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IF YOU SEE SOMETHING SCURRY ACROSS THE FLOOR, BE CAREFUL. IT COULD BE DEXTER FOWLER.

· Joe Sez, News, Trades · , , , ,

TURNCOAT-#5

A snake. A rat. A cockroach. And anything that one might find growing in the dank corners of a gas station bathroom. These are things that should hold a higher place among men than the one, the only — the ever-lovin’ lulu of dastardly, scum-sucking, hemorrhoid-inducing jack wagons — the traitor. In this case, Dexter Fowler.

That’s right, snowballs, this morning the St. Louis Cardinals (the devil’s agents among the living) announced that they’d inked a deal with our former leadoff hitter to the tune of $82.5 million for 5 years. Chaaaaaaaaaaaa-ching. The guy is gettin’ a gargantuan payday. Does he deserve it? Well, let’s see … Did he cure cancer? Did he stop the climate from changin’? Did he bring me that human ice cream cone, Scarlett Johansson? No, no and, sadly, no. But this is baseball. Nobody deserves what they get paid. If you accept that then, yeah, Fowler should get a few years and more for each one. But that’s not the real story here.

The real headline is ripped from some stupid history book Sister Demarus made me read in 8th grade, and recounted the story of Benedict Arnold — a guy who fought heroically for the Continental Army (that’s our side, pinwheels). At some point, though, he started providin’ the British with American troop locations and, as the commander of West Point, began weakening the fort’s defenses, draining its supplies and craftin’ a surrender plot right underneath George Washington’s nose. Really … how different is Fowler than Arnold? Yeah, sure … they don’t look alike, they live in totally different times, and one was a soldier and the other a centerfielder. On the surface, it doesn’t seem like they were stamped outta the same mold. But they SMELL exactly the same, my friend. And it’s this odoriferous scent of Turn Coat No. 5 that makes Fowler the Benedict Arnold of the Chicago Cubs.

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TOM RICKETTS GIVES CUBS FANS A SWIFT KICK IN THE SNOW BALLS FOR CHRISTMAS.

· Joe Sez, News · , , , , , , ,

TOM-RICKETTS-GRINCH

Christmas is a time of good cheer, right? That is unless your name is Tom Ricketts, owner of the Chicago Cubs, Grinch look-a-like, and the guy who put the ‘dick’ in Dickens.

If you unearthed every single last chunk of coal in the entire state of Wyoming and hauled it to Chi-town, it still wouldn’t be enough to fill Tom ‘Ebenezer’ Ricketts’s Christmas stocking. Not even close. Best you could do would be to marvel at how the black of the coal is no where near as dark as Ricketts’s microscopic little heart. Assuming he has one at all.

That’s right, sports fans. This week, the Cubs announced that they’ll be raising 2017 ticket prices by an average of a smidge under 20%. Merry friggin’ Christmas. With that move, Cubs owner, Tom Ricketts — the man who brought an end to 108 years of the Chicago blues — revealed his true colors. And what an ugly friggin’ rainbow it is, my friend.

You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch,
You really are a heel,
You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a bad banana with a greasy black peel!

This special Ricketts box of Crayolas contains the following:

1. The aforementioned black. In this case, an inescapable black hole shade of midnight reserved for only the greediest, meanest, nastiest of hearts. Again, this assumes there’s something heart-like in this guy’s chest.
2. Gold; as in what already lines every nook and cranny of Ricketts’s pockets. (What the hell is a ‘cranny’, anyway? It sounds painful. Whatever the hell it actually is, I’d like to Garo Yepremian my right foot smack into the center of Ricketts’s.)
3. Green. But not just any green, mind you. The Benjamin, Hamilton, Washington and other dead presidents kinda green, soon to be migrating from the accounts of Chicago Cubs fans’ to the overflowin’ coffers that are already straining to hold the Ricketts fortune.

You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch,
Your heart’s an empty hole,
Your brain is full of spiders, you have garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch,
I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!

You know, for about a month there the guy had to be on the very tip top of Santa’s “Nice” list, havin’ brought so much joy to so many people after so many years. Not now, pallie. If I’m Santa, I’m spikin’ the reindeer’s preflight meal with enough Exlax to evacuate the collective GI track of a herd of elephants, then I’m establishing a holding pattern over Ricketts’s house about 2 hours later. I mean, half the city is STILL wearin’ its World Series grin. Hell … I’m one of ’em! So what does ownership do? They give us baseball’s version of the ice bucket challenge. I can just see Ricketts sittin’ behind his big ol’ desk, wringing his sweaty hands like Mr Potter, and sayin’, “Alright, alright, they’ve had enough time to enjoy themselves. It’s time to make some money off these suckers.”

You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch,
You have termites in your smile,
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch,
Given a choice between the two of you’d take the seasick crocodile!

I get that baseball is a business … supply and demand and all that kinda crap. And they gotta reinvest in the team if they’re gonna keep this crew together long enough to win one or two more trophies. Plus, the Cubs are damn good. They’re gonna draw. There’s just no arguing with the fact that tickets are gonna be a hot item next season. Should prices go up? Yeah, probably. But 20%? Are they gonna be 20% better than they were this year? No, they are not. They’d have to win 124 games to do that, and unless everybody else plays with 7 guys or without gloves or somethin’, that just ain’t in the cards, pal. Ricketts is gonna put essentially the same product on the field next year but charge us 20% more to go see it. Friggin’ Scrooge, man. I didn’t see the guy droppin’ prices in 2013 after we lost over 100 games the previous year. How come the door never ever ever never swings in the other direction? Cuz of guys like Ricketts, that’s why.

You’re a rotter, Mr. Grinch,
You’re the king of sinful sots,
Your heart’s a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!

In closing, I’d like to once again (cuz I have already) thank Tom Ricketts for bringin’ Theo, Jed and Joe to the Northside. Without them we’d still be the Chicago Cubs instead of the World Series Champion Chicago Cubs. Seriously, I’m grateful. But Tom, if by some magical reason you’re readin’ this, I also want you to know that you can take your Grinchy attitude and stuff it right back up your chimney with glee, pal. Why? Cuz the average Joe — guys like me who already have a tough time affordin’ a few games a year — won’t be able to go to any, now. Or at least fewer. So thanks, dick head. You not only stole Christmas, you’ve stolen the pleasure of goin’ to the ballpark, too.

You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a nasty wasty skunk,
Your heart is full of unwashed socks, your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch,
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote,
“Stink, stank, stunk!”

Joe

PS. “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” was written by Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel. Genius. Friggin’ genius.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT NUMBER THIS CLOUD IS, BUT IT’S GOTTA BE A LOT HIGHER THAN 9.

· 2016 Cubs, Joe Sez, News, The Playoffs · , , , , , , ,

I don’t know about you, but I got one question: Where in the hell did all these people come from?! I ask in that particular way cuz there are definitely some major league ice sickles hangin’ off of Satan’s ass today. Yup. The biblical equivalent of a large Canadian low swooped down and turned the lake of fire into somethin’ the Blackhawks could win another Cup on. But, whew … Cloud 9? (Or whatever number it is.) It feels way more like Sardine Can 9 to me. You’d think Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump made simultaneous announcements to drop outta the race for Idiot in Chief. Nope. It was the Chicago Cubs winnin’ the last game of the last series of the 2016 baseball season.

That’s right, pal. After sufferin’ through 108 years, 19 days, 2 world wars, 1 billy goat curse, Steve Bartman and the Kardashians, the Chicago Cubs are finally sittin’ on the very tip top of the baseball world. If I was friggin’ Shakespeare I still couldn’t find words to explain how good this feels. I think it’s in the general vicinity of playin’ hide the sausage with the missus, but with mustard, relish and some cheesy fries. I can tell you this, whatever this feelin’ is … I’m not alone, cuz it appears as though I’m celebratin’ with 15 or 16 million of my closest friends.

CUBS-WIN-STILL

At the risk of stating the obvious, I don’t know when I’ve seen a better World Series. I know. That’s a little like saying, “Those are some major league yabbos, you got there, Dolly,” to Ms Parton. Sometimes, though, you just gotta say stuff, even if it doesn’t need sayin’. Of COURSE I haven’t seen a better Series than that. Anyone who saw the previous one ain’t breathin’ anymore.

But Wednesday night … holy CRAP, was that nail-biting or what?! I created a new divot in the edge of the Schlombarcalounger from being perched there for 4 hours. Comin’ back from a 3-1 series deficit, and givin’ away a 5-1 lead in game 7, and going extras, and the whole “did Joe overtax Chapman by using him needlessly in game 6” thing … it was a baseball thrill ride of Magic Mountain proportions. Havin’ an umpire crew from the Stevie Wonder school of rock was like the whip cream on top of this extra large tension sundae, too. I didn’t much like it, and it’s definitely a good reason to keep the Second Amendment intact, but the umps did, in their own pathetically incompetent way, make things interesting. Of course, some people find reality TV interesting, so I think “interesting” is in the eye of the beholder. Except for umpires, cuz their eyes don’t work much).

If I could change anything about Game 7 (besides me havin’ front row seats with Bill Murray) it would be to bring Harry back from his skybox to call the game … for two reasons. 1) Harry was the definitive, quintessential, beer-drinkin’ Cubs fan, not to mention the voice of the team for like a million and a half years. He had more Cubbie blue in him than the Chicago River does today, and … AND … I was walkin’ outta the Ambassador East, where Harry lived during the season, and where I used to get up for the game, and he took one look at the missus and me and offered us a ride to the ballpark. No shit! Of course I think he gave us the ride so he could enjoy ridin’ with the missus for 15 minutes. Anyway, reason #2 is that if Harry woulda been doin’ the game, no one’s ears — mine especially — would have been assaulted by the moronic commentary of one Joseph D. Buck. (That’s a D for douche bag.) He’s like a friggin’ Ken Doll, except he’s not as knowledgeable about baseball. Obviously, I’m not the only one with this fantasy, cuz Budweiser did a pretty good job of showin’ us what it woulda been like if Harry had called the game:

Anyway, I could go on and on, but it’s taken me 2 days just to stop celebratin’ enough to write this little bit down. Bottom line is the Cubs are world champs, which has put grins the size of the Sears Tower on about 30 million people. Enjoy the parade, baby!

Joe

PS. I believe the groundbreaking ceremony for the Theo wing in Cooperstown will be underway soon.