It’s been a long week so with your permission, I’m going to rant for a bit. I want to know how I came to love a team like the Chicago Cubs in spite of the fact that most of the fandom I share an allegiance with is baseball stupid at best. I want to know when listening became optional and the thought of actually hiring shrewd baseball men to do what profitable and competitive baseball organizations do became a cause for all north side baseball fans to curl up in a ball of delusional idiocy. Theo and Jed are trying to save us from our torturous past Cub nation. Yet, you call up radio stations and you beg and plead for arguably the smartest baseball men ever hired in Cub land to emulate the plan of old Daddy Warbucks aka Jim Hendry. I have a proposition for the members of Cub nation who lack any semblance of baseball acumen. You know who you are. You’re the frat boy with the backwards cap who sings that stupid Steve Goodman song after a meaningless win in mid September. You’re the idiot who runs to get food during a pitchers duel. You’re the void who makes me have to stand up every five minutes when all I want to do is watch the grand old game that I love. Let’s not kid ourselves, this is an era of great change in Cub land and no one has time to stop the bus and explain to the remedial baseball section of Cub what moves are being made and why they’re being made. Oh ye baseball stupid, Annex yourselves from my baseball presence. Drink and be oblivious somewhere else my albatrosses. (Pause)
Moving on. I want this city to stop giving its detractors what they want. No more pandering-self serving championship parades, no more anchors interviewing drunk fools who stumbled into a bar after a bender and decided to become a fan of whatever local team is popular. No more anchors wearing jerseys and no more live shots of sauced up hooligans whooping and hollering. This is the city I grew up and we’re better than that. We’re better than people camping out at for a spot to see a fireworks spectacular at an antiquated tinder box like Navy Pier. They’re fireworks people. They go boom and they make noise and they throw off pretty colors. Do we need our local news outlets panning over a scene of some family from out of town protecting their coveted fireworks related fiefdom with lawn chairs and coolers? They’re pyrotechnics for god sake. We’ve seen fireworks before and I’m sure we’ve all been woken up by some clown shooting them off outside our windows while we’ve tried to sleep. I want my city to grow up and I don’t want to listen to drunken hockey players pander to a bunch of sweaty meat heads. The next time the Hawks win the cup, let’s just have Rocky Wirtz write a nice letter of thank you to Blackhawk Nation and be done with it. Resist Tyranny!!! Go A’s!!!! TOOT!!! TOOT!!!
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