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