Ah, JEEZ! RIP Ron Santo

I'm sure someone else here [Exile on Clark Street] will go a little more in depth on this later (okay, I'm not so sure), but (shoulda-been-a)Hall of Fame Cubs third baseman and broadcaster Ron Santo has passed away:

I'm not going to lie - the last few years of Santo's broadcasting career made me hope he'd retire, but I'm pretty sad he's gone. Listening to him call a game was like watching it with one of your uncles - sure he'd lose track of who was up or what happened, but he definitely loved the Cubs and the sport of baseball - apparently in that order. And that has to count for something.

EDIT: You know, this upsets me more than I think I realized. Ron Santo is dead and Hawk Harrelson still walks the earth? No justice.

Source.

Cross-posted at Exile on Clark Street.

At Least It's the Expos' PR Problem Now...

More EoC archive fun.

Well, it looks like another of my childhood heroes is possibly letting me down.

From the article:

A publicly funded organization that cares for poor and disabled adults is suing Miami baseball legend Andre Dawson, alleging that his family's funeral home business reneged on a deal to provide prepaid memorial services and burials for deceased clients.

One man's corpse lay in limbo for weeks because Dawson's Grace Memorial Funeral Home refused to accept the remains, according to a lawsuit filed Wednesday in Miami-Dade Circuit Court.

Sigh.

I hope this turns out to be groundless. Because this will REALLY break my heart if it's true. The Hawk has always been someone I looked on as a class act. I'd rather be wrong as hell about that Zambrano move than be wrong about this.

Say it ain't so, Hawk. I'm running out of ballplayers to admire.

My Two Minutes of Hate: Lou Piniella

Really, in hindsight everything about this season sucked. Here I am at EoC, still believing that anything could save Zambrano's season.

Zambrano to the bullpen?

GOD.

DAMN.

IT.


This is the stupidest idea in history, Lou.

I'd analyze it further, but you are making me want to punch myself in my own dick for ever following this festering sore of a team. I'm this close to rooting for the Nationals. At least they still have hope.

This is a desperate move by a manager that now seems clueless to me. It can only create ill will with Zambrano, and lower any market value he might have had otherwise.

God, I hate this team.

My Two Minutes of Hate: Jeff Samardzija

God I hate Jeff Samardzija. Here's me hating him in detail. From the EoC archives.

There are times that I ask myself why the hell I'm a Cubs fan. For example: last Monday, 2005, 2006, and every goddamn September. I keep swearing I'm not going to put up with this bullshit anymore. But then I end up missing baseball. I'll say I'll follow another team - some AL team that isn't the White Sox. It never works. I just don't care about any other team. I often hate the team that I love, but I can't give them up. I guess I'm a lifer.

But that doesn't mean I can't give up on players. Oh, I'm really good at that. In the past decade alone I have given up on dozens of players. And the last decade was the best Cubs decade since their peak in the 1930s (I know Will Leitch thinks otherwise, but he is a fucking moron). I can't even imagine the ragedump I would take on the 1950s Cubs.

From Will Ohman to Neifi Perez, from Jacque Jones to Michael Barrett, from Milton Bradley to, well, Milton Bradley like 5 times over again, I have done my part towards wishing if not active death, then career-ending injuries on so many of the players that more Pollyanna-ish fans seem to think I should have faith in. Hell, I even have an arbitrary fatwa out against any Cub named Aaron, after Miles and Heilman stunk up the place so bad last year.

Which brings me to Aaron Samardzija.

Sorry, Jeff Samardzija. Force of habit.

I've been so distracted by other horrid Cubs since the Samad...um...Samardj...er...Smarch...Fuck it. I'm calling him Snork for the rest of this article, because he spells his name like an idiot. Not Shark, because sharks have fucking earned their respect by being emotionless, unstoppable killing machines, like Ted Lilly. No. Jeffy is a fucking Snork. He's just like the Snorks: useless, annoying, and only chicks should like him. Also he's clearly a ripoff of Kyle Farnsworth just like the Snorks were a ripoff of the Goddamn Smurfs. WHICH I ALSO HATED--

I'm...I'm getting...distracted. Sorry. My rage at this mulleted roster-clot is moving from white to blue hot. Let me start that last thought again...

I've been so distracted by other horrid Cubs since the Snork signing in 2007 that I really haven't had the energy to focus my hatred of him into the laserlike efficiency I expect from myself. Until now. His opening day ERA of 108 (no need for the decimals...ONE HUNDRED EIGHT) just confirmed what I have always suspected:

Snork is a huge waste of the Cubs fans' time and the Cubs ownership's money who was signed because he went to Notre Dame and also played football (TWO SPORTS! HE MUST BE GOOD!). That is it. That is all he has going for him. A $10,000,000.00 (LOOK AT ALL THE PRETTY ZEROES!) no-trade contract in the 5th round? Man, he must have been really dominant in his final season of college ball. He must have...

Oh, go to hell, world.

A 4.33 ERA and a 1.41 WHIP? That's...unimpressive. At least once he signed to the Cubs, they gave him a chance to season and grow, and didn't...

AAUUUUUGHH!

After mediocre showings in AA and AAA ball, the Cubs called Snork right the hell up, huh? And they did what the Cubs always do when a player comes up and plays decent at first. They decided to stick by him come hell or high water. Even gave him a couple of starts. Let him amass a 7.53 ERA in almost 35 innings. And, being the Cubs, instead of realizing they may have rushed a guy who might never have the skills to be a useful player, and shipping him back down a few levels to give him time to grow, have done what they always do: put him right into the goddamn pen, where he can suck on toast until he has negative trade value, get's DFA'd, or dies after someone mysteriously locks him in a burning barn along with Fontenot and Theriot...

The Snork signing really is emblematic of the shitty scouting, shitty development, and shitty life skills that Cubs upper management has displayed over the past...I dunno...60 years. There was no reason to offer that much money to someone who has shown nothing but Neal Cottsian levels of pissing me the fuck off. No metric I've seen and no independent analyst I've heard or read has said Snork would ever be anything but a journeyman. So what do the Cubs do? GIVE HIM MORE MONEY THAN I WILL PROBABLY EVER SEE IN MY LIFETIME TO PLAY A SPORT HE IS CLEARLY OUTCLASSED IN.

You know what else sucks? Snork looks like one of those pudwhacks in the puka-shell necklaces that listened to a ton of DMB in college, pulled tail like you wouldn't believe, and called you fucking "brah." And this website really does nothing to disabuse me of that notion (the flaming baseball in the picture is misleading - that's actually a Pujols-hit comebacker rocketing at his smug chad face).

Do I want to see Snork pitching less for the Cubs? Ultimately, yes. If by less, you mean never. But until that day comes, I hope that Lou drops his ass in every single Cubs blowout loss, and only in those blowout losses. Then I hope he leaves Snork's shaggy, sub-Novoa corpse out there for a minimum of 250 pitches. Pitch him until his fucking arm pops off at the elbow and flies into the crowd. And whoever catches that bloody stump wins a free dinner from Harry Caray's. On me. It would be worth it.

Then, trade him to the Reds, or whatever team Dusty Baker is running into the ground at that point.

In conclusion,

Chicago Cubs: stop wasting money on untalented choads because idiot Notre Dame fans will spend money on green jerseys emblazoned with any chuzzlewit alum that happens to draw an MLB paycheck.

Cubs Fans: DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, ENCOURAGE THE CUBS BY BUYING THOSE JERSEYS.

Snork: cut your fucking hair, quit playing fucking baseball, and maybe you could go to the NFL, where hopefully you will have your spine split in two in the first preseason game. Otherwise, stay the hell out of any barns in the greater Chicagoland era...I hear they're mighty flammable and often lock from the outside...mysteriously.

Is This Really the Best The Cubs Can Do?

EoC archives.

Last night, while working late no less, I learned that Lou has made up his mind that Ryan "The Ryan" Theriot is going to be the Cubs official, no-turning-back leadoff hitter this year. I was too furious to think straight at first, so instead of posting a string of unrelated swears, I let myself sleep on it.

Having given it some thought, I'm not so much furious as just sort of confused, wistful, and sad.

Now I'm not a total stats expert. I don't really understand the high end stuff. But I do know enough to know that the leadoff hitter's job (as the man on the team with the most plate appearances per season) is to get on base for the next couple of hitters to move him over. By hook or by crook, if the leadoff hitter is doing his job right, he should be sitting on first at the end of his at bat, and (depending on his teammates) crossing home before the end of the inning. So, need #1 of a good leadoff hitter is a high .OBP. Theriot's isn't too bad. It's also not outstanding, either. His career average of .356 is decent, but I'd be a lot happier with someone hovering at least around .380.

Moving along (and this is where I really, really get annoyed): a lot of people judge a leadoff hitter by how many bases he steals. Well, no one on the Cubs steals worth a damn. Theriot's 21 last year led the team, with second place being 9 - by Alfonso Soriano, a man whose legs were replaced by al dente linguine some time mid-season. However, just putting a guy in leadoff because he has the most steals is asinine when those 21 steals were achieved in 31 attempts. That's a success rate of less than 70%. That means failure in the school district I came out of. And THAT was in SOUTH FRICKING CAROLINA.

In my opinion, the #2 skill of a good leadoff hitter is to STAY ALIVE ON THE BASEPATHS UNTIL HE CROSSES HOME PLATE. What the hell is the point of putting a guy on base if a full third of his stolen base attempts are poorly conceived and just send him right back to the dugout? Theriot -- and I apologize to Sarah Palin in advance -- is retarded on the basepaths. He doesn't throw the pitcher off his rhythm, because he's not scary to them. All he does is waste my fucking cheers for his at-bat by making it another meaningless single. I highly doubt many of those 21 steals were game-changers, and I'm pretty sure the ten times he was sent packing were mostly meaningless as well - except for, you know, losing a baserunner and one of only 27 chances to bring another hitter to the plate.

My confusion was caused by the fact that taking all of the above into account, Lou locked Theriot down in this position in the order. I'm not saying Lou won't change his mind later in the season, but why not think about this a little more now, before the goddamn games count?

My wistfulness and sadness is caused by the fact that really there aren't a lot of tremendously better options. But there is at least one that might work a little better: platoon leadoff. Because of, you know...lefty-righty splits?

You see, despite his disappointing performance so far and his ridiculous windmill strikeouts, there is one Cub who really gets on base well against right-handers: Kosuke Fukudome. The 'Dome had an .OBP of .387 against northpaws last year. That's like...a good leadoff hitter's .OBP (as opposed to Theriot's almost Soriano-esque .339). Of course, against the sinister, he had a sub-Soriano .299 .OBP, so you definitely don't want Fuku facing anyone who had to use those weird padded scissors in elementary school. But...and here's the interesting thing...Ryan Theriot gets on at a .361 clip against lefties. Much better. Not amazing, but not embarassing.

So my one, very humbly delivered suggestionto the Cubs this year: why not try the following in leadoff this year:

1. Put Fukudome at the top of the order against right-handers, and slide Theriot down a bit.
2. Put "Ther Iot" in leadoff against left-handers, and slide Kosuke WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY down the lineup.
3. DO NOT EVER GIVE THERIOT THE GREEN LIGHT TO STEAL. EVER. If you have to, install a shock collar that delivers a few hundred volts every time he starts "giving second the glad eye" at a bad time.

See? Nothing too revolutionary. Just a slight tweak. Let's see how that plays out before just handing out at bats to a decent, but not awesome hitter, ok?

Milton, It's Not Chicago That Wants You To Choke On Your Own Tongue...

...it's ME.

According to professional whiner and overpaid bench jockey Milton Bradley:

"Two years ago, I played, and I was good," he said. "I go to Chicago, not good. I've been good my whole career. So, obviously, it was something with Chicago, not me."

He then goes on to bloviate:

"Just no communication," he said. "I never hit more than 22 homers in my career, and all of a sudden I get to Chicago and they expect me to hit 30. It doesn't make sense. History tells you I'm not going to hit that many. Just a lot of things that try to make me a player I'm not."

Yeah, well Milton, all I personally expected from you was a great OBP, some decent pop to your bat, and for you to be less of a shitsouled headcase than LaTroy Hawkins.

You let me down on all three counts, you neurotic bag of human garbage. I hope you hit worse than Aaron Miles next year and then try to accuse racist Seattle fans of running your kid out of daycare. At least OJ had a Hall of Fame Career and some Naked Gun movies under his belt before he played the race card. And that was to keep from frying like a Hendry breakfast doughnut for a double homicide, not to explain away getting paid more than the GNP of Poland to play half a season of Todd-Zeile-level baseball.

I hope when you're finally run out of the league and have to play in Japan, Matt Murton beats you death with a shovel. Seriously. How can you be so hateful that Carlos FUCKING Silva suddenly seems worth it?

This was, of course, an Exile on Clark Street archival entry.

Cubs Condemned By Church Group

From the Thunder Matt's Saloon archive.

After learning that the Chicago National League Base-Ball Club signed Chad Tracy to a minor league contract, the National Council of Churches condemned the organization for ethical transgressions.

According to an NCC spokesperson, the Chicago Cubs were guilty of "playing God," when they combined the DNA of poor fielding former Cub and Ginger Spokesmodel Matt Murton with the DNA of poor hitting former Cub and War Criminal Aaron Miles, to create an amalgamation that "stands as a mockery to the laws of both Nature and Our Lord. An OPS of .695 on a man whose primary position is first base is nothing short of Sinful."

The Cubs fired back with a press release, which began: "Dude, the guy was a pretty good hitter a few years ago. Give us a damn break," and concluded "it's not like God has done any favors for us up to now."

Cubs Sign Marlon Byrd

I don't really have much to say about this, other than: "It's come to this? This is the major signing we were waiting for?"

http://sports.espn.go.com/chicago/mlb/news/story?id=4785125

This offseason blows.

This was another TMS archive. In hindsight, I'm glad Byrd was signed. I like him. But, in hindsight, I had no idea just how BAD the 2010 Cubs would be.

Addition by Subtraction

TMS archive #something-or-other

I usually hate that term. But I just had to pop in to say good riddance. According to ESPN Chicago, the Cubs have traded Aaron Miles and Jake Fox for some prospects. It's a Holiday Miracle!

I mean, don't get me wrong, Jake Fox has a decent bat, but he was a worse fielder than this site's namesake.

And more importantly, with this move the 2010 Cubs will be AARON FREE!


2010 update: don't know why I bothered moving this over. Inertia, I guess. At any rate, the 2010 Cubs found plenty of ways to suck without Aarons...

Wolter's Random Braindump, Vol 40

Some assorted thoughts on this fine Thursday:

Through a combination of extremely bad planning and wretched tiredness, I missed the World Series opener. However, I guessed the outcome solely by noticing the lack of psychotically pro-Yankee facebook status updates from friends of mine who have no business rooting for that team. Nobody's louder than a Yankees fan when they win, and nobody changes the subject faster than a Yankees fan when they lose. I'm hoping for a sweep.

On that note, while I think it's good for the Series to have a villain, there is nothing I want more than for the Cubs to have more 21st century WS wins than the Yankees. Anyone who wishes otherwise is insane at best, and at worst, a traitor to the human race.

I haven't done any sophisticated analysis on the TMS 2009 baseball predictions, but I believe this entry wins the award for Most Completely Correct Prediction in History.

"The 97 mph fastball was long gone, the aura and mystique had faded, and he was fighting to prove his ability to merely contribute. The former Cy Young ace was now a conjurer, a Merlin of the mound, hoping his knowledge, guile, and a little bit of smoke and mirrors was enough to make it back to the Show.

"Sadly, I don't think it was."

"The box score will say Pedro didn't do that badly, giving up one hit, hitting a batter, and striking out one. But great change-up aside, I'd say his tank is empty."

"... I wouldn't be surprised if Sunday was the last day of Pedro Martinez's brilliant baseball career."

This is the exact sort of predictive skill one would expect from a writer for a blog named after future Hall of Famer Matthew Henry Murton.

Sadly, it looks like I'm missing tonight's game due to a prior engagement, but I really hope Pedro sticks it to the Yankees all over again. It would be so very, very sweet.

Part of the bad planning mentioned above was an unscheduled trip to the Apple Store with my fiancee and her mother to help her with a PC-to-Mac switchover. This, in itself isn't hard. I've actually done it twice now. But the Best Buy employee that originally backed up her PC files did a number on it. Let me tell you this: I'm not a computer guy, so I love Macs. I love iPods. I really love my iPhone. But two-and-a-half hours in an Apple Store is a form of almost Lovecraftian horror. Nothing makes sense after about a half-hour, and by the 2nd hour sinister forces beyond your comprehension begin to reveal themselves to you. On the plus side, the wi-fi was free.

I have decided not to include pictures in this blog post. Why? Because I hate you, the reader.

Behind the scenes at TMS, we spend a lot of time deciding to whom we give support, and from whom we take it away. There have been some rumblings that we must no longer support Wanda Sykes (which surprised me, because I didn't even see her name on the TMS Support Whiteboard). Brant Brown has offered the following evidence for the prosecution:

"The promotional spots for her new Saturday night talk show on FOX have become a painful nuisance on our otherwise peaceful Sunday NFL and MLB viewing. What is really expected here? The Wanda Sykes Show will air at 11:00 p.m. Sure it will get a half-hour jump start on Saturday Night Live, but let's be serious: no one watches late night television on Saturdays anymore. Conan is struggling to regain his predecessor's ratings numbers on weeknights, and Leno is living his own Bad Idea Jeans commercial at a "gimme" 10:00 p.m. slot.

"Will people DVR her show and watch it later? C'mon, would you DVR it? Our DVRs as a nation are so backlogged with Top Chef and Ice Road Truckers episodes that we'll never get to Wanda.

"The bottom line is that there is no incentive to watch The Wanda Sykes Show. Don't get us wrong, she's not a hack like George Lopez. It's just that her style of comedy really works when it is untethered, but it will be difficult to translate to network television. While we applaud her good fortune, we can no longer support her entertainment endeavors.

Even playing Devil's Advocate, I can only come up with the following Lionel Hutzian defense:

"Well, she was funny in her segments on Dr. Katz"

Ok, I don't really hate you, the reader. I was just being cranky. I think I need a nap. And some cheap scotch.

Apparently, the Cubs are considering leaving their spring home in Mesa, Arizona if they are not granted new facilities. If so, they would move right near the tip of America's Dong, Florida. Naples, to be precise. While this sort of thing doesn't move me too deeply, it has long been my policy to support the destruction of Florida, and everything it stands for. Except for quality Death Metal and Space Mountain, everything Florida has given to this nation has disappointed me mightily. Wait. Even Space Mountain is kind of blah. Well, at least they have Atheist. I'd rant more about how much Florida sucks politically, but I usually leave our radical liberal agenda to resident TMS Communard, Arcturus.

On a final note: I will be celebrating Halloween this year, the same way I always do - sitting alone in the dark, drinking cheap scotch, and listening to the Misfits. Feel free to do the same.

Hervé Villechaize Named New Cubs Hitting Coach

A filler, no killer from TMS.

Well, yesterday was Wednesday, so that can mean only one thing: time for the Cubs to hire a new hitting coach.

We could see it coming. Anemic bats and a lackluster offense piss a fan base off to no end, so Jim Hendry did the one thing a good GM does to revive flagging run production: through a series of intelligent trades and smart free agent signings, he picked up some patient hitters with good power to...even I can't finish this sentence.

No, he did what Jim Hendry does: he changed coaches. Again. And this time, he did it in a spectaculary Hendrian way: a long term contract.

At first I was stunned that Hendry chose Hervé Villechaize for such a demanding position. I mean the man's main claim to fame is playing the lovable Tattoo from television's Fantasy Island, a show I'm pretty sure I watched as a very small child, but have no concrete memories of other than it gave Khan a chance to dress like Sonny Crockett. Of course, I mainly remember him as Nick Nack from the exquisitely awful Roger Moore Bond flick, The Man With the Golden Gun.

And while I'm aware that the entertainment industry has a long tradition of casting little people in major motion pictures (including such luminaries as Billy Bardy, Verne Troyer, Peter Dinklage, and Tom Cruise), baseball hasn't really followed suit (with the notable exceptions of Eddie Gaedel and Mike Fontenot).

I'm sure some think this signing is a tip of the cap to the late, great Bill Veeck, and a belated acknowledgement that the Cubs haven't really been a worthwhile franchise since a Veeck ran the show on the North Side. But I beg to differ.

First, the Cubs aren't so completely awful and low-attended that the fans need distractions to come to the ballpark. Yet. And Villechaize is a native Frenchman. Baseball has long had problems with Francophonic peoples, culminating in the near-30-year flirtation with Montreal baseball, an affair that ended in such an ugly manner than the team ended up moving to Washington, a city whose reputation for baseball suckitude was so widespread that even musical theatre types know it.

No. I know what this move is.

Pure Dada.

The Cubs have tried making coherent plans to win a World Series in the past. Clearly, they aren't good at that. At all.

No, they're shaking things up by challenging the notions of narrative and sense in public discourse. They're tapping into the unconscious, anti-reasoning dark side of human nature and making a comment to the sporting world that chaos and irrationality are the only solution to a rationalistic world that has led to global wars, corporate greed, and the continued existence of Aaron Miles.

And I, for one, salute this new avante-garde team. For too long have Cubs fans tried to make sense of the myriad asinine moves made by assorted front offices. Why not push it all the way, defying all sequential thought and causality? Why not sign a bitter, angry alcoholic, French midget to teach a team of multimillionaire atheletes how to hit?

Whoa. It turns out Villechaize has been dead for 16 years. GENIUS!

My cap is doffed to you, Hendr--what? Hold on a sec.

Oh. My mistake.

The Cubs actually signed former Texas hitting coach Rudy Jaramillo.

I guess that makes a lot more sense. He's had a hell of a lot more baseball experience. Assuming that the Cubs are planning on moving in the outfield walls, juicing like a Tropicana factory, and swinging for the stars, I support this move wholeheartedly.

So yeah...sorry about wasting your time. I really shouldn't have tried to do cogent analysis when I stopped following baseball in July. Next week, I'll write about Iron Maiden or post-punk or the hilarious results of teen pregnancy.

P.S. - God, I still hate Aaron Miles so much.

Mathematical Elimination Fever - CATCH IT!

TMS archive again.

Well, that was fun, huh?

You didn't have fun this season? Yeah, me neither.

To be honest, I haven't watched a lot of Cubs baseball lately. For the same reason I don't hang around the oncology ward of my local hospital. Tending to the slow wasting away of a reasonably promising team is not my ideal plan to spend the fleeting Chicago summer.

Which is not to say I didn't have nagging fears about this season. After compiling what was probably the best Cubs team of my lifetime in 2008, Hendry did so very little in the offseason. How was I to know that even the little he did was awful?

I'm not going to go into detail about all the wretched ways the 2008 Cubs were dismantled (other than to say that I had no beef with getting rid of DeRosa, provided the Cubs received more than a bucket of goddamn baseballs - which they did not). I'm just going to make a quiet list of the things that annoyed me about this season, with the hope that a few of them could be rectified:

The addition of Aarons to the roster.

The addition of roughly 78 pounds of pot tits to Geovany Soto's frame.

The annual jerk-around deal that doesn't happen. At least this year it was Jake Peavy Watch, and not year three of Brian Roberts Watch.

The fact that I was under the assumption that the DeRosa trade was part of a master plan to trade for someone like Peavy.

The fact that I assumed ANYTHING was actually part of a master plan on anyone's part in the front office.

Aaron Miles.

The loss of franchise face Kerry Wood combined with the meatheads who failed to notice how awful he did in Cleveland. Both a kick to my emotions and my brain.

The way the same meatheads turned on Zambrano, as if this team has another #1 starter.

The ongoing love affair that this fanbase has with mediocre gritlings like Ryan Theriot and Sam Fuld.

Aaron Fucking Miles. Have I mentioned him yet? Or Heilman? What about him?

Kevin Gregg's Extra Chromosome: Closer

The fact that Derrek Lee's production seems to be inversely proportional to the production of his teammates. God, if he played for the Nats this year he'd be hitting .460 with 98 home runs.

Everything about the Milton Bradley debacle. EVERYTHING. Everyone one every side and every statement ever made on it should be scoured out of our collective brains.

The loss of the Z-stache. I'm pretty sure that was the beginning of the end.

Aaron Miles. 'Nuff Said.

I've never looked forward to football and hockey so much in my life.

Unsticking the Craw

More TMS archival material.

I got a lot of things stuck in my craw this morning, so I'm just going to uncraw the hell out of a couple, folks.

I. I Am Apparently Friends With a Lot of 13-Year-Old Girls

No, not literally. I am not Gary Glitter; step back Chris Hansen. I just noticed yesterday that, judging by Facebook statuses, a lot of my friends, many of whom are my age and older, were filled with outrage that Kanye West interrupted Taylor Swift to praise Beyonce, or something like that at the Video Music Awards. Which means that a lot of my friends, many of whom are married adults with college degrees and young children, are watching the Video Music Awards.

Folks: an overrated pop star insulted another overrated pop star, and a third overrated pop star was involved. Genocide in Darfur never gets this kind of outrage. You are adults. You should really start caring about adult things, which I define as whatever the hell isn't on goddamn MTV.

II. Chicago Sports Fans Are Actually Worse Than 13-Year-Old Girls

I know it's only the lunatic fringe now, but the fact that immediately following Chicago's (non-blowout) loss on Sunday, certain Bears fans were already ready to run Jay Cutler out of town only strengthens my point. I mean, I'm used to my fellow Cubs fans being out on the ledge, but COME ON. Calm down. It was a loss. It was a bad day. Relax. And for God's sake: do not even pretend that Orton is better than Cutler based on one goddamn day. And it will only get worse if they lose another game between now and the Super Bowl.

I have never seen a whinier batch of fembots than the average group of fanatical Chicago sports fans when faced with an unexpected loss. And I know several Morrissey and Cure fans. Every time a highly touted player lets them down, Chicago is flooded with a sentiment of "bring back the mediocre journeyman with grit and hustle and scrap that couldn't win a damn ballgame either!" God, if one of the Cubs slap-hittin' cajuns actually gets traded, prepare for a collective, city wide crying jag.

Note: It is acceptable to be upset about losing Urlacher to an injury. That actually does suck donkey wang - although most of the people hand-wringing about this loss wanted to run him out of town on a rail last season. Crybabies.

III. We Are Creeping Closer To a Police State Again

Read this article, and this follow up.

If you still think Kanye West's behavior is worth wasting your outrage after hearing this story, then you can die in a fire.

My Sad Little Life: A Recap

Thunder Matt fun for the whole family!

What's been going on in my brain of late:

Thunder Matt has been DFA'd in Colorado, yet no one will pull the trigger on the AArons here. Hendry, I'm looking in your Huttesque direction.

Apparently Crane Kenney is still going to be president of the Cubs under the Ricketts regime. Meet the New Boss. Literally and With No Exaggeration, Same as the Old Boss.

Despite my best attempts to defend him from the more emotional and strident Cubs fans I know, Milton Bradley insists on being a temperamental prick. At least he's making contact, finally.

Wednesday's 9-4 win has done NOTHING to wash the stain of the 15-6 loss to the Nats on Tuesday. I thought I had given up on this team before, but AAron Heilman coughing up the Grand Slam will go down in the history books as the exact moment I stopped giving a tin shit about the 2009 Cubs. And I'm better for it.

I'm up to page 190 on Mason & Dixon. Some really beautiful writing on the relationship between fathers and sons and the nature of love, longing, grief, and duty. Not nearly enough talking clocks, though.

My fiancee is out of town for four days starting tonight, which means the meals I cook are less in the area of "a small portion of cooked fish and a salad with homemade vinaigrette," and more along the lines of "steak, tater tots, and scotch." It also means I may have a heart attack by Friday.

On the subject of Steak:

A) My cut was pretty cheap, but I marinated the living hell out of it. With coffee. It was pretty decent.

B) I also made gravy. Because I am southern. It was awesome.

On the subject of Tater Tots:

A) Much like Wayne Newton with pasta, I always make too much.

B) If you are going to bake them (because, like me, you don't want to start a grease fire in your hovel), for god's sake, broil them for a couple of minutes or they're really just soggy potato lumps.

C) Though they run the risk of moving into Overrated territory, I love that Tater Tots are showing up on a lot of local bar menus. They are great drunk food.

On the subject of Scotch:

A) I like it.

B) A lot.

On the subject of Holy Shit, This Is Rad:

A) Holy shit, this is rad.

Repeated viewings of Bridezillas with said fiancee over the past few weeks (which is doing wonders for my masculinity, let me tell you) have led me to the conclusion that Women Must Be Stopped. Honestly. It seems like half of these cows are only getting married so they can treat their best friends like slaves for a few weeks.

Within hours of declaring that I was arbitrarily supporting West Ham United FC (though not actually watching soccer, as it bores me to tears) for the sole reason that Steve Harris of Iron Maiden is a huge fan, their supporters got into a riot with Millwall supporters. Which delights me to no end, because while I don't really care about soccer, I really love hooliganism.

It turns out none of the things I've had to say have moved me enough to write a full blog entry. So you get these dregs. Hope you're happy.

Oh, and instead of watching the Cubs game tonight, I watched a couple of Simpsons DVDs. It was the most fun I've had during a ballgame all year. I can only assume the fact that my apathy has hit full swing will make the Cubs a team of winners. You're welcome.

War Criminal: 2009 Cubs Named Aaron

Some good hate in this TMS archive post.

Ugh. I hate you, 2009 Cubs Named Aaron.

I hate you so much that it’s beginning to impair my judgment.

When I see one of your names in a lineup, or a box score, or on the back of a jersey in the bullpen, I seethe with a rage I used to reserve for Will Ohman. 2009 Cubs Named Aaron, you are worse than tuberculosis, kitten drowning, and a Sex and the City marathon combined. If you had a collective neck, and this neck was lying in front of me, I would step on it and twist. I hope to one day eat a delicious McRib while watching you choke on a tightly compacted ball of cilantro and my own bile.

Aaron Heilman, you aren’t even the closer and you have blown SIX saves. If you aren’t leading the league in that, you’re damn close. And I’m beginning to think that if we called Doug Dascenzo up, he could do better than a WHIP of 1.55. Before you start trying to defend yourself, remember that your league-slightly-below-average ERA+ of 98 certainly does not make up for the fact that your face reminds me of Todd Hollandsworth, whom I have no nostalgia for (though I bet HE wouldn’t shit the bed as badly in leverage situations).

Aaron Miles? I don’t give a crap what Arcturus says, because even he knows the truth. You are a War Criminal. You have never grown on me. Not even in the sense of a fungus. I know I should be all stats-nerdy, but the fact that you are about 2 more bad games away from hitting my weight says all I need to know, you sub-Mendoza water baby.

Is it entirely within the realm of reality for Jim Hendry to find a second baseman that doesn’t meet any of the following 3 criteria?

1. Is too short to ride the Cyclone on Coney Island.
2. Can grow a douchey beard between innings.
3. Sucks.

Because you meet all three, you slap-hitting Travelocity gnome.

Holy crap, I just checked your OPS. I think the damn gnome could have done better than .489. Hell, on further inspection, your career OPS makes me long for the heady days of Neifi Perez. I’m beginning to think Bobby Scales actually SHOULD be up in the Big Show instead of what I can only assume is a Cardinals sleeper agent.

Clearly, the “AA” in “2009 Cubs Named Aaron” is a hint. Ship these fools to the Smokies, and leave them there.

P.S. I’ve got my eye on you, “Aaron” Samardzija.

Press Release: TMS Was Right To Endorse Wells

More TMS archive folderol.

***FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE***

Thunder Matt’s Saloon Was Right To Endorse Wells

Chicago, IL – July 29, 2009

After 8 solid innings of shutout ball, giving up only 6 hits and walking 2, TMS's July 16th endorsement of Randy Wells has thus far proven to be "right on, bitches," in the words of an anonymous TMS staffer.

This staffer then went on to call Wells "Nails. Totally f@cking nails, bro."

Mr. Wells himself remains unavailable for comment, no doubt because he is to busy kicking ass and taking names.

Contact:
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c/o Thunder Matt’s Saloon
Chicago, IL and Parts Unknown
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Press Release: TMS Endorses Wells

TMS archive.

***FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE***

Thunder Matt’s Saloon Endorses Wells

Chicago, IL – July 16, 2009

The following is a transcript of the speech delivered by TMS Bartender “Wolter” this morning (annotated with hyperlinks, and edited to be printable):

“Thank you all for coming. I’m here today to talk about a matter near and dear to my heart: the Chicago Cubs.

“Given the poor quality of the Cubs’ offense in the current season, it has been a temptation to say that “This whole damn team sucks,” and indeed many Cubs fans and TMS bartenders alike have joined in iterating some variation on that theme.”

[Wolter pauses for a moment, clutching the podium with white knuckles and mutters something that sounds like "Sori-f@ckin'-a55h0le."]

“However, this fails to take into account the bright spot of this year. The anemic offense (God, has that cliché ever been more accurate) is at least being offset by the solid, and occasionally brilliant starting pitching. As much of a “f@cking nutpunch” (per a high-ranking TMS insider) it is to lose close, low-scoring games, at least the Cubs are not being utterly annihilated in the field, like the residents of ”NATSTOWN!”

“One of the linchpins of this rotation is the surprisingly competent rookie, Randy Wells. Once thought by many Cubs commentators, including this speaker, to be a career Quadruple-A player (much as the namesake of The Saloon is sadly turning into), by picking up a surprisingly devastating “Slutter” (a slider/cutter hybrid that just defeated the "Slurve" to become the Best-Named Pitch in Baseball History), Wells may even garner some votes for Rookie of the Year (like first ballot HoFer Jerome Walton…).”

[Wolter coughs nervously.]

“Moving on…

“Wells, like pre-sex change Rich Harden last year [Note: Harden’s agent will neither confirm, nor deny, Mr. Wolter’s assessment], has been the victim of a few atrociously bad offensive games which have kept his W-L record from being particularly impressive”

[Wolter balls hands into fists and smashes them into podium]

“Can we please agree, as thinking people, that wins are as meaningless a stat as “holds” and move on with our lives?

[Wolter again coughs, and an unnamed TMS intern approaches the podium nervously. Wolter waves him off]

“I can do this. If you look at Wells’ performance, he is pitching damn well. In 81 innings, he has an ERA of 2.55, with about six K’s per nine, and only about 2 walks. His WHIP is is like 1.1, and most importantly…seriously guys…his slider is sickhouse.

“In conclusion, I have been authorized by the Powers That Be at TMS to give Randy Wells our blog’s official support. May God have mercy on his soul.”

[Wolter pauses for applause, then realizes he has been delivering this speech standing on his desk, alone, in an empty office.]

“Holy crap. This cold medicine is awesome…”

Mr. Wells has not yet commented on this announcement.

Contact:
Press Secretary
c/o Thunder Matt’s Saloon
Chicago, IL and Parts Unknown
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TMS Hellspawn

###

"A Team Full Of Outlaws"

Another Chip From the TMS Fireball.

... or so the Cubs were dubbed last week by Paul Sullivan of the Tribune.

And I for one, embrace this image. If I can't root for a winning team, at least I can root for an entertaining (and not a little scary one). And let's face it, a team where Ted Lilly, a man who allegedly got into a fistfight with his manager, doesn't even make most fans Top 3 Cubs Hotheads list, is bound to be entertaining.

But outlaws? Well...I suppose if you really want make this judgment, then I suppose the only right way to do it is to compare the Cubs to the True Barometer of All Things Outlaw: 1970s Country.

Well, that's easier said than done, mister. Unless you're one of those responsible-type bloggers who does their research and writes in a timely manner. Which I clearly am not.

But I suppose I should actually earn my keep here, so here goes:

Waylon Jennings
Waylon is one of the true giants of the Outlaw movement, with a solid musical resume and a bad-boy image that belied his down-to-earth nature. So who better than Milton Bradley to personify this? A man with a solid pedigree of above average ballplaying mixed with some rather public moments of...hold it...I'm being informed that I should probably not talk too much about Milton. I might make him angry....

Willie Nelson
Willie is an outlaw in spirit, but his laid back, easygoing (read: stoned) demeanor doesn't fit this current spate of umpire run-ins very well. However, his past run-ins with the IRS and his support for a controversial position on marijauna legalization remind me of a relatively laid back and softspoken Cub with a controversial position on chickens pecking each other to death: Aramis Ramirez. Expect Aramis to appear in Stephen Colbert's manger scene next year, prize rooster in hand.

Johnny Cash
A hipster favorite, even though his true outlaw days were far before this time, Cash is a difficult one to pin down as a Cub. Based on the fact that in the 1970s, Cash was entering a decline that lasted some time, I'm going to cheat and say that it's Derrek Lee. Lee used to be a very good (and for a year, elite) player, and once almost landed a punch on Chris Young (that's like going to Starkville County Jail for picking flowers, I guess). Let's just hope Rick Rubin can engineer a comeback for Lee soon.

Johnny Paycheck
Now here's a real wildman. Paycheck had an awesome run of raw edgy honky-tonk classics in the late 60s, but flew under the mainstream radar until he re-invented himself as an outlaw. And late in his career, Paycheck ended up serving a couple of years in prison for shooting a man in a scuffle. Ted Lilly spent several years as a solid but relatively unnoticed pitcher before reinventing himself as a psychopath for the Cubs blogosphere. And Lilly will no doubt serve a few years in prison if anyone finds the bodies...

Kris Kristofferson
Kristofferson has always been the thinking man's country musician. It's not a well-known fact, but Kristofferson is a Rhodes scholar with a Masters' in English from Oxford. No. Really. He is. But he still manages to exude a sort of gruff, good-ol-boy air that gives him an authentic bad-boy feel. Now, if Greg Maddux was still a Cub, I'd assign him Kristofferson in a second. But since he isn't, the closest thing we have to intellectuals on the team are...well, the Canadians...I guess. I'm putting Ryan Dempster in this role, because Harden is clearly a robot.

David Allan Coe
Now here's where it gets fun. David Allan Coe is immensely talented, immensely self-destructive, and you never know just how much of his crazy is a put-on and how much is just...because there's no doubt he's insane - it's just to what degree? After being released from prison, Coe put out a couple of strange, poetic, blues based art albums about the prison-industrial complex and being a young man in America, then wrote some of the tenderest country love ballads ever. Later he put out two of the most racist and offensive country albums ever made. He's dressed in a mask and rhinestones, in Nudie suits and huge belt buckles, and (most recently) like the scariest white-trash biker grandpa in history. If there is anyone else than Carlos Zambrano who fits this mold, I'd like to hear it.

Merle Haggard
Lou Piniella. I will brook no argument.

George Jones
Like Merle and Cash, he's not technically "Outlaw" country at all, but his carousing days certainly put him on this list. But not as a Cub. His legendary drunken exploits behind the wheel put him squarely in St. Louis, most likely as resident "jeenyus," Tony LaRussa.

Okay, I'm stretching this concept to the breaking. See you in 3 months, when I write my next TMS feature. Special thanks to my fellow bartender Dave Thomas for the photoshop.

Double-Fisting At Minifist

Yet another Thunder Matt's Saloon archive piece.

An Attempt At Remembrance

Chaim's memories of last Friday has inspired me to dust off my keyboard and participate in this blog like an actual writer, as opposed to just drawing a salary and commenting on every fifth article written by someone else. So here's what I'm capable of remembering from the 2009 Minifist:

To catch those just joining us up, last Friday was the long-awaited Annual Thunder Matt's Saloon Gathering of Bartenders That Could Actually Make it To Chicago, or "Minifist" for short. I have been told this is a reference to a previous full gathering of bartenders known as "Thunderfist," but I suspect it's actually named after a midget porno that Dave Thomas kept trying to get us to go back to his house to watch.¹

The reason for this gathering was to watch the Cubs play the hated Houston Astros. I'm not kidding when I tell you that the Astros are my "least favorite team that I shouldn't give a shit about" ever. I really hate the Astros. A lot. I'd be more eloquent about it, but the white-hot rage that fills my veins when I think too much about them is making it difficult to type, so I'm going to change the subject.

I was originally scheduled to attend this game, but had to cover for our receptionist, who was out of town. So I was limited to meeting up "after the game," where I expected to meet either several very annoyed or very excited bartenders for a post-game Celebration/Drowning of Sorrows. Then I learned the game had been postponed to another day due to the weather, which was about 10 different kinds of ass that day.

So, at about 4:30, I texted our very own Chaim Witz to ask if they were still at the Gingerman (on account of I was dreadfully sober), and received the following text:

Oh god yes

That's always a good sign. When I finally arrived at the Gingerman (at roughly 5:30, for those keeping score), I found Chaim (who was heroically warring with Sobriety and winning at this point), as well as fellow bartenders Chip Wesley and Dave Thomas in fine spirits. With them were Valued TMS Reader Nick V (whose real name, it turns out is Steve V), a friend of Chip's that I will call "Mark," to protect his identity, and my good friend, Dr. Scotch, whose company I greatly appreciated, considering that I was at least 5 hours behind everyone else on the booze front.²

Not in attendance was the legendary Tommy Buzanis, who had apparently left some hours before I arrived, muttering something about "ditching this sausage party to look for a steak and some broads." I still have yet to meet this mysterious, near mythical man, but his empty seat was treated with the greatest of reverence.

A raucous conversation ensued, whereupon I learned much about how to administer a throat-jab properly, the most obscene insults Lingering Bursitis had used in private correspondence, and the proper way to eat at Wrigleyville Dog (answer: apparently Not at All). At some point (about 3 pitchers in from my arrival), Chaim's head finally hit the table, and we all knew he had defeated Sobriety handily. We bundled him in a cab pointed towards his house, and staggered into the still sunlit evening to find the next bar.

This being Wrigelyville, the bar selection was wide, but shallow. Pretty much the only non-sports bar left open was The Irish Oak (where, incidentally, I spent a fascinating night last fall listening to the Clash's excreble Cut the Crap album and watching a friend of mine get hit on by a DEEPLY RELIGIOUS group of Suburban Cougars). So we went there, Chaimless, but proud. Dave Thomas and I shared a shot of Rumple Minze³, and I trace my ultimate downfall to this point.

Eventually, we left the Oak, losing Nick V and Dave Thomas in the process, and the remaining three (Chip Wesley, "Mark," and myself) decided to go to the Wrigleyville North (a delightfully rednecky and cheap bar not far from the Sheridan stop). Every trip I take to the Wrigleyville North is either a disaster or not memorable at all, so I don't know why I get drawn to it so readily. Unless it's because the drunker I get, the more I want to listen to country cover bands.

We had barely settled in when I got a series of texts from my fiancee, who was in nearby Boys Town, singing Karaoke with her friends at a relatively seedy gay bar named Bobby Love's:

Worst version of tiny dancer ever on the karaoke stage EVER! ;)

And I'm babysitting a sox fan glass. HELP!!!

So, I asked my companions if they minded swinging by, and when I assured "Mark" that there are tons of chicks at karaoke night at a gay bar (there are), and Chip that I wouldn't tell anyone about this (I did), we staggered drunkenly there. On the way, I almost got us lost twice, recieved a text that my fiancee was leaving soon, made it there in time for one more round, coninued to be collossally drunk, watched "Mark" make out with a friend of my fiancee's and mine, failed to sign Chip up for a song (I assume he was planning to sing "Two Minutes To Midnight" or something, but my memory is swimmy by this point), and finally left.

All in all, a fine night out.⁴

---

1. Not strictly a "fact," but I've never let that stop me before. In fact, anywhere from 50-95% of these remembrances might not be literally "factual." But dammit they are still The Truth.

2. Of course, I now know that any less than a 10 hour head start for Dave Thomas is not fair to the rest of the group...

3. I just googled the spelling. Huh. Two words. Weird.

4. Well, if you don't count the huge argument I started with my fiancee on the way home (entirely my fault; I was a mess), the fact that I had to get up at 6:30 am to work a convention, and that I spent all the next day shaking and covered in a thin, clammy layer of beer-scented sweat.

Things I Would Rather Do...

From the Thunder Matt's Saloon archive.

I missed yesterday's game, but I hear that once again, Neal Cotts is violating the Geneva Convention by pitching in baseball games. This saddens me enough to allow Thunder Matt's Saloon to print some excerpts from my upcoming book, 10,001 Things I'd Rather Do Than Watch Neal Cotts Pitch For the Cubs.

The book will be a lavish, coffee-table style hardcover full of illustrations completely unrelated to Neal Cotts pitching for the Cubs, as there are over ten thousand other things I'd rather do than ever see that again. However, plans are in the works for a deluxe edition bound in Neal Cotts' skin, if I can just talk Hendry into releasing that turd.

Here are a few to whet your appetite:

~Hammer a 6" railroad spike through my own left foot

~Listen to an Audiobook of Mike Tyson reading the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

~Listen to Chris DeLuca explain how Alexei Ramirez is the best baseball player in Chicago, even though a mentally challenged Cocker Spaniel can tell he's not the best baseball player on his own team, or even the best player named A. Ramirez in Chicago, for that matter

~Spend one full year living in Indiana (Official State Motto: "Why Not Give Up On Life Here?")

~Relive the time I was eight and watched my dog get hit by a car over and over again

~Attend a synagogue in Jerusalem with Mel Gibson

~Play an 8-hour marathon of The 3-D adventures of World Runner

~Perform a pap smear on Paris Hilton

~Get a tattoo of Ernest Borgnine's face on top of my own face

~Sit in a hot tub full of Au Jus with a naked Chip Wesley (the casual TMS reader probably doesn't realize how real this fear is)

~Eat a huge bowl of cilantro, and wash it down with a Woodchuck Pear Cider

~Listen to Chaim explain, in depth, how Kiss are "totally better than Maiden, man."

~Actually write a blog post for TMS

I'm already gathering data for the sequel, 10,001 Things YOU'D Rather Do Than Watch Neal Cotts Pitch For the Cubs, so feel free to submit your own in the comments section.