Friends, we here in Chicago are in a quandary. You see, it’s the middle of summer, and even though the NFL lockout is over, the populace largely hates Jay Cutler (sad but true) and thinks Lovie Smith may secretly be an assistant coach with the Green Bay Packers (it would explain A LOT). The Blackhawks are a year removed from winning the Stanley Cup, but it’s still hockey, every game of which is kinda like a racist, Canadian slasher movie.
The Bulls were great this year, true, but this is a franchise that won a half dozen titles in the not-so-distant past, so only coming close to the Finals is barely reason to celebrate. It’s a 10% off sale. It’s winning a free lottery ticket. Which leaves us with the national pastime.
Barf
The Cubs are as of this writing 22 games under .500, 15.5 games back of the division lead, 19.5 games out of the wild card (cause that’s how bad the NL Central is), and are on course to lose something in the neighborhood of 98 times on the year. Attendance is down, the new ownership and manager are taking heat, and Old Style still tastes like cat piss. These are grim times in Wrigleyville.
But, no need to fear! I have a plan. We can turn this situation around, but the dam has to be fixed, today, now, before today’s game against the Cardinals, where the mighty Pujols will get opportunity after opportunity to smack Carlos Marmol pitches into Carlos Marmol’s inviting groin.
The Cubs won’t be back home until August 5th, a road trip which will afford Wrigley Field the opportunity to host the most exciting event the grand old baseball stadium has seen in a dog’s age – Paul McCartney’s two sold out shows this weekend. But, around rousing, embarrassing renditions of “When I’m 64,” there will be plentiful opportunities to install booby traps in the visitor’s dugout, and carnival rides down the first base line.
Terrible artist's rendering
These are desperate times, people! When the Northsiders return from getting shellacked from St. Louis to Pittsburgh, don’t you think they’ll appreciate the new center field bleacher vodka luge? Sponsored by Koval, no less! That’s sweet ad money, which we’ll need in gobs, for the gaming tables in the Captain Morgan club.
But these are cosmetic changes, minor little additions, no matter how much fun it may be to participate in the D’Agostino’s Pizza Fourth Inning Food Fight every night. What the franchise really might want to look into is a way for the fan base to vent some of their considerable rage while suffering through another one-sided shitstorm of a game.
I propose this – whenever the Cubbies fall behind by more than 5 runs in a game, there will be special booths set up on the concourses where for, say, a quarter you can punch the living shit out of a team executive/former player/beer vendor. Ryan Dempster just gave up a grand slam in the second inning to the opposing pitcher? You can go beat the screaming Christ out of Moises Alou! Soriano made a half-hearted stab at a bloop down the left field line? You can kick Bob Brenly in the nuts, repeatedly, until 103 years of frustration are alleviated. Kerry Wood went on the DL mid-at bat? Go upside Tom Ricketts head! Accountability, team! Have some!
Too crazy and violent? When I talk salvation, I mean more in the biblical sense than day-to-day baseball. This season is over, there’s no doubt about that. Sure, there are still 56 games to play, but they’d need to win about 85% of those games to get in the postseason. There is a better chance of Ernie Banks battling cleanup this afternoon then them turning into the greatest second half ball club in history.
But, if the attendance doesn’t get up and fast, there’s gonna be some cockamamie bullshit excuse this off season about them not being able to afford free agents and NASCAR style advertising patches might need to be sewn onto uniforms next year and ticket prices, amazingly, will go up. It’s a horrible cycle. And who suffers? We all suffer!
Perhaps some human sacrifice during the seventh inning stretch is required? Depraved and perverse bleacher orgies, to lure away the evil spirits haunting the batter’s box? Poison Blow Dart Night? Maybe we can get Steve Bartman to fight a heard of goats to the death out on Waveland?
Well what’s the fucking solution then?! My solution may be psychotic, but at least it’s a plan. Bring on the lunacy! It’s all we’ve got! Go Cubs Go!
P.S. I don’t know where to even begin with the White Sox, so let’s just pretend whatever it is going on down there isn’t happening. Cool?
Knowingly Undersold 