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NOT EVEN SHAKESPEARE COULD HAVE WRITTEN A MORE POETIC ENDING.

· 2018 Cubs, Joe Sez · , , , , , , , , ,

Hey there, popcorn balls. Yesterday’s Cubs-Crew matinée was a slow build, don’t you think? It wasn’t the kind of performance you’d walk out on (which is somethin’ you better hope I never catch you doin’) but I give just a single Siskel & Ebert thumbs up for the first seven frames — mostly for the command performance by Yu Darvish, who had control of the entire cast, especially the Crew, from the moment he took center stage. But after Happ had K’d for the third time (bringin’ his 2018 total to a lead0ff hitter, mind-blowing 17) and we’d squandered I don’t know how many opportunities to yank Milwaukee off the stage — including handing them the lead in the 8th — it started feelin’ a whole lot like another tragedy — somethin’ we’ve had to sit through way too many times already this season.

“The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.” ~ All’s Well That Ends Well.

Just when it started to look like the curtain might come down on the Cubs, though, the last scene began to unfold, with unforgettable performances by Happ, Zobrist, Bryant and Lester, as well as a few memorable scenes from the rest of the lineup. But the standing ovation goes to the left side of Milwaukee’s infield, who’s bumbling performance in the 9th turned what could have been a scene-stealing 2-1 ending into a laugh-riot comedy of errors.

The final act opened without betraying what was about to happen when LaStella popped out on the first pitch. But then Brewer shortstop, Orlando Arcia, booted a routine Caratini grounder for an error, which Heyward followed with a walk. Now we got guys on first and second; one out. Baez then swats a potential double-play ball to third baseman Travis Shaw. But Shaw, blinded by the lime light or somethin’, couldn’t get his glove on the ball, and loaded the bases, settin’ the stage for what happened next.

First, Russell, who’d come in to pinch-run for Caratini, scores on Zobrist’s infield single to tie the game at 2. Nice diving grab by Thames at first, too. But Barnes, who’d been brought in to close and was coverin’ first, missed it with his foot. Nothin’ hit outta the infield yet, but the game is tied, the bases are still loaded, still just one out.

Enter Happ, stage left, who like I said before has been playin’ like he WANTS to get pelted with rotten tomatoes. But he spanks a singled to left center, drivin’ in Heyward and Baez instead. The ovation nearly brought down the house … AND WE WERE IN FRIGGIN’ MILLER PARK for Chrissakes! (I know that really pisses off Brewers fans, which makes it all that much sweeter, especially since they tied to keep Cubs fans outta Wrigley North with a stupid “Wisconsin residents only” ticket policy this year. How’d that work out for ya, Crew?!)

Still just one out, bases still loaded and Bryant, who’d singled and homered earlier, and tripled in the 8th, gets a free pass, which brings me to my favorite act in the whole damn show. The stage is set for tackin’ on a few more runs: There’s still only one out and the bases are still jacked. So what does Maddon do? He brings in Lester — a pitcher hittin’ .083 — to pinch hit. That’s gotta friggin’ sting. Most especially since it worked. Lester’s sacrifice bunt to scores Zo from third makin’ it 5-2, Cubs.

“To be or not to be? That is the question.” ~ Hamlet

Sometimes you gotta wait ’til that last act unfolds before that question gets answered, and that’s what happened yesterday, my friend. As it turned out, it was most definitely “to be” for the Cubbies. Brandon Morrow came in and swept up the stage with what was left of the Brewers, and that, as they say, was that.

I expect my whining the past week over the Cubs’ lukewarm start is gonna turn out to be much ado about nothing.

Joe

PS. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Not as sweet as takin’ a dump on Milwaukee, though.

THERE’S NOTHIN’ LIKE WAKING UP IN LAVERNE AND SHIRLEY LAND TO REALLY PISS YOU OFF.

· 2018 Cubs, Joe Sez · , , , , ,

Now that’s more like it, canon balls! Dunno what happened to the Cubs yesterday, but I figure it had something to do with wakin’ up in Milwaukee — somethin’ that coulda turned even Mother Theresa into a snarling rotweiller. Anyway, their pitching and hitting — not to mention their heads — each came poppin’ out to where the sun shines with a distinct THWIP! It’s about friggin’ time.

In the poetic words of Kid Rock…

Ooh, I’m back (back), the fog is lifted,
The earth has shifted, and raise the gifted.
You knew I’d be back, so pack your bone,
And hit the road Jack, cause daddy’s home.

Who’s your friggin’ daddy now, Ryan Braun?!

Yesterday, daddy made his presence known in the form of Jon Lester, who wasted no time showin’ Braun, Laverne, Shirley and the rest of the Brew Crew who the friggin’ boss is. When Braun got on in the first, you could see right away he was chattin’ up the demons between Lester’s ears. But when he started tap dancing around the bases like Gene Kelly, you could see the veins in Jon Boy’s neck pop out. They looked more like tree trunks. So when Braun took off for third, Lester gave him the Stormy Daniels treatment. No, not that treatment. The one where you get pants’d and then swatted with a magazine like Donald J. Trump. Admittedly, Lester’s throw was more of a bounce pass than a pick off, but in the wide, wide world of Jon Lester, it was a friggin’ Picasso, baby. Braun was left standing there with nothin’ but his toothpick in his hands. Loved it.

From that point on Lester was in steam roller mode. He surrendered just three measly hits and a walk though six, giving the Cubs an 8-nothin’ shutout over a team that the last few years has been givin’ me the same kinda rash as the Cards. And when that flares up, there’s nothing quite like the soothing relief one gets from the Cubs’ red hot bats. Sounds counter-intuitive, I know — puttin’ somethin’ hot on a rash — but it works every time, my friend. There are those times when — like the first five games of this year’s campaign — that the only red hot thing I can get my hands on is the missus. That works, too. Boy does that ever work. Kinda makes me wish for slump sometimes.

Then there’s Javi Baez.

Holy friggin’ craptiods! Unlike who’s-yer-daddy Braun, Javi doesn’t tap dance around the bases. He’s much more like the Tazmanian Devil. To score from first on a grounder to the pitcher — which Baez did in the second — requires a level 9 wizard’s license or somethin’. That and some really crappy fielding. Next to Lester nabbing Braun, it was the best play of the game. Number 3, I’d say was a tie between JaHey goin’ yard — somethin’ I think we’d all like to see a little more of — and Bryant slappin’ out his 500th hit.

In all, using the Brewers for toilet paper gives me a world of satisfaction. So would using them as a doormat, which I hope happens today.

I leave you with a little more Kid Rock.

The black cat is back, in original form.
The legible, credible, inevitable storm.
Way past the norm’, still misbehavin’.
Finger in the air and the flag still wavin’.

And that flag he’s referring to? In this case it’s the W, baby. Go Cubs.

Joe

AT WHAT POINT IN THE SEASON IS IT APPROPRIATE TO PULL OUT MY RABBIT’S FOOT?

· 2017 Cubs, Joe Sez · , , ,

JOE-AT-HARRY-CAREYS

Hey there, cheese doodles. I’ve had my eyes closed for most of the season, for obvious reasons, so I was wonderin’ if anyone out there can tell me whether that was a corner the Cubs turned last night, or was that 14-3 enema we administered to the Mets just another one of those smooth spots in this bolder-strewn dirt road of a season?

Don’t get me wrong, pallie, I coulda poured last night over my pancakes this morning. Still, in spite of rackin’ up 15 hits, five of which left the yard, including a grand salami by Ian Happ, I’m not quite ready to head down to Party City. Yeah … we finally got some hits with guys on base — friggin’ amazing! I’d like to think that whatever it was — Rizzo hittin’ in the lead off spot, Lester still high from pickin’ Tommy Pham off of first last week, or Maddon puttin’ on his uniform in a different order — the Cubbies are about to catch fire. Of course, I’d also like to think that the missus is gonna put more hide-the-sausage days on her ‘to do’ list.

Take last week, for instance. The Cubs had won five straight, including a 10-2 A-bomb (that A is for Arietta, my friend) where the Cubbies treated the Marlins like a Donald Trump pinata at Elizabeth Warren’s birthday party. As a result, the wire was all abuzz with a heapin’ helping of hyperbole tied to the North Siders. Words like “surging” and “dominant” — terms that this year are usually associated with the Stros and the Nats — were actually being used in the same sentences with “the Cubs.” And lemme tell ya … I was pretty happy to read stuff like that about this year’s vintage. Still, I found it mildly entertaining — sorta like a guy juggling bowling pins, or Anthony Weiner’s last name.

What I mean is that beatin’ the Cards (26-30 at the time) and the Fish (24-33 at the time), although satisfying, wasn’t exactly a sign that the Cubs had rediscovered the lucky charms that made ’em magically delicious last season. It means they wrestled victory away from a couple of ball clubs that are slightly more mediocre than themselves. Yeah, I sound skeptical. Sue me! One incredible season (last year) — which, admittedly, was un-effing-believable — isn’t enough to break up the previous 55 years of scar tissue on my ass. History aside, though, winnin’ those five games was a distinct improvement over where we were a couple weeks before — limping outta Petco Park after being royally pants’d by the Preachers — the worst team in baseball, except for the Phillies. Kickin’ the Mets (29-34) around their own ball park last night comes with a certain measure of satisfaction, too. But winnin’ games we’re supposed to isn’t exactly somethin’ to do cartwheels over. Yeah, it’s nice, but was it a sign that the Cubs are finally runnin’ on all cylinders?

As it turns out the answer is no, cuz in spite of the fact that tonight Rizzo, Happ and Schwarbs picked up right where they left off last night, the Cubs found a way to reach back to 2012 and snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. I’m at a loss to explain how the same damn team can play like they did last night, and then fertilize the lawn tonight. I’d consult my crystal baseball but in April it predicted 111 Cubs wins this season, and obviously can no longer be trusted.

Still, I have hope. I grant you … it’s Schlombowski hope, which means it’s tempered by that hemorrhoid, Steve Bartman, and a lifetime of other rash-inducing memories that the Cubs have scarred me with. Of course I also remember the 2006 St Louis Cardinals — a skid mark of a ball club that took their hairless 83 regular season wins all the way to the World Series title. Which is to say, hope will get you just so far. After that you can squeak by with just enough hitting and pitching to win 83 games, as long as you also have a shit load of luck. So rub it if you got one, my friend. No … I’m talkin’ about a rabbit’s foot, nimrod. Sheesh.

Joe

I PITY THE FOOL THAT GETS IN OUR WAY. INCLUDING KLUBER.

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

CUBS-INDIANS-GAME-1

Hey there, wing nuts. Well, watchin’ Game 1 was about as much fun as gettin’ a colonoscopy from the Tasmanian Devil. Things didn’t go well from the start. The “start” being the stupid friggin’ Bud Selig All Star game rule which takes World Series home field advantage away from the team that actually earns it. So let’s see, Bud … Umm, a game that doesn’t count at all steers the direction of the most important series in the entire baseball season. Great friggin’ idea, ass hat. We shoulda been in Chicago last night for the opener. Period. Would it have made a difference? Well let me put it this way: If it doesn’t make any difference, why then are the best teams in every sport in the known universe (except for baseball) ALWAYS given home field/court/ice/pitch (whatever you wanna call it) advantage in a championship series? If it were up to me, I’d throw Selig in a poorly lit basement with Marsellus Wallace, the Gimp and a blow torch. Maybe a pair of pliers, too. That rule has gotta be flushed.

Anyway, let’s take that outta the equation. It still didn’t start out well. I mean it did, but then it didn’t. Lester threw 5 pitches and had 2 outs in the bottom of the first. Total cruise control. And then it started raining dirty diapers on us. When you’re the Chicago Cubs, Lester is on the mound, you’ve got two outs, and the bases are 100% Indian-free … you oughta get outta the inning unscathed. Not last night.

On top of that, Kluber Lang struck out almost everybody in the first 3 frames. What a fascist. Reminded me a lot of NLCS games 2 and 3 when the Cubs pretended they couldn’t hit. They did a convincing job, too. We snuck a few in last night, though, and had some excellent scoring opportunities, especially against Andrew Miller, that sky scraper they brought in for Kluber. Even Schwarber, who’d had 11 at bats all season before steppin’ into the batter’s box in the 2nd, smacked a double. On balance, though, we looked like Tim Tebow at the plate.

And … AND … the home plate ump had two strike zones — one for Kluber and another for Lester. It was as plain as the blank stare on Bud Selig’s face. Seriously, the quality of the umpiring in the playoffs — at least the games I’ve been watchin’ — is like it was made in Taiwan. Pathetic.

We got KO’d by a team that’s not nearly as good as we are. Personally, I don’t think that’s gonna happen again. We didn’t win 103 games by accident, my friend. As nice as Cleveland’s story is — gettin’ to the Series with so many injuries and all, and not even being in the thing for 68 years — I just don’t think it’s gonna hold up against the Cubs. We only have to do one thing — play like the 2016 Chicago Cubs instead of the Wexley School for Girls.

Joe

HOLY COW! FINALLY, JOYFULLY, THE CHICAGO CUBS ARE GOIN’ TO THE WORLD SERIES!

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

CUBS-WIN-2016-NLCS

“This is it! This is it! It’s two, they’re gonna turn two! Eeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!” The moment the ball was hit to Russell, I jumped outta my chair, screamin’ like a banshee. I don’t really know what a banshee is, but it’s gotta be loud and somewhat unhinged. (That would make my sister in law a banshee.) I bear hugged the missus who was already workin’ on a full set of raccoon eyes. If I was a woman, or Johnny Depp, I woulda had ’em too, cuz I realized she wasn’t the only one cryin’. That’s what happened at the Schlombowski household Saturday night. And I’ll tell ya … except for the Swedish Bikini team servin’ me beers without their bikini’s, blubberin’ like a newborn was the last thing I expected to happen. I guess the Cubs going to the Series means more to me than I thought it did … And believe me, I thought it would mean one helluva lot.

More than anything else, I feel gratitude towards Mr Ricketts who, as the Cubs owner, sorta takes a back seat to Theo, Jed and Joe in terms of getting credit for puttin’ this club together. But if it weren’t for Mr Ricketts, none of those guys would be here and, in all likelihood, our season woulda been over by the mid-season classic, like usual. So … thank you, Mr Ricketts. On the 10 million to 1 chance that you’re readin’ this, I want you to know how grateful I am that you brought Major League Baseball to Wrigley Field. Yeah, there’s always been some sorta reasonable or unreasonable facsimile, but until you started signin’ the checks, it’s never been anything like this. Thank you for givin’ so much joy to so many people who have patiently waited for so very, very long. We do, however, need a sit down about concession prices, my friend.

Full disclosure: I was more than skeptical at times over the last 5 years. 55 seasons of nothin’ will do that to a Cubs fan. So for me, bringin’ in Theo wasn’t an instantaneous Kyle Schwarber moon shot. Not that I didn’t wet myself with excitement when Theo first signed. I mean he came with the Red Sox miracle on his resumé, which was huge. Still, it took a while before all the ingredients started to come together. That’s when the intoxicating aroma of Theo stew with Maddon sauce started wafting out over Wrigleyville, and I realized that Mr Ricketts was really baseball’s Charlie Trotter. So sue me if I’m a little slow on the uptake. Nobody except Javi Baez is perfect, pal.

“Try not to suck.” That was the mantra this year. A Joe Maddonism that’s Yogi-esque in its utter simplicity and purity. And the Cubs lived up to every bit of it. They did not and do not suck, my friend. The same can’t be said for the Dodgers. Sorry, it may be unsportsmanlike to kick your opponent when he’s down, but somethin’ has got to be said about what happened to the Dodgers and their messiah, Clayton Kershaw.

Personally, I wasn’t surprised in the least. Kershaw had squeaked by with a 1-0 victory in game 2, in spite of the fact that the Cubs couldn’t hit water if they fell out of a boat. Goin’ into Saturday night, though, with the Cubs’ bats turned up to the 50 megaton level the previous two games, it seemed obvious that Kershaw could be in trouble. Of course this was the last thing most people expected. Why? Cuz of the sycophantic baseball writers and broadcasters, who for a week had been pourin’ Kershaw syrup all over everything. Especially Joe Buck, whose lips have gotta be surgically attached to Kershaw’s buttox. I got sick and friggin’ tired of hearin’ about some new, lower delivery angle and how devastating it was gonna be on our guys. “When?” I ask. Best pitcher in baseball? Once, maybe. Unhittable? Like your mama. I’ll take Hendricks, Lester or Arrieta over fuzzy wuzzy any day of the week. And twice on elimination days. Between Kershaw and Hendricks, the latter was the superior pitcher this year, in every respect, most especially when it really mattered. So baseball press, can we please shut the hell up about Jesus Effing Kershaw, and how Dave Roberts is such a genius manager? It’s nauseating.

One last thing on this point: Hendricks pitched to the minimum number of batters. As did Chapman. Meaning game 6 was only the second time in playoff history — the other being Don Larsen’s 1956 World Series perfect game — that that’s been done. So, again … zip it on the Kershaw blather.

I know everybody is lookin’ forward to tomorrow night, but I think some of the fun and games from Saturday bear repeating here:

Toles hits the first pitch of the game into right for a single. The Dodgers were jumpin’ around in their dugout like a bunch of Girly Scouts who just got their first training bras. Two pitches later there were two outs and the bases were empty, and Javier Baez was tucking his cape in. LA took the field in the bottom of the 1st with a goose egg on the board.

In our half of the first, Fowler says hello to Kershaw with a ground rule double, and Bryant brings him in with a shot down the line. 1-zip, Cubs. In a Rorschach moment, the non-abbreviated version of F-U Dodgers blurted outta me. Don’t know what the psychology behind that is, but it felt like it needed to be said.

Somebody in the booth mentions that the Cubs are  47-13 when Fowler gets on to lead off a game. I’m guessin’ that Toles had his rabbit ears on when they said it, cuz instead of makin’ a routine catch, he channels Keith Moreland and drops Rizzo’s routine fly. We end up with guys on 2nd and 3rd. A sac fly by Zobrist scores another run. 2-nothin’, Cubs. Time for another Old Style. We leave Rizzo at third, but at this point in the game, with Hendricks on the mound and the Cubs bats in perfect working order, I’m startin’ to wonder how long it takes the club house crew to prep things for a champagne shower.

In the top of 2, Baez, Mr Steady, blows an easy one. Call me crazy, but I say he did it on purpose so Hendricks could pick Reddick off of first. Which is what he did.

Addi hits the 3rd double of the night and it’s only the 2nd inning. What a shame. Kershaw? More like Kershawshank, and definitely in need of redemption at this point. Instead, Fowler brings in Russell, and I have that same Roarschach moment.

The 3rd. Rizzo. Another double. Uh … that’s 4, so far, right Kershaw? I guess it’s hard to pitch when you’re walkin’ on water.

In the 4th, Joe Buck offers some of his unique wisdom by stating, “This place is crawling with blue.” No shit. It’s the Cubs and Dodgers. Blue is the color for both, you putz! Too bad all the rocket science and brain surgery positions were filled when Buck got outta school. The world missed out.

Contreras goes yard. Rizzo goes yard.

In the 8th, Toles appears to be checking his email on the field. Or maybe checking in for his flight back to LA. Seriously. If you recorded it, go back and look.

When Joe pulls Hendricks for Chapman in the 8th, again, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I mean given recent history with that move. But another double play later I understand the difference between the mind of a savvy baseball genius and one that’s under the influence of Old Style. Yes, I started early.

Which bring me back to where I started — a series-ending double play that’s sent the Cubs to the World Series for the first time in 71 years, and me to the bathroom for some tissues. Not to sound ungrateful or appear greedy, but 4 more wins would be nice.

Joe