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STROP IS LIKE A BOX OF CHOCOLATES: YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GONNA GET.

· 2018 Cubs, Joe Sez · , , , , ,

Hey there, swizzle sticks. I hate to be judgmental with 159 games left to play, but if I wasn’t, you might not recognize me. Plus, after splittin’ with the Fish today instead of frying ’em up and feeding ’em to some feral cats, I’m not exactly feeling like the Easter Bunny. So, with the season’s umbilical cord still attached, I think it’s time somebody (me, for instance) asked a really obvious question: What the hell is Pedro Strop still doin’ on the Cubs?

To me, that’s like askin’ where astrophysical neutrinos come from, cuz the answer is the same: Nobody knows.

Bringin’ Strop into a game is a total crap shoot, and more often than not, without the “shoot” part. And yesterday was no exception, pallie. Yeah, the guy escapes with the win. Party on, Garth. But that was cuz of Bryant’s base-clearing double in extras, and the setting of the table before it, not cuz Strop came in and exerted his willful authority over the Fish. Hardly. We wouldn’t have even been in extras if Strop hadn’t given up a game-tying hit in the 8th.

Full disclosure: Darvish did his part, too, givin’ up all the hard work our bats did before he was yanked in the 4th (which was waaaaaaay too late, in my opinion. He wasn’t sharp, and anyone payin’ attention to his pitch location could see that he was havin’ a ton of trouble stayin’ in the Miami zip code. Maddon shoulda yanked him sooner.

But the jury is still out on Darvish. Strop, on the other hand, is in his 6th season with Chicago, and has pretty much painted a full color self portrait for us already. Has he had flashes of brilliance? Absolutely. Is he single-handedly responsible for narrowing the coronary arteries of every Cubs fan alive? Also absolutely. Strop is a high trans-fat diet in pin stripes. And that’s what drives me up the ivy covered wall, pal — the fact that he’s so friggin’ unpredictable.

I think his stuff can be pretty darn nasty at times. But he routinely has a serious problem findin’ the strike zone. And when he does, it’s often the part where the hitter happens to have put his bat.

Strop’s WHIP in 2017 was the worst he’s had since joining the Cubs in 2013. Not a good trend. Still, he’s thrown 272.2 innings over that period and racked up 320 strike outs. By itself that’s pretty awesome. But he’s also given up 173 hits, 107 walks, thrown 29 wild pitches and plunked 19 batters along the way. Not exactly Greg Maddux. What makes it worse is those things often seem to come at the most inopportune moments for the Cubs, which compounds their effect.

I gotta hope Theo sees somethin’ in Strop that us mortals can’t, and that he expects it to come out in its full glory this season. Of course, I also hope that Scarlett Johansson is hawkin’ sausages in my section in her full glory for the home opener. Maybe just some Jimmy Choo’s. I’m not sure hope will be enough in either instance.

Joe

PS. (Which in this case stands for Pedro Strop) put your friggin’ hat on straight.

ENOUGH WITH THE SLOPE STYE, TRIPLE LUTZ HALF PIPES. IN CHI-TOWN, IT’S TIME FOR SOME FRIGGIN’ BASEBALL.

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

Hey there, toe loops. Joe Schlombowski comin’ at ya from PyeongChang via my Barcalounger, where I ask you: Is curling a sport? I’m still wrestling with that one. Speaking of wrestling — which IS a sport — I would totally like to see Sumo Slope Style introduced at the Winter Olympics — two 400 lb Michelin Men slidin’ down opposing snow covered hills in their diapers, then catapulted off the jump towards each other at 30 miles an hour, where they’d meet in mid air. KER-SPLAT! Whoever lands on his feet with his diaper intact wins. Friggin’ awesome!

Except for that dream I had the other night where that human popsicle, Scarlett Johansson, was my partner in Pairs Luge (another Olympic sport I’d like to see) Sumo Slope Style would definitely be my favorite new Olympic sport.

Anyway, I don’t know if curling is a sport.

Is bowling a sport? Cheerleading? Competitive eating, pool, frisbee golf? Regular golf? If those are sports then I guess you’d have to say, yes, curling is a real sport. If, however, you think curling is more like darts — a game played in bars by guys built like me — then, no, it’s not a sport. Oh, and if I alienated any golfers, just remember this: If you’re wearin’ slacks when you do it, it ain’t a sport.

Neither is any activity that has “twizzles” as a mandatory element. Real sports don’t have them. Hockey? No twizzles. Basketball? Nope. Baseball? Give me a friggin’ break, pal. Baseball has the hit-and-run, the suicide squeeze and stealing. Ice dancing, on the other hand, has twizzles … and stuffed animals thrown on the ice at the end. Baseball has Jon Miller. Ice dancing has Johnny Weir. (The “d” was omitted for obvious reasons.) And don’t even get me started on the uniforms. I mean … I have no friggin’ idea what the hell those ice dancer guys are wearin’, except to say that I’m pretty sure RuPaul has somethin’ to do with it. Then again, I could say the same thing about the D-backs uni’s.

After 2 weeks, I’m sort of all Olympic’d out.

It’s friggin’ endless. Like a Nancy Pelosi speech on snow. Don’t get me wrong, my friend. I think anyone goin’ 90 miles an hour on solid ice, head-first with nothin’ but their wits deserves a medal just for tryin’ it. And it oughta be made of brass to match the balls it takes to do something that insane. But holy craptoids! Enough with the twizzles and back-side McTwisted Salchows already! According to my commemorative Ernie Banks watch, the clock is about to strike baseball season. And that’s another thing. Baseball has a season — 162 games. And then the playoffs are bolted on to the end of that. The Olympics? A sissy 18 days. Keeee-ryste … I’ve taken dumps that have lasted longer than that.

NBC: The broadcast equivalent of yellow snow.

I’ve spent so much time yellin’ at my flat screen the past couple of weeks, I’m startin’ to think I’ve been possessed by Sam Kinison. Why? Cuz NBC’s Olympics coverage is a lot less about servin’ up the Games than it is about a diabolical experiment to figure how many commercials per hour humans can watch before they friggin’ explode. I lost count, but I think it’s about 600. Yeah, I know that’s impossible. But then so are Tara Lipinski’s chances of ever gettin’ her forehead to move again. If there was a gold medal for Botox, she’d own it, my friend. On the plus side, when the commentator thing dries up, she’s got a big career as a mannequin.

I just thank the good Lord that MLB, TBS and FOX bring us Major League Baseball. Are we’re stuck with that halfpipe, Joe Buck, for the playoffs? Yeah. But in a side-by-side comparison with NBC’s booth jockeys, he’s friggin’ Harry Caray. Which bring me to my favorite event — baseball.

So we missed a few gates last year. BFD.

Things got pretty ugly in La La Land last year, and not just for that triple lutz, Harvey Weinstein. The Cubs were like a bobsled team without a sled; a Lindsey without the Vonn; a curler without any stones! Any, hoooooo-boy … did we ever play like we had no stones. The Cubs swung the bats like Stephen friggin’ Hawking. If you combined that with Lance Barksdale’s East German judge-like strike zone, the Cubs’ minor league bullpen and baseball’s rule 7.13, you’d have an Olympics level “What Sucks the Most?” contest that a $5,000 hooker wouldn’t even qualify for! I give the gold to the bullpen.

Still, we did make it to the playoffs. Given the way we booted the ball around the diamond, and watched it sail by for much of the season, the fact that the Cubs ended up in the National League Championship Series (presented by Camping World) ranks right up there with walkin’ on water … and maybe some of that crap I’ve seen David Blaine do. For that, I lift a frosty, Winter Olympics Old Style to the Cubbies.

And … lest we forget our pre-2016 motto … this is “next year.” Hope springs eternal. Especially when the spring in question is followed by “training.”

Are we gonna make it to the podium this year?

Until 2016, I couldn’t give a Chicago style crapolla about that. Trouble is … now I know what it feels like to walk around with a virtual gold medal around my neck. So, yeah … I wanna hear the Star Spangled banner played in honor of the Cubs again. Is it gonna happen this year? Ask your Magic 8 Ball, pallie. Based on my prediction last season, that’ll work just as well. Besides, predictions are about as reliable as a Rahm Emanuel handshake. Ask Mikaela Shiffrin.

Right now I’d be tickled Cubbie blue just to put the Olympic torch to NBC’s coverage of the Winter Games — where in Gitmo-like fashion, they’ve forced us to watch 5 minutes of commercials for every 14 seconds of action. Since I can’t do that, I’ll settle for today’s Cubs-Brewers Spring Training opener.

Let the games begin, my friend.

Joe

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.

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

IS BASEBALL A WHITE MAN’S GAME? YEAH, AND I’M A VICTORIA’S SECRET UNDERWEAR MODEL.

· Joe Sez, News · , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

LILY-WHITE-BASEBALL

I’ve been a Cubs fan since before the Big Bang, so you can imagine how, this year, it’s been pretty friggin’ impossible to wipe the smile off my face. I think it’d take a jack hammer and some C4. Or maybe some earth moving equipment or somethin’. I’ll tell you one thing: it’s thrown the missus off, that’s for sure. Why? Cuz until the 2016 wet dream edition of the Chicago Cubs, nothin’ on Earth (or Mars and Jupiter, for that matter) except the considerable charms of Mrs Schlombowski could give me this Howdy Doody face. Know what I’m sayin’?

We got a 19 game lead over the Cards, who are number 2 in our division. (And when it comes to the Cards, I think you know what I mean when I say “number 2.”) We’ve had the best record in baseball since the opening bell — except for about 5 minutes back in April. And right now, we’re 44 games over .500. If last night’s game hadn’t ended in a lame tie, and we’d have finished off Pittsburgh — and c’mon, is there any doubt? — we’d have won 16 outta 22 series match-ups so far, and 7 of those are sweeps. Point is, this has been a 100%, unadulterated, no-holds-barred, cup-runneth-over baseball season of Cubbie blue bliss. And it ain’t over. In fact, to quote Mr John “Bluto” Blutarsky, “Nothing is over until we decide it is.”

Not that a post season run is a sure thing. I mean I’m talkin’ about the Chicago Cubs, here. Actin’ like Theo is gonna sprout a snow white Duck Dynasty beard and come down outta section 503 with “World Series Champions” etched on stone tablets would be pretty friggin’ arrogant. It would also be presumptuous and assholian, which would make me a Yankees fan. Quite frankly, I’d rather bathe in a tub of simmering yak doo than be saddled with that misconception. Anyway, I think you gotta stay grounded. Shit happens, my friend. The last time the Cubs got close enough to sniff a World Series trophy, the air was fouled by Steve Bartman. Remember that? This recurring Bartman nightmare not withstanding, I think you gotta enjoy the best season the Cubs have had in everyone’s lifetime. Stop and smell the ivy, so to speak, like me. I’ve been hangin’ out on cloud 9, the Bowksi-lounger dialed in at a jaunty 73 degree recline, enjoyin’ the occasional frosty, perfectly foamed Old Style, and day-dreamin’ about how I’m gonna fit a goat on the Weber. (I figure I’ll have to Dexter the thing with a hack saw or somethin’.) The Cubs are hot. Life is good. Short of the missus bringin’ me a cigar in her birthday suit, I’m about as happy as Bill Clinton at an intern convention.

And yet what the F do I see when I flip on Baseball Tonight or SportsCenter?! Is it the Cubs? No. It’s Adam Effing Jones playin’ the race card! Callin’ baseball a White sport! Jesus, Mary and Joseph Maddon … Talk about bitin’ the hand that feeds you. That’s like a friggin’ great white shark, pal. Jones is rakin’ in $16 million this year, and talkin’ about white privilege. And droppin’ grenades like 8% of ballplayers are black. Yeah? What about the Dominicans, Cubans, Mexicans and Puerto Ricans? That’s more like 40% people of color. When is Jones gonna talk about black versus brown versus every shade in between? They don’t count? Sheesh. If I said somethin’ like that I’d have the nightly news parked on my lawn. Not only is all this crap takin’ away from the real story of the 2016 baseball season — the Cubs — it’s not even one of baseball’s biggest problems. Race? Really? Are you friggin’ KIDDING me? How ’bout declining attendance, nobody playin’ Little League, rules changes that are dialin’ up the wuss factor … If you’re gonna go all Reverend Wright on us, Mr Jones, pick a real problem. And by the way, if you can figure out how to get Cam Newton, LeGarrett Blount, and Derrell Rivas to play baseball instead of football, bring it the F on! Baseball WANTS those guys! Especially if they end up on the north side of Chicago. You wanna make a difference? Drop one of your sermons on the LeBron Jameses and Antonio Browns of the world that gets ’em to choose a diamond over hardwood or a gridiron.

And then there’s Mr Colin Bench-Me-But-I’m-Still-Gonna-Figure-Out-How-To-Get-On-The-Cover-Of-Time-Magazine Kaepernick. Are you kiddin’ me? I’m clicking around the channels lookin’ for stories about what swamp creature from the Everglades Joe Maddon has brought into the Cubbies locker room to lighten the mood, and I get Colin Kaepernick takin’ a knee during the playing of our National Anthem. Hey, it’s a free country, great, but Colin, write an F-ing op ed piece in the New York Times. DON’T TRED ON MY FLAG. Especially when you’re usin’ $100 bills for toilet paper. Yeah, we have problems, and you donatin’ a million bucks to help is a big deal in my book. Lord knows I can’t do that. But seriously, crappin’ on the stars and stripes just pisses people off (just in case you couldn’t tell). And one more thing … The cover of Time Magazine. Keeeee-ryst. I’ll tell you who should be on the cover of Time friggin’ Magazine. General Douglas MacArthur, that’s who! John Freaking Glenn! Mother Theresa! I’ll tell you who should NOT be on the cover of Time Magazine: NOT a toll collector on the New Jersey turn pike! NOT a pilates instructor from Austin Texas. NOT someone who says the droplets on their windshield formed a perfect likeness of Elvis. Not ANYONE connected with the I. F-ing R.S. And MOST importantly … NOT A SECOND STRING QUARTERBACK who throws as many interceptions as he does touchdowns.

This fall should be about the CHICAGO F-ING CUBS! I want Kris Bryant on the cover of Time Magazine. Kaepernick throws passes at 47 miles per hour. Aroldis Chapman throws the cheese at 105 miles per hour. I want Aroldis Chapman on the cover of Time. You hear me Time Warner?! Put Aroldis Chapman or Kris Byrant or Jon Lester or Joe Maddon on the cover. (But wait until we win the Series please, I don’t want you bubble brains to jinx it. If you get stuck for ideas (Does the Barbie cover ring a bell?) I’m sure the Sports Illustrated guys could send you a swimsuit model or two.)

So, is baseball a white man’s game? NO, IT’S NOT YOU STUPID PUTZ. Is Big Papi white? Is Felix Hernandez white? Is Theo Epstein comin’ over tomorrow to wash my car? Is Giselle tryin’ to make ends meet by workin’ as a waitress at Denny’s? NO is the answer. NO! You hear me, Mr Adam Jones? The Cubs are 19 games ahead of the Cardinals. THAT SHOULD BE THE F-ING HEADLINE.

Alright, I gotta go open another can of my blood pressure medicine. Cheers.

Joe