a lot of horse-racing discussion. I think I'm the only guy in the league that has essentially zero interest in the ponies, so the message board is pretty much worthless. Not sure if I'm going to re-up next year. Standout players: Joe Horn, Shaun Alexander, Pittsburgh's D.

World Football Association (Yahoo!)
Johnson Rods, 6-8, .429, 5th place, 1289 points
This is an eight-team league of which I'm the commish. It's a competitive league with a solid group of core guys. Autopick draft. I wish we could expand by maybe two franchises, but most guys seem to be interested in their pay leagues first (see below). My peformance in this league was particularly galling. Sitting in second place at 6-4, I was pretty much a lock for the playoffs. If you can do the math, you'll notice I lost my last four games, thanks to some boneheaded lineup moves. Still, had I scored a measly four more points in the final week, I'd have been the third playoff seed rather than sitting out entirely. Wait, it gets worse: Had I made the playoffs, my point totals--yes, I kept track even without having to, which is a sign of my sickness--would've meant I'd have won my first playoff game AND the title game vs. the dominant Ft. Miley Maulers. Basically, had I not benched Jimmy Smith the final week of the regular season, I would've won the title. I hate fantasy football. Standout players: Muhsin Muhammad, Shaun Alexander, Tony Gonzalez.

Chubby's (CBS Sportline)
Festivus Miracles, 6-8, .429, 3rd place (East), 1305 points
This is a highly competitive, 12-team league split into three divisions, meaning three division winners and one wildcard team. It costs $100 to enter, with the winner getting $700, second place $300. Live draft. It's my third year in the league; my three year record: 17-24-1. Ouch. After a 4-9-1 mark my first year and a 7-7 record last year, I was hoping for better things this season. I felt like I'd drafted better than ever--Ahman Green, Marvin Harrison, Stephen Davis, Darrell Jackson, Todd Heap, Tom Brady were my first six picks--and I ended up getting Pittsburgh's D early off waivers. Then the injuries hit: Davis and Heap went down early and missed most the year. Needing a second RB, I traded for Charlie Garner, who got hurt in the first game he played for me. I had picked up Drew Brees as a backup early on, so I then traded him for Duce Staley--not a particularly fair deal, but it was based on need; Staley ended up getting hurt IN PRACTICE the very week I got him. He never played a down for me. I made a couple of good moves--the Steelers' D, getting Jason Witten off the scrap heap to fill in for Heap--but the injuries doomed me to a 1-5 start from which I never recovered. Standout players: Green, Harrison, Brady.

As much as I enjoy fantasy football, it's fantasy baseball with which I'm truly obsessed. My beloved Windy City Wrigleys finished a disappointing fifth last year after cruising to a dominating win the previous season. We have a solid league, and it's one of the many reasons why I'm looking forward to baseball's return.

Jenny, Can You Hear Me?

I generally don't pay much attention to user reviews at Amazon, but I was sent this wackiness today. Some fairly clever people with way too much time on their hands comment on a compilation of Family Circus cartoons. You'll never view that comic the same way again--that is, if you're lame enough to actually look for it in the paper.

Seeing these reviews brought to mind the Dysfunctional Family Circus, a site that I was sorry to learn is now defunct, at least in its original form. (There are sites that reference it, however, and here's one that reproduces it.) The concept: Real Family Circus cartoons received the caption treatment from users; while often quite stupid, many of them were inspired. And, of course, given the nature of the Internet, deviant.

In searching for that site, I came across a guy who took it upon himself to dial all of the possible 867-5309 numbers. It's not that humorous--most of the numbers are disconnected--but I did enjoy the answering machine message at area code 678.

I Smell a Rat

I say we file a class-action lawsuit against this guy for being an idiot. Who's in? Such a suit can't be any more frivolous than his.

And why was he watching Fear Factor anyway? Was The Swan a rerun?

Over the Ryne

I swear, this is the last thing I'll post about GBV for a looooong while. Magnet asked me to try to recap the final show, and while I initially begged off, my memory was able to extract some additional details.

Meanwhile, was glad to hear the news of Ryne Sandberg's election into the Hall of Fame. I get into an annual argument with my friend Eric, a Jim Rice booster, over the fact that Rice is overlooked every year. I hear a lot of, "No way was Sandberg a better player than Rice." Forgetting the fact that that's just not true (to be fair, though, Rice's candidacy does have merit), Sandberg was the dominant 2B of his era, owns the highest fielding percentage in history for the position and was a dazzling combination of speed and power. He deserves enshrinement, and while I hold him in high-enough regard to believe he should've made it in on his first try, I'd say the third attempt is fair. Although, when you really think about it, Sandberg was a much better player than Wade "Chicken and Sex Addict" Boggs. Not a better singles hitter, mind you, but a better overall player.

Happy New Year, disposable-camera style. 

Hangovers are Real

So the GBV finale was about as expected--fun, beer-soaked, celebratory, a bit bloated--but it nicely and suitably capped the career. I don't have anything profound to say about the show or GBV in general, other than to reiterate that the band has played a pretty special part in my musical life over the last 10 years. Sorry to see that end, but on the other hand, I think it's a good time for it. While still a blast, the band's shows haven't been the guaranteed, rock-solid outings you once could count on. Then again, I think the finale was about the 25th time I've seen them, so the novelty wore off a while back. Still, out of those roughly 25 times, I'd say I was disappointed maybe twice, and that's a pretty good ratio.

For a more coherent review of the show, go here. Though it has a sort-of GBV 101 slant (and the writer furthers the "faux-British accent" notion; I've never heard Pollard that way), it's a tidy recap of the long, strange night.

I took five Chasers, and they did not work. Curse you, draught beer. Saturday was almost a total loss, though I did roust myself in time to see the final quarter of that classic Rose Bowl.

In other news, this doesn't make up for Miss Congeniality, but it's a start.