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.)
Anyway, Bradley — a guy that’s so beloved that he’d been on 8 different Major League ball clubs in 11 years — intimated that if you booed him on the field, you are a racist. Oh sure, yeah, that’s right. Bradley got booed because of the color of his skin. Not the fact that he sucked in the field, or that he sucked at the plate, or that he sucked as a teammate. And lest we forget … his blockhead toss of the ball in the stands with only two outs, his not infrequent nuclear temper tantrums, and an attitude so bad that he was asked by management to pack up and go home before the end of the season.
Mr Happy went on to say that “unless you’re Superman — you’re Andre Dawson, you’re Ernie Banks, you’re in the Hall of Fame — then it’s going to be tough” for African-Americans to play in Chicago. Gimme a friggin’ break. We love everybody. Show me a team that’s sucked as much as we have in the last 100 years but still fills the stands with Jobe-like loyalty, and I’ll show you the Red Sox. And we’re exactly like the Red Sox, only more so. You don’t have to walk on water to be loved in Chicago. All you gotta do is try, respect the game, and appreciate the fans that are lining your pockets with gold.
Bradley, on the other hand, says that things were so bad for him in Chicago that he “felt like a prisoner in [his] own home”, he “ordered in every day” and “never went anywhere.” Too bad that isn’t quite true, cuz if he’d really not gone anywhere, he wouldn’t have come to the damn ballpark either, and we would have been spared his season of discontent. Actually, it was only one of them, but it was the one we got to see up close and personal.
So, to the Mariners, I say good luck with that trade you made with us. You think it’s cold and gray in Seattle? You ain’t seen nothing yet. And to Cubs management, I ask if there’s any way we can have our brief relationship with Milton Bradley annulled, like a bad marriage that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. It would be good to have him stricken from the Cubs record, so as not to leave a permanent stain on the right field grass.
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.
So, the Cubs filed for Chapter 11. Kinda poetic, don’t ya think? But it’s like Dr. Seuss poetic, not Robert Frost or Robert Service or Shakespeare poetic. Although, this season was a comedy of errors. (Uh, for you White Sox fans … that was one of Shakespeare’s plays.)
Anyway, it just seems fitting that the most pathetic baseball team in the history of history is declaring bankruptcy. I know, I know, it’s just a technicality that will let the Ricketts family take over the club. It’s not like they’re breakin’ up the team and selling off the jock straps. Although, I think I can get maybe two or three hundred thousand people who would agree that may not be such a bad idea.
One thing’s for sure, the Monopoly Guy has got to go. In fact, he oughta go directly to jail without passing Go, and without collecting $7,000,000. That’s right, sports fans, Wiltin’ Milton took home a seven with six zeros after it. And you know what we got for that? A .257 average, a whopping 12 dingers, and the attitude of an abused rottweiler. And who does he blame this on? Us; the fans; Chicago; the best fans and the best city in the world.
Hey, Mr Anger Management, why don’t you just bite me! You ain’t good enough to wear a Cubs uniform. Hell, you ain’t good enough to wear a McDonald’s uniform! (Those guys have to make change, which means they gotta count higher than 2.) I never heard of somebody being sent home early, but if it was cuz you were hurting the team, like Hendry said, you can count your lucky stars that it didn’t happen sooner, pal. (That is, if there are less than three of them.) I mean it’s not like your bat and glove did us any favors. In fact I’ve seen nicer swings in Cabrini-Green! And I don’t give a crispy crap what the Player’s Association says, I think you gotta know how to count to three if you’re gonna play ball at the Major League level. Of course, you weren’t really playing, you were just out there blaming the grass for being green. So I’m sure you’ll sucker some team into giving you a job next season. We’ll know who it is when the truck full of egg shells pulls up to their locker room. Take a hike, pallie.
Sorry. That last paragraph was intended just for the Milt Shake. I gotta go brat-itate, now. That’s where I sit in a dark room and think about eating 3 or 4 brats with the works. Always calms me down.
Ok, I’m back. You should see the calm on my face. I look like I’ve been hypnotized by Kreskin. Anyway, part of me thinks Hendry oughta be on the Monopoly Guy’s bus for making that deal in the first place. Gotta hand it to him, though, for sending the bum home early. It’s like the Major League version of having to stand in the corner during class. Thumbs up on that one, Jimbo.
So what I think is that the Cubs should take this opportunity and sorta Chapter 11 the roster; do a little restructuring, especially with the Ricketts taking over. You know, clean slate and all. To me, that means a closer that does fine at Wrigley, but couldn’t close an umbrella on the road … oughta hit the road. In my most fluent Fukudomese, I say sayonara, Gregg. I’d say sayonara Soriano too, but we’re stuck with that friggin’ contract. Actually, I say it all the time just cuz I like the way it rolls off the tongue.
I could go on, but what’s the point? It’s not like what I think matters a hoot. But, my fellow bleacher bums, you might as well be prepared to make the new drought number “102,” cuz unless a handful of over-paid, under-performing Cubs are replaced (yeah, right after hell freezes) or they somehow turn themselves into Albert Pujols over the winter (sure, and monkeys are gonna fly outta my butt) I don’t think the word ‘postseason’ will be used in the same sentence as ‘the Cubs’ in 2010.
Of course, I could be wrong. But I’m not.
Casey Stengel and Yogi Berra proved that you can have one wheel in the sand and still be thought a genius baseball man. This I do not understand. Mostly because baseball is always called “the thinking man’s game.” I don’t see it. At least not in the Cubs dugout. If they’re thinking — and I’m not saying they are — it must be about nail polish or something, cuz it sure as hell isn’t baseball.
I give you exhibit A; Lou Piniella. Now, I love Lou. I mean the guy is right out of central casting and, up until now, I thought he was exactly what we needed. But when I read stuff like I did yesterday, it makes me wonder if Lou wouldn’t be better of with a few jolts of electric sunshine to the temples. Or, perhaps, some other more vital area of his anatomy.
Take the Milton Bradley thing for instance. Lou’s assessment is that the best thing he can do to get the Monopoly guy’s crap .230+ average to a respectable level is to relax. ReLAX?! If he was any more relaxed he’d be on a beach somewhere getting a tan. Instead, how about friggin’ CONCENTRATING?! Ever thought of that? This is a guy who drops routine flies, and turns out number 2 into a souvenir. He doesn’t need to relax, he needs 3 or 4 guys pulling on his shoulders until his head pops out of his ass.
Honestly, I think Lou needs to go off his medication for a while. Is it me, or is he turning into the Dahli Lama? I remember when Lou used to get fired up; put the fear of God in people. Now, when you screw up and you gotta go to the principal’s office, you might as well be having a session with Doogie Howser. In this case, Bradley got a warm and fuzzy personal tutoring session from Lou. Same difference. Last year the Monopoly guy hits .321 for the Rangers. This year he’s hitting about as good as my mother. (No offense, Mom, but you never could hit a curve ball.)
And what does Lou say? “Hitting a baseball is ability, and he’s got ability.” Brilliant, huh? No wonder they paid him so much money to manage us into a World Series. “It’s good eyesight, and he knows the strike zone well.” He does? Stevie friggin’ Wonder knows the strike zone that well. “It’s also good hitting mechanics, and you have to get yourself in good position to swing the bat…” What the hell does that mean? Like, he should stand in the batters box? That’s usually a good place to be to swing the bat. C’mon, Lou! Is this why you’re so revered as a baseball guru? And then there’s the “…adding the relaxation mode to it more than anything else. No tension.” I got news for you pallie, Milton Bradley makes more in one plate appearance than I do in one year. About $25,ooo. So does Soriano. I think it’s time you bulldozed the day care center and brought back a little bit of the fury that made you famous. If we’d wanted milk toast as our manager we’d have hired Joe Torre.