Hey there, lawn darts, this is the venerable Joseph T. Schlombowski, comin’ at ya from the cheap seats. [Sidebar: I don’t know what “venerable” means, but it sounds good whenever I hear it comin’ outta some big shot ESPN mouth piece.] The Reds are comin’ to town and you know what that means — time to break out the foam middle fingers, pal.
Yeah, my normally militant persona is ratcheted up a couple a hundred notches, but when you’re in the Schlombowski zone, does it really matter? That’s like addin’ a couple of extra buckets of water to the Pacific. Know what I’m sayin’?
Annnnnywaaaaay … it doesn’t take much for me to get up for a series against the Reds. Why? Cuz of the pin-headed Marty Brennaman — the uncontrolled fog horn of the Cincinnati Reds. I’ll get back to his mouth in a moment. First, though, I gotta hand it to the guy: In spite of the burr he has permanently wedged between by ass cheeks, Brennaman is definitely on the right side of Rob Womanfred’s new slide rule. Which is to say his brain waves are hittin’ the same beach as mine for a change. In fact in April, Brennaman said he thought the Commish was legislating baseball “into a game of sissies.“ Totally. Almost sent him a thank you note for that one, but then I remembered why I’d rather eat off the floor of a gas station bathroom than hear his name mentioned again.
Which brings me back to Brennaman’s pie hole, and gettin’ up for the Reds.
For those of you who don’t remember: During a game between Cinci and the Cubs in 2008, Adam Dunn plunked one out onto Sheffield. Now you’d expect that one to come flyin’ back over the bleachers somewhere in the vicinity of then right fielder Sammy Sosa (former Cubs superstar turned roided up DB). Instead, Dunn’s blast initiated a symphony of baseballs — not just the one — being tossed back onto the field. Friggin’ laughed my ass off! (Not enough of it according to the missus, though.) But Mr Brennaman and his steel reinforced sphincter reacted to it differently.
Now, all I gotta do to get my fan face on for the Reds is spend 2 minutes on YouTube listenin’ to that loud speaker tellin’ me that Cubs fans are far and away the most obnoxious in baseball.
You’ll have to excuse me now. I gotta go take a Brennaman.
Alright. So you know how when your team wins the Series (I actually have no first-hand knowledge of this but I’ve seen it on ESPN) it’s expected that the city throws a big party, right? And you gotta have a parade down the biggest street with bands and confetti, and a buncha people screaming like Jesus himself is in the lead car and has just agreed to a 10 year contract for a dollar a year. So I wanna know … where’s the other side of that coin, my friend?
Leading off, Alphonso Soriano:
I am — and anyone within a few blocks of my house will confirm this — pretty miffed about what I’ve been hearing out of a few of the Cubs who allegedly ‘played’ in the NLDS. Leading off, for example, we have the always eloquent Alfonso Soriano. The other day he says, “We’re a good team for  games, but we don’t do nothing after that. That’s the difference. We’re not put together for [a short series].”
I got this nice pep talk email from a woman in California, today. I know, I know. Left coasters — besides rooting for the likes of the Giants and Dodgers and stuff — are generally, you know, genuine whackos. Usually you’re just rolling your eyes when they’re lips are moving, while you listen intently for anything of substance that falls between the word ‘dude’ and the next use of the word ‘dude.’
So little surfer girl was wondering if I’m gonna keep writing the blog now that the Cubs are out of it, as though the previous 47 years of misery hadn’t taught me what rooting for the Cubs means. (See? Left coast.) I mean, it’s not like the Cubbies ever really had a chance after friggin’ Sports Illustrated started writing about our chances like the Series was a foregone conclusion. That brain trust has never picked a winner, so as soon as the first kind word appeared, Lou shoulda just had them clean out their lockers and hit the links. The season was over.
Hey, there peanut gallery. Joe Schlombowski here.
Not to beat a dead horse or anything (although that would give me a world of satisfaction right now) … not really, I’m just pissed. I mean how do you go from spanking the league all season to creating such a powerful sucking force as to risk creating a black hole in the universe? We should change our name to the Chicago Electrolux, or the Hoovers or somethin’.
To be fair, not everybody stunk it up, but as a team — and this is a team sport last I checked — we definitely played in an odoriferous, holy-cats!-who-cut-the-cheese? way. I quote Bull Durham again: “This is a simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball.” Apparently, that’s true for some, not so much for the Cubs. At least in the playoffs.
Alright. I’ve had time to cool down, repair the hole in the drywall, and get a new TV. And I have a new way of looking at the horrible (some would say pathetic) loss in Game 2.
Remember, in 2002, and 2003, the Red Sox made it past the Indians and then the A’s only to get eliminated by the Yankees. In each case, they were down 0 – 2 and came back to win the ALDS 3 – 2. So it is possible that we will now give the Dodgers a big helping of Second City bitters.
But the Sox lost each year. Couldn’t get past the friggin’ Yankees. And yet, that was the beginning of the new regime … the new Larry Lucchino and John Henry brains and money trust. It took a few years for the Red Sox, and then they busted through. It’s possible that’s what the Cubs are going through right now. We got the farm system, so as long as we know when to spend (Harden, maybe Sorianno, Edmonds) and when to fold (Fukudome), we will keep knocking at the door. And one of these days, Heidi Klum will answer that door wearing a gossamer camisole from Victoria’s Secret.
But maybe not this year.
I could be wrong. But I’m not.
Anybody still wondering if there is a God? I didn’t think so.
And I’ll tell you another thing … if that guy on the corner last night was right, and Jesus does save, he might want to insert himself in the Cubs lineup Saturday, because it doesn’t look like they’re gonna be able to save themselves.
At least I didn’t have to witness it from section 304 this time; thank you Katie Couric. Instead, I had to watch the debate on account of Sarah Palin sounding like a complete cinder block with Couric the other day. And because of that, the whole friggin’ country, including the Mrs, was tuning in to see if she needed to ask the Wizard for a brain.
Oh, and for those of you who disagree with my read on that, there’s a good chance you could get a job as a Major League umpire. I mean in the 9th, Jerry Davis watched a ball off the bat of DeRosa hit the line right in front of his face, and he called it foul. So … I mean … you know … are you serious?!
Anyway, I turn the game on after, see the score is 5 zip, and turn it off. That lasted for about 20 minutes before I had to see what was going on. A disaster, that’s what, pal.
Hey, Lou, maybe you oughta sign Palin for the duration of the series. She was totally embarrassed in her last outing (sound familiar?) but did she roll over and let Biden steam roll her? Naw, she went back out there and took her cuts. You guys? 4 errors. It’s the baseball equivalent of “What the hell is the Bush doctrine?”
Of course I could be wrong. But I’m not.
Let me start this by saying that probably the best movie ever made (that you don’t have to be in a hotel room to watch) is Bull Durham. Just so you know.
So yesterday I walk out of Wrigley and, across from Murphy’s, there’s this guy with a Jesus sign going on and on about how Jesus saves, and this and that. So I’m thinking, well we got Kerry Wood, pal. (Not that he got a chance to save jack in game 1.) Anyway he’s looking right at me, so I say, “Oh, yeah, where?” So he says “In heaven, son, in heaven. You just gotta belieeeeeeve.” You know, like one of those white suit-wearing TV evangelist dudes, all in a rapture, waving his arms and throwing his head back like he’s Tim Lincecum.