Just one love left

The smoke passing over the scar on the inside of my throat from the tracheotomy I had 8 years ago is somewhat chunky tonight. Almost feels like that raised portion of inside flesh has grown bigger over the years.

My heart is beating abnormally, as usual, but tonight, somehow it's a soothing beat that my ticker is kickin'. But I ain't got no reason why. I haven't had a reason for a soothing beat for quite a few years.

My mind, scrambled and just as confused as usual, for some reason, is beginning to make sense and I can see that the life I've been livin' these past ocho ano's ain't really the exact way I envisioned the life I wanted to live. But I keep livin' it like it is.

The collectors of light that are the front of my face have grown weary and they're beginning to miss things. Maybe they're missing things because I wouldn't be able to handle or accept those things if I did see them. I dunno.

The noises that whisper into my ears are muffled, almost scuffed by, what it seems, some sort of blockage device placed over the inner tubes. Maybe I'm just gettin' old. Maybe I don't wanna hear 'em.

But my fingers still find the places they need to be. And my hands hold my baby tightly. I don't need to see you, to play you, baby. Nor do I need to hear you, to know that you're there. And if my mind were clean and stable, I would've never fallen in love with you oh so many years ago.

You've got nothing to worry about my love. I'll place you in your case to protect you and carry you home soon enough.

It's time to move on: Part II

i knew going in that there was a chance for failure, but everything worth anything has got that type of chance.

she convinced me that i wouldn't fail, so I battled the thoughts, memories and tears of yesteryear and gave it a go. but i couldn't do it.

i was crazy for her, i'm sure i still am, that's for sure. (thanx Paolo)

i had to slow it down. to lie it down. to step back and realize that she was the best damn thing that ever did happened to me, and the crazy son of a bitch that i was, well, was pushing her away.

to realize that she's the one that i want to wake with in the morning and listen to the winds of the night next to.

but these streets of chicago have far too many names for me: musician, artist, bum, liar, drunk, poet, lover, weeper and friend to name a few.

but i can't remember who it is that i actually am anymore and instead, i play to the names i am called.

my dreams have been drained, denied, changed and re-born by this big bad city that i live in. all while i have searched for the change that i've lost in the couch.

It's time to move on.

I've been looking to the future for me and all together, it hasn't looked too pretty.
I've always believed that it was a waste of time to stay retained in the moments of yesteryear and the thoughts and hopes that were held so closely, that never did turn out the way you had hoped.
That one should move forward without doubt and without regret.

But sometimes, it's just too damn hard to forget the ones you love, the one you loved.
And you pretend that you never really loved them as much as you truly did, but while doing such, you're the only person you're foolin'.

I finally moved on. And before we meet again, on some sunny beach a thousand miles away from nowhere, you too, need to realize that what we pretended to share oh so many years ago, was just a pair of young fools in love. Nothing more.

The love we had was real, but the hopes and dreams and wishes that we shared were only there when our eyes closed at night. And they were nothing more than hopes, wishes and dreams. It's time to move on.

No cool title for this one

The sound of thunder crashing against his words sounded like song lyrics themselves. His guitar, dampened by the cool drops falling from the clouds above, glistened in the flashes of electricity shooting across the night sky. Both men and women with red, yellow, white, blue lighters swayed their arms back and forth slowly with their opposite hand covering the flames of their torches from the rain. Nobody talked. Nobody sang. They all just listened.

What a magnificent feeling it was. To know that there were actually people who were there to listen to the words he sang. As if he was preachin' from the Bible. And he didn't show any fear. Maybe that was what fueled the burning fire within him. Maybe not.

A scared child I know I am when I stand there. Full of worry if the people like me or not. Afraid of missing a chord, or breaking a string or just flat out forgetting the next line.

Not him though. No way. Every time he hit the strings on his beat up looking guitar, he did it with full comfort and assurance that he would hit exactly where he needed to. Without mistake.

He had no worries. Perhaps he just didn't give a shit what we thought. Maybe he knew that the only person that he was playing for was himself. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't even know we stood before him.

Tonight was the way it should always be. We were there for the music. And the stories that were being told in the songs that he played. We weren't there to meet others. Or get numbers. Or to find somebody to bang out with after the show. We were there to respect the music. And for the first time that I have ever went to a show, that was exactly the way it was.

The servers and bartenders talked in hushed voices when taking orders. Nobody wanted to disrespect the man playin' the tunes. Which shouldn't ever happen, but so often, it does. To us as musicians, and even people who don't play anything but still love music, when you go to a show, especially a show in a small, intimate surrounding, you don't carry on conversation all through the set. You don't talk on the phone with your buddies or girlfriends, begging them to meet you someplace after the show. You stand, or sit, or crouch and listen to the music. That's it. And tonight was the first time I ever watched every person in the joint doing nothing but listening to the music.

It kind of reminded me of that scene from High Fidelity when Rob Gordon (John Cusack) meets up with his employees, Dick and Barry (Jack Black and Todd Louiso), at some tiny dancer spot in Chicago to hear Frampton's "Baby I Love Your Way" being covered by Lisa Bonet's character. Nobody sang along with her. Nobody, except for Rob, Dick and Barry, talked about anything. Everybody just chilled and listened to the music. And they showed their appreciation when she was done.

Tonight was that night for me.

Someday...Maybe. Today...Not Happening.

Someday....maybe....I'll have the dedication needed to write a story. A story that will grab all that read it by the throat, twisting and turning and pulling and knocking the living shit out of 'em.

And from this assault, each person will tell others to be on the look out. And the naive fools who have been warned will search me out, read my stories and they themselves, will be the idiots lying lifeless on the floor, gasping for air, as their dogs scamper out the back doors of their houses to piss on the rose bushes.

But, wouldn't you know it, I just aint ready. And when I am finally ready, it will bust out of me without warning, without fear and without any hesitation because it is ready for me to write it.

That time I wasn't myself

Again, this is a tale from the past. Enjoy.

In just five days, the calendar will tell me that it is the 29th anniversary of my birth. Too me, it most likely will be my last birthday. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not predicting my death this weekend (but that could be very possible with my Chicago Bears playing in the Super Bowl on my birthday), I am just determined to stay at the nice age of twenty-nine for the rest of my life.

But as I sit at this computer, viewing the fuzzy screen and imagining that my fingers are pounding furiously on the black keyboard below, I realize that I’ve been a bit of a fuck up my entire life.

Well, I don’t mean that I constantly muff things up due to poor eye-hand coordination, or the lack of the seemingly useless knowledge that almost every other asshole in Chicago seems to hold so dearly to their hearts. What I speak of are the acts that I’ve committed in the past for a laugh or just to start trouble.

Like the first time I went away to college some ten years ago.

I was enrolled at Illinois State University in Normal, Illinois in 1996. The first day that we, as students, were allowed to move in to our dorm rooms was a Saturday, if I remember correctly. Mom and Dad drove me down, helped me carry all my belongings onto the elevator and into my room and left me to live by myself for the first time in my life. And after most of the parents had left their offspring behind and voyaged home, all of the freshman students in the tower I was living in were called down for a resident’s meeting in the conference room.

Now, the tower that I lived in for the nine months while I was enrolled at ISU was named Watterson Tower. It was the tallest building between St. Louis and Chicago at the time, and very well still may be to this day. The weird thing about Watterson though, it was thirty stories high and had five houses on each side. And of these five houses a side, the elevator would only stop every five floors. If you wanted to go to the 27th floor, you took the lift to twenty-five and hiked up the stairs for the remaining two floors. If it were floor eleven you desired, off at floor 10 and up one. You get the point I’m sure.

But the cool thing about this shitty elevating system and the weird flooring, was straight out my window, on the twenty-seventh floor, were the five floors only given to female students. And it took no time at all before some freshman girl came home wasted and decided to put on a strip show in the ceiling to floor windows of the rooms.

But anyway, once all of the students had finally made it down to the conference room on floor one to be welcomed to the University and told ‘The Rules” about Watterson Tower, was the first time I acted in the ways I spoke about earlier in this post.

The Dean of Students, Dr. Whatever Blowme, made it extremely clear that floors 23-27 of the West Tower, were for females only and not a one male student could ever be on those floors. He followed that up with the punishments for the crime if a male was caught on one of these floors.

“The first time a male is caught on floors 23-27 of the West Tower, he will be fined $25. The second time he is caught, the fine will quadruple to $100. And if there is a third time that the same male is caught on any of these floors, the fine will be pushed to the maximum of $500. Gentleman, are there any questions?”

At this moment in my life, I had sex exactly zero times. I had been dating a girl who wasn’t ready yet and I never pushed her into it. But who the fuck am I kidding? I wasn’t really ready yet at 18 either.

But I still couldn’t stop myself from constructing the question that I knew would have no answer. And I knew that I shouldn’t really ask the Dean of Students my inquiry. But for some strange reason that is still not understandable to me, I asked him.

“So, let me get this right. It’s $25 the first time. $100 the second and $500 the third. How much can I get a semester pass for?”

We were, "On the Road"

Throughout the '90's, I, along with 12 other young men, was involved with many different things. These things are a part of life that I am both proud and embarrassed of. Some of us were friends from grade school and we all got together with each other our sophomore year of high school. That is when we began our almost decade long streak of hunting and fishing for fun, racing cars and motorcycles for money and fighting other guys just for the thrill of fighting. With any, or all, of the before mentioned activities, booze, drugs, music or women were almost always involved.

So, for this post, I have decided to rekindle my past and compare the most memorable event of “my group” with some of the events that Sal and his boys endured in Jack Kerouac’s

On The Road.

“On The Road is a novel of experience: it tells tales of madness played out by all kinds of strange characters, in settings as diverse as a Virginia small-town diner, A New York jazz-joint and a Mexican whore house. What connects these adventures is the characters’ refusal to miss out on life and their determination to get the most out of now.”
-Anne Hassapi, http://bookreviews.nabou.com

I couldn’t have started this any better way. What Hassapi has done is made the realization that all of the characters of On The Road, are different, but alike, at the same time. And I have made the realization that the guys that I made a trip to Arizona with in a rented mobile home in 1999 were all different but the same also.

For instance, Dean Moriarty was the antagonizer of the group and always seemed to be the one who came up with half-baked ideas that led his group to trouble. In the trip that we took, this character was my buddy Doug. His ideas usually found us either being delayed in towns because we couldn’t find him or staying an extra day or two because he lost most of the groups money playing cards.

Carlo Marx was a poetic-bum who was amazed by Dean. On our trip West, this character was Glenn. Glenn had no job at home and lived in his parents basement working on anything mechanical. The only time that he came out of that basement was when the group was camping (which was every weekend, rain or shine) or whenever Doug needed his help in the garage. He was Doug’s wing man I suppose, because when we fought, they always stood side by side.

Salvatore “Sal” Paradise, the stories main character, was also intrigued with Dean. The two didn’t have a very solid relationship, filled with un-truths and lies. But Sal dismissed Deans flaws and strove to be just like him. Sal would have to be Jeremy. Jeremy always looked up to Doug and wanted so badly to be desired by women like Doug was. By the end of our trip to Arizona, Jeremy would never talk to Doug again.

Old Bull Lee was the head drug guy in the book. And, as embarrassed I am to say it, I, was Old Bull Lee. I liked to smoke a lot of pot back then and it wasn’t uncommon that I would drop a little acid from time to time and play guitar for hours and hours while sitting around the fire on one of our camping trips.

Now, enough with the introductions, time to start the trip

Just like Sal and Dean, my friends and I had been discussing a trip out to Arizona to see an old friend who had moved there at the end of our senior year to work as a guide at a dude ranch in Phoenix. After a year and a half of discussing...and debating...and saving the money that we needed to go, we finally settled on a date and secured a mobile home camper to make the trip.

We started Westward down old Route 6, where Dean and Sal had passed years before. (We grew up five miles West of Joliet in a small hick town) We made our first stop for fuel in Davenport, Iowa and grabbed some food at a bar across the street. As we sat digesting our meal of greasy burgers and fries, Doug shot a game of pool with some local yokels. Before long, the locals had invited the four of us to play poker with them later that evening. Glenn, Jeremy and I all said that we should keep heading West because we had a long voyage still ahead of us. But Doug, that Doug, assured us that he would play smart and win us extra money for the trip. The three of us knew that we shouldn’t have let him play but we all figured, “It’s early in the trip, let him have some fun.”

We left the guys house who was hosting the game around 1 in the morning while Doug was up about $300. He crawled into the camper at 4:30 in the morning down $700. We had forgotten that Doug was holding all of our money. Now, we had several states yet to drive through before reaching Arizona and only $1,300 to do it with.

That morning, after we had started our voyage again and jumped onto Interstate 80, Doug awoke and crawled up to the front of the camper. The three of us said nothing to him until we reached Omaha, Nebraska where we re-fueled once again and grabbed a late breakfast at a gas station diner.

As we sat at the table, we watched a semi pull into the lot and another kid, about the same age as all of us, climbed out the passenger side of the cab. He walked into the diner and grabbed a seat at the counter. He looked at the menu and ordered a water. The way that he looked, we could tell that he had no money. He was hitchin’ with the truck driver. And since the semi had rolled out, he was without ride. Jeremy asked us if we could give him a ride. We thought it would be fine and invited him to go to Arizona with us.

The boys name was Tommy, and was only going to Lincoln which was just down the road. Tommy jumped in with us and we took off, blaring down the road. About half way to Lincoln, it was decided that it was about time to have some smoke and lit up. It was passed completely around the camper and it seemed that Tommy was very appreciative of the ride.

We drove into Lincoln stoned, with Pink Floyd blaring out of the speakers and the town folk starring at the camper like it was something that had just rolled straight out of hell and delivered Tommy to his parents house. What was really nice about Tommy, beside being a really cool kid, was that when we got to his parents house, he asked them to give us $200 to say thanks and they did. He didn’t have to do that, but we were pretty glad that he did.

We started back down the road listening to some music, smoking some more pot and were talking like a bunch of crazy fools on the CB. Now, my father drives a truck and I knew that we weren’t supposed to be saying half the things that we were saying on the CB but, it didn’t stop me from doing it, or letting the other guys do it. We were looking for some women to meet us in Lexington, which was only a short distance down the road. We were telling the ladies that we talked to that we had weed and acid and we would share it with them if we could meet up when we got into town. There was only one gal who said that she’d meet us. And when we met her, we found out that she wasn’t really a she. That she, was really a he. We got the hell out of Lexington as quick as we came in!

It was around the Colorado state line that we realized we had no clue what day it was. We weren’t sure how many days we had been driving. (After 6 years, we figure that it was the third day of the trip but none of us are certain. We smoked a lot of weed.) We weren’t sure if we had enough money to make it to Phoenix, let alone getting back. We weren’t even sure if we were going the right way anymore. Being stoned and tripping can be a very big distraction when you are driving across the country. We finally decided to stop in Cheyenne, Wyoming and sleep away the mess we all were in and find directions in the morning.

When we woke in the morning, we walked into a truck stop diner for some coffee and directions. As we sat in a booth near the window, an elderly lady sitting across the room from us cast a stare of disapproval in our direction. Like we were all her son and she was disappointed at what we had turned into. She didn’t love us anymore and never wanted to see us again. Though none of us knew this woman, we were all hurt by her ogling eyes, checking out every inch of our dirty souls.

In the book, Sal had these same feelings about a woman that looked at him:

“No...don’t come back and plague your honest, hard-working mother. You are no longer like a son to me-and like your father, my first husband...You are no good, inclined to drunkenness (which we were) and routs and final disgraceful robbery of the fruits of my ‘umble labors in the hashery. Oh son! did you not ever go on your knees and pray for deliverance for all of your sins and scoundrel’s acts? Lost boy! Depart! Do not haunt my soul; I have done well forgetting you”, Sal thought the lady was saying by her leers.

When I read this line in the book, I remembered everything about that old diner we were sitting in that day. And everything about the old blue haired lady with the grey dress with white pin stripes and big purple shoes. And every ounce of sadness and embarrassment that I held that day. I felt what Sal felt and it was the worst memory I think that I’ve ever had.

After our meal had finished, we asked directions to Phoenix and were on our way. It seemed that we had over shot the road that we wanted to turn onto the night before as we drove passed Interstate 76. We ventured down route 25 into Denver, Colorado around 2 in the afternoon. This is when the non-truth telling SOB Doug decided to tell us all that he didn’t lose as much money as he said that he did playing poker in Davenport. In all actuality, he hadn’t lost at all, he had won. He won $650 that night. We quickly took the money away from him and told him not to touch the money again.

We made it to Albuquerque, New Mexico before re-fueling again. And when we were there is when we got into some real trouble. Glenn and I had retired to the camper parked in a truck stop lot while Doug and Jeremy had went into the pool hall across the way. Shortly after midnight, Jeremy came into the camper and told us that Doug had gotten into some trouble with a guy at the pool hall for flirting with his lady. We walked across the street and into the pool hall to see Doug being hit while two guys were holding him.

Now, where I come from, a guy always, ALWAYS, has to help when he sees a woman get hit or when he sees a buddy being beat on. Within seconds all four of us were throwing punches and swinging pool sticks at Albuquerque trash. About five minutes after the brawl had begun, the police were escorting people out of the pool hall and into squad cars. We had been arrested for disorderly conduct. At the jail, we were told that we could leave if we posted $100 bail a piece and never return to Albuquerque, New Mexico. We handed over the $400 and got out of town.

This is were we got onto Interstate 40 headed West toward Flagstaff, Arizona. We knew that we’d be there soon and just wanted to make it straight threw with no more problems. We stopped in Flagstaff a few hours before dawn to sleep and finished the trip to Phoenix in the morning,

I know that the trip that I had with my friends back in ‘99 isn’t exactly like the trip that Sal and Dean and Ed had in the book, but it was exciting to us. And reading this book made me remember the things that I was able to from that trip. I wish that I could remember more of it, but like I previously stated, there was a lot of booze and a whole lot of weed.

We did finally meet up with or friend, but only stayed two more days with him before we headed back. This trip was almost seven years ago and it was the last time that any of the guys seen that friend. He is currently working as a ranch hand at a ranch in Montana. And I really don’t think that anybody wants to drive out West anytime soon.

Fashion Tip #6

Alway be sure to be comfortable when choosing your clothes.

A plan of attack

It's 2:52 in the morning here in the Chi. A cold evening, with a slight breeze blowing on the streets, no cabs blowing their horns at pedestrians and the sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie filling the air in the hallway.

Like I said, it's 2:52 in the morning, well, it's now 2:55, and I'm still wide awake, loading songs to the iPOD, printing sheet music for future gigs and typing silly stories for this and that site. I really can't tell you why I don't go to bed. My gato has been sleeping for the past three hours on the chair by my desk. I feel tired, but still I sit, wasting a good night's sleep....again.

So here's the plan that I've manifested this evening to help me get to bed. Combined, I have ten digits on my feelers. Five of 'em on the right, the other five on the left. Some are more important than others, in this way or that, but a few really serve me no purpose at all.

Like the set of ring fingers. I wear one ring on my right thumb. Always. I don't wear anything on my ring fingers. And the way it has went these past thirty years, most likely, I'm not going to be putting either of my ring fingers to use with a wedding band any day soon.

Now, with these two fingers missing, I will have a harder time playing guitar and typing but that's OK. Hendrix taught himself to play right handed and he was a southpaw.

So, what I plan to do is walk into the kitchen, grab the 12-inch knife that I use to slice beef, poultry and fish with and whack off either one, or both, of these pointless fingers. One or both depending on how much pain I have from the first.

So after the digit, or digits, has/have been removed, I will wrap a clean towel around the stub of a nub I got left on my hand/hands and phone a taxi to pick me up. Of course, I will bring the departed fingers with me, placed in a Ziploc bag with ice, to the hospital so I can have them maybe re-attached. And after the doctors fix me up, with or without the ring fingers, I will be doped up enough on Morphine that I can come home and sleep the night away.

When Tuesday arrives, I will go to the pharmacy and have my prescription filled so that I can again sleep well for the rest of the week.

Really hope this works.

Irregular Periods

I wrote this some time ago, but came found it tonight while I was cleaning out my computer. Enjoy.

Yesterday, the 11th of April, as I sat on the steel folding chair at work, looking out the front window of my store, watching the silly fools who live in Chicago with me trying to battle the “Spring” elements: quarter (25 cent) sized rain drops, snow that was blowing left to right, not straight down, and hail the size of a shooting marble, I realized once again, that I need to make MUCH more money. (And yes, I know, that was one LONG fucking sentence.)

So I opened up “The sib of the Trib”, The Redeye, and began searching merrily for a way, anyway, that I could score more dineros. As I stumbled through the rag, I came across an ad on page 34, looking for people to be used as guinea pigs for a study on irregular periods. And after the group had finished their studies, each person that volunteered their time as an experimental piece would be rewarded with $500.....cash.

I didn’t think twice. I mean, it was $500 for five hours of tests. I’ve got to work close to 80 fucking hours to make $500 at the communist shit hole that I work at.

So I picked up the phone to call the number.

*RING* *RING* *RING* *RING* and tell the girl who answered which test I was calling about.

“Um, sir, this test is only for women,” says the young lady.

“What do you mean, only for women,” says I?

“The test that you are inquiring about is in regards to people with irregular periods sir, so, you being a man, automatically disallows you,” says she.

“Yeah, irregular periods,” says I, “I’ve got those.”

“Sir, how can you have irregular periods,” questions her.

“To me, irregular periods aren't just the days that I didn’t feel like spending $150 on a pair of shoes I’ll only wear once.....”, says I.

“Sir....” I hear her say.

“....I can go months without wanting to meet a woman, date a woman, sleep with a woman or even see a woman because one of your bitch sisters really pissed me off in someway. We'll call this period 1. Then, after that period has passed, I follow it up with not wanting to be without the woman that got me over the lying, cheating, back stabbing whore that put me in the first period. We'll call this period 2. And after period 2, I usually go into the one when I don’t want to see, to talk or to hear another guy because most of the idiots are self centered douche bags who only date girls that their buddies think are hotter than hell so their egos will be boosted by the slaps on the back from their pals. We'll call this period 3. And usually by this period, I’m back to the first period because the “nice girl”, period 2, who got me over the “evil bitch”, period 1, has turned out to be an “evil bitch” herself by banging out with one of the self centered, egotistical back stabbing douche bags I call my friends. That, my dear, is one nasty, irregular cycle,” says I.

..........................................................

“Hello,” says me?

She hung up.

I guess my periods aren’t irregular enough for this study.

Sexy 40-something of the Week: Gina Gershon

Gina L. Gershon was born June 10, 1962  in Los Angeles, CA, to Mickey and Stan Gershon. She is Jewish and has a brother Dann and sister Tracy.

She spent her high school years at Beverly Hills High and was a classmate of Lenny Kravitz. After her fours years at B.H. High, she moved East to Boston to continue her schooling at Emerson College. Earlier this year, Vanity Fair reported in a story about her romantic involvement with President Clinton. Gershon told the nation with Regis and Kelly "It is such a crazy, outrageous lie.... I met him three times at events. It disturbed me on so many levels. I felt I had to stand up and say the truth."  

While still at Emerson, she decided to change her major, move to New York and attend NYU to study drama and child psychology. While there, she also attended Circle in the Square Professional Theater School and is a founder of New York based theater group Naked Angels.

Her first movie role came in small form in 1986's Pretty in Pink. From there, she moved on to the sexy, sultry photo journalist with Tom Cruise in Cocktail, a role on Melrose Place and a role in Face/Off with John Travolta and Nicolas Cage.

She is considered a gay icon for her roles in Bound, Prey for Rock & Roll and Showgirls. And why not? She played the role of a lesbian pretty well in each of the three.

But because she is a gay icon of sorts, her sweltering good looks have not gone un-noticed by the men. She was ranked #51 by Maxim in 2004 on their Hot List. If you ask me, she should have been a hell of a lot higher than #51. But that's just me loving those pouty kissers she has.

Gina can also be a little political. On September 10, 2008, she appeared in a video on funnyordie.com parodying former Republican vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin, titled "Gina Gershon Strips Down Sarah Palin", which she followed by "Gina Gershon Does Sarah Palin 2".

Gina, so very nice to meet you.

 

Cutie of the Week: 2

When I met her, she lived in Illinois. About ten years after that day, she moved to Las Vegas. Now, be it work or her boyfriend, she is living in New York. It's been a few years since I seen her last, and I wish I could see her as often as I used to.

I never dated her. I never even kissed her, and for good reason. Angela was my kid sisters best friend. The two were connected at the hip, I'm not even kidding. So because she was like, an adopted sister, I could have never taken her out for dinner and drinks because I would have never felt comfortable doing any of the things countless other men across the country would love to have done with, or for her.

Enjoy the pics.

Shower Pic of the Week: Part 1

This is the first entry for Shower Pic of the Week. Maybe I'll do this again, maybe I wont. Who knows? Surely not me. But then again, I really don't know much. Except for that the Bears have a quarterback who couldn't...oh forget it, it's not even worth it.

Enjoy the pic.

Touch-Up

I've decided that Head of Fred needs a fresh coat of paint. So for the rest of this week, there will not be any new posts. For the seven of you that return each day, come back Monday. I'll give you this for the remainder of the week.

Helping out a lady

I'm pretty sure that men around the world would be just as helpful if they faced this situation.

NSFW: Faked Photos of the Week

You need to realize these are all faked photo's  found by a cat who sent them to me today via email. One idea: Mr. Hefner, get on the phone with these ladies, like, yesterday.

Fake Jessica- Sure J.T. would have no prob with this. She ain't gonna be the good girl from 7th Heaven her whole life.

Fake Evangeline- It would be no problem at all being stuck on an island with her.
Fake Megan- Is she still with the DJ guy from the original 90210?  Fake Britney- After seeing her nude, ah, new video the other day, why the hell not, she's got the body back.

Fake Rachel- Her best friend from the O.C. is dead, Seth and Ryan might be sailing on a boat to Brokeback Mountain and she does need some new friends.

I wish I Kissed a Girl...Well, one of these girls anywho.

Enjoy

This daughter is grounded.

Most fathers fear for the day that their wife tells them that she took their daughter to the doc to get her on the pill. Most fathers believe that their baby girls are the princess they pretend to be. But most fathers knock on their daughters door before they walk in.

CLICK ON THE LINK AT THE BOTTOM OF THE WHITE BOX


Dad Busts Daughter Dancing For Webcam - Watch more free videos

Top Ten things about Wrigley and the Chicago Cubs I want you to know

10. The wire basket in front of the bleachers was installed in 1970 to keep fans from falling or jumping onto the field. This also stopped the drunks, er, fans, from hanging their coats, jackets and pants over the wall. An event that would lead PA Announcer, Pat Pieper, to tell the faithful in the bleachers: "Will the bleacher fans please remove their clothes?"

9. Catching an opponents home run ball. If said event should happen, you, as the catcher of the ball, must automatically rifle it back onto the field. Unless, of course, it is, say, Alex Rodriguez's 800th. Then you need to find security for an escort out of the ball park.

8. The "Hack 191" flag on the roof of Wrigley is there for us to remember the summer of 1930 when Hack Wilson chased 191 players off the bases to score. A record that still stands today. And as I think about it, I'm not too certain the Cubs have scored 191 runs in the combined summers since 1930.

7. The last pitcher to toss a "No-No" for the Cubs was Milt Pappas. He tossed his gem against the San Diego Padres on Sept. 2, 1972. He was just one strike away from throwing a perfect game but Pappas walked Larry Stahl on a 3-2 pitch.

6. The some-bitchin' umpire who called that strike a ball was Bruce Froemming. Blah.

5. The best fit to throw to get tossed from a Cubs game is to kick dirt at an umpire, throw your hat into left field and kick even more dirt at same said umpire. Just like "Sweet Lou" did in '07.

4. The some-bitchin' umpire who said that #5 was a terrible display of disrespect for the game of baseball was, again, Bruce Fucking Froemming! Double blah!!

3. The greatest pitching duel to date at Wrigley was on May 2, 1917 when Jim Vaughn threw heat all day for the Cubbies and Fred Toney, the same, for the Reds. Both pitchers, er, both men, er, both Greek Gods even, threw no hitters into the 10th inning. The double no-no ended when Jim Thorpe belted in the only run of the game to hand the Cubs another loss and Toney the jewel.

2. There is no way possible to claim the greatest moment at Wrigley because there are far too many options here. It should just be called a tie between: Ruth's called shot in Game 3 of the '32 Series, Wood's 20 K's in '98, Sosa's 60 dingers in '98, '99 and '01 and Rose's 4,191st hit*. (I ain't gonna penalize the cat for betting on the game, those bets didn't make him hit the fuckin' ball any better.)

1. The numbers: 10, 14, 23, 26 and 42.


*Santo, Banks, Sandberg, Williams, Robinson

Meet Triana

She's just prety damn hot!!!!

Triana Iglesias

Top Ten Future Employment Opps for Jay Mariotti

Ohhhhh, this glorious Friday. The birds are chirping. The sun is shining. The Cubs are kicking ass all over the place. It couldn't be any better of a day. Well, for some I guess it could be. Like Jay. It could, maybe, be a little better for him. I'm sure he doesn't like to see, or hear, three-quarters of the population of Chicago dancing and singing in the streets because he no longer writes for the Chicago Sun-Times. Those folks like Pete Gaines, a long time non-reader because of Mariotti ,who will start reading the paper again.

Jay, if you need help with the job hunt, these following suggestions may be of some help, pal.

10. Web Editor

With his resignation letter to the Chicago Sun-Times on August 26, 2008, Mariotti declared that newspapers are dinosaurs and that his future lies within web sites. Perhaps he will become the new editor for mr.skin or something along those lines.

9. Inventor

Fearing for his safety, as usual, Mariotti will develop a personal protection device made of wood that will stand three feet tall, have several compartments for storage, four legs and hide behind it on a regular basis. Months after he reveals the invention, it will be brought to his attention that "the desk" has been in the public eye for decades.

8. "J" Instructor

Mariotti will become a journalism instructor for Tiny Little Town Junior College in Beezle Bump, Somewhere. On the first day of class, he will hand out an article in which he tells his students he hopes that they will someday write with the greatness he did in the piece distributed to all. When the class meets the following week, the article is handed back to him by one student that has circled all of the "I"s, "me"s and "my"s. After counting the circles, the total is 142. Much like a fellow journalist at the Rocky Mountain News did with a column he wrote while writing for them.

7. Gossip Mag Contributor

The bio section of this page,armchairgm says that "Jay Mariotti is a sportswriter and gossip columnist...". I think that most would agree that with his fear of going into club houses, all he can actually report about is, well, gossip, passed on information from other journalists that aren't affraid of facing the people that they trash talked the day before in their columns. Let him add more to those rags that sit by the registers at Jewel.

6. Boxer

It also states on, armchairgm, that on June 22, 2003, Mariotti threatened Rick Telander of the Sun-Times, an ex-Northwestern footballer who was drafted by the Kansas City Chiefs, by saying, "I would love to punch you", during a game between the Cubs and the White Sox. Telander responded with, "That would be the saddest day of your life," and Chris De Luca, also of the same paper, separated them. Jay, you want to throw hands? I'm pretty sure Kimbo Slice is looking for his next opponent.

5. Civil Rights De-Activist

It is a civil right to have freedom of speech. Perhaps Mariotti doesn't believe in this freedom. Though the original has been taken down, Mariotti once "personally begged [Wikipedia]" to "shut down" an entry about him and they did. But our boys over at http://deadspin.com/ had this link, armchairgm, or even, wikipedia, that looks an awful lot like what Jay may have begged to be taken down.

4. The guy for hearing aide commercials

Maybe Jay should have been using one on this day when he wrote an entire column about something that he thought he heard Rex Grossman say.

3. Real Life Blow Up Doll

In the October 2006 edition of Chicago Magazine, Mariotti told interviewer Dirk Johnson how he felt about the feelings of other Chicago sports journalists toward him: "take your shots at me, all you're doing is making me more famous." Man, if somebody would have told me that my being a dick all the time could make me famous I'd have started being one a whole lot sooner than I did.

2. Starter of Hostile Confrontations

While Jay worked for the Rocky Mountain News, he called Broncos QB John Elway "a greedy and scared punk." All this did was piss off a bunch of Broncos fans that retaliated with promises of death for poor lil' Jay.

http://www.tv.com/jay-mariotti/person/235877/biography.html

1. Contributor for the growth of future sports writers

The way I look at it, if Mariotti isn't going to be making the money that he was to make until 2011 by the Sun-Times, maybe they can work out a deal with, I don't know, TTCS founders for more money? Didn't think so.

You gotta love the Family

Once upon a time, I used to crawl out of bed at the butt crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. Now, I crawl into bed at the butt crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. But that's beside the point. The reason I used to get up so damn early was to watch every cartoon I could. And now that the Thunder-Thunder-Thundercats and the Smurfs aren't shown, I have grown very fond, almost addicted to Family Guy.

This has gotta be an Olympic game soon

Well, we're winning many medals aren't we, what's one more?


http://www.vidivodo.com/77912/trojan-games-vault

Jessica

Just because she's so damn hot.

Top Ten things that will happen "In The Year 2000."

After realizing that he's really got no clue if anybody likes his lists on Friday's, Freddy decides to post a list with no half-clothed, gorgeous females. He'd really appreciate for those, if there are any, readers/viewers of the Friday lists made a comment every now and again. So onto todays list:

I'm sure that most have either heard about or seen the skit done, and repeated, by Conan O'Brien on his show, "In the year 2000." If you've got better things to do at 11:30 p.m., central standard time of course, or have lived on the moon these past eight years, I understand if you haven't. It's just a list of things that Conan is predicting for the year 2000. Oddly enough, it is 2008, and he is still saying, "In the year 2000." Whatever, it's his show and can run it anyway he seems fit. These are my predictions "For the year 2008."

10. After slumping New York Yankees pitcher Kyle Farnsworth intentionally throws at the head of Boston Redsox Manny Ramirez, a bench clearing brawl insues with all players, coaches and managers involved. Julio Lugo bashes LaTroy Hawkins with a water cooler. Coco Crisp is clubbed with a 34-inch bat by Alex Rodriguez. And Johnny Damon and Derek Jeter, both of the Yankees, fight each other for their lifestyle choices: getting married vs. staying single. Farnsworth and Ramirez stand by and watch.

IN THE YEAR 2000

9. An undiscoled amount of syringes, needles and pills are found in the basement of a suburban San Fransico womans home. The woman tells officers at the scene that "a very large fellow asked me to store his belongings" in the basement because he was going to be leaving the city for a period of time. If he was leaving the country was unclear, but the woman stated that the man said something about "Not going to Cooperstown unless he got some things cleaned up."

IN THE YEAR 2000

8. Chicago Whitesox fans finally realize that the last time they won a World Series was three seasons ago and move on with their lives and stop saying, "Oh yeah, well when was the last time your Cubs won a series?" to try and make whatever point they're trying to make more meaningful.

IN THE YEAR 2000

7. Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi compete once again. They play as doubles and take on Ana Ivanovic and Maria Sharapova. After winning the first set, Agassi becomes angry at Sampras, stating that he's got a better view of Ivanovic's and Sharapova's asses then he does.

IN THE YEAR 2000

6. Julio Franco, 49-years old, finally retires from major league baseball. A week later, substantial evidence is provided to the main offices of MLB and is determined by the league commisioner that Franco is actually 87-years old and has been using HGH and other undisclosed narcotics to defy the aging process for the last 50 years.

IN THE YEAR 2000

5. Glen Allen Hill's home run ball that was hit onto the roof top of a building across the street from Wrigley Field on May 11, 2000, makes its way onto the infield grass of Wrigley. Nobody knows where it comes from, it just appears. The guy who caught the ball atop that five story building on the other side of Waveland said that he threw it back 10-seconds after catching it. All this proves is that there is indeed, a space time continum.

IN THE YEAR 2000

4. The cloning process of humans is finally completed and made possible to the general public. Immediately, owners of clubs across the land clone the best players of all time for their respected franchises. The Bears clone Payton. The Whitesox clone Fisk. The Cubs clone Sandberg. The Hawks clone Chellios. The Bulls clone Jordan. And in true cloning fashion, he still can't play baseball.

IN THE YEAR 2000

3. The Blackhawks Ice Crew is offered the opportunity to be in Playboy. Immediately after winning the "Ice Girl Challenge" for the sexiest ice girls for teams in the NHL, all 139 hockey fans across the nation pre-order a copy for themselves. Playboy founder Hugh Hefner declares bankruptcy after publication, citing that he put almost everything he had into the issue he was sure would be the publications #1 all time seller because of one of the Blackhawk rookie ice crew members. But he didn't realize that nobody really watches the game.

IN THE YEAR 2000

2. After a woman is put in office to govern the nation, either as President or Vice, women are urged to play for the NFL and make it a friendlier game. After almost scoring a touchdown on her first play from scrimmage, the lone female in football quits because her cleats dont compliment her eyes.

IN THE YEAR 2000

1. After 100-years of disappointing seasons and failed voyages to the promised land, the Chicago Cubs finally win the World Series. To show appreciation to the faithful, Tribune Company owner Sam Zell declares that he will change the name of Wrigley Field to "The Zell". He then takes all credit for the team winning the series. Civil protest breaks out and the entire portion of Chicago, north of Roosevelt road, breaks free from the rest of Chicago and declares itself the "City of Wrigley." They elect Ryan Sandberg mayor and send out a group of mercenary's for Zell himself. After finding him they dip him in concrete and place the statue next to Harry Carry at Addison and Waveland. If you look at it the right way, in the right sun, you see Caray bitch slapping Zell.

In the year 2000.

Top Ten Reasons the Cubs will, again, sweep the White Sox

A long, long time ago...I can still remember how my pop and I would scream, yell and throw empty PBR cans at each other while watching the Cubs play the Whitesox before MLB started this AL vs. NL shit. My dad is my best friend, but when it came to that one day a year his Sox would battle my Cubs, we were more against each other than God fearin' Christians and radical Liberals could have ever been. On the day of the Crosstown Classic/Red Line Series, we wouldn't speak to each other until first pitch. And when that was finally delivered, put the women and children to bed, 'cause it got pretty god damned ugly between us. But now, his Sox are playing pretty well and my Cubs are surprising the hell outta' everybody. And staring today, my Cubbies will attempt to make it a clean sweep on the year against their Southside foes. These are my reasons why the Northsider's will sweep the Sox.

10. Scoring

The Cubs have crossed the plate 43 more times than the White Sox. Now, the Northsider's have had 81 more at bats than the Southsider's, but our pitchers have to stand in the box. The Sox have a washed up douche bag to take hacks for their pitchers.

9. Going Yard

The White Sox have belted 102 homers this season so far, the Cubs, 89. Meaning only that the Sox think about the long ball way too often. When you think of only hitting for the fences, more times than not, your ass is gonna pop out to the third baseman. When it comes down to it, small ball will win you games. The Cubbies got this down to a T.

8. Getting On

Cubs batters have driven in 33 more runners than Sox batters. Meaning, to me, that Cubs players have reached base 33 more times than Sox players. You can only score if you reach base. And, well, the Sox don't do that all too well it seems.

7. Gotta Score

There are three bases and one plate on every ball diamond around the world. And the Cubs have touched 75 more bases than the Sox have this year. To me, this means that the Northsider's get more hits to touch these bases. And more hits mean more runs. More runs means more wins.

6. Swinging the Stick

Of the top 30 batting averages in the majors, three Cubs are on the list (Theriot-.316, Ramirez-.303,Fukudome-.299). The bitch who catches for the Sox is the highest Southsider on the list at .297, meaning we hit the ball much better on the Northside.

5. You Closing Your Eyes?

The "Power Hitter" from South of Roosevelt Rd., Thome, has struck out 70 times this year. That's five times more than the Cubs strikeout leader Geovany Soto. I guess the "swing and a miss" will happen when all you think about is hitting the long ball.

4. Gettin' On

At .405 (Ramirez), .404 (Fukudome) and .391 (Theriot), the Cubs reach base more often than the Sox do. Quentin's .390 is the highest OBP for the Sox. With more guys reaching base, the better than chance of scoring runs. Ya' need runs to win games. If there ain't anybody on base, ya' ain't gonna score runs.

3. Keepin' it Simple

Keeping the ball on the ground is key to winning games as well. If a batter pops out every time at the dish he does nothing good for his team. Ryan Theriot doesn't have this problem. 114 times so far this season, he has grounded out to one of the players on the infield. Joe Crede, on the other hand, has popped out/flew out 100 times to players of the opposing team. Meaning that the Sox can't play small ball and dream about going yard each and every time.

2. Sweet Home Chicago

The Cubs are almost unbeatable at home. They are 33-9 while playing at the Friendly Confines. The Sox stand at 24-11 at the Cell. And I understand that the team I bleed Cubbie Blue for is going to the Southside this weekend, it's still Chicago. It's home, away from home. My boys will, once again, sweep the Sox this weekend with a couple two-tree homers by Aramis and Lee.

1. Loyalty

'Cause I hate the Sox.

Top Ten Sports Joints in Wrigley

So, this weekend in Chicago, will be, what I can only imagine the Olympics being like if we actually got the nod to host them here. No, no, no. I don't mean the countless number of amazing athletes who would be within the Windy City, nor do I speak of the magnificent match-ups between this country and that country on the soccer field, basketball court or swimming pool. What I'm actually talking about is the ridiculous amount of partying that will ensue outside of the Friendly Confines this weekend after the Cubs take on the White Sox in the Windy City Classic, and or, The Red Line Series. Kind of like what Matty said yesterday, this weekend all friends/family members who aren't with you in supporting the team of your choice become your foes that you wouldn't piss on if they were on fire. This weekend will be a tough one. Everybody finds out what color they bleed this weekend with the games on hand. But it runs much deeper than supporting the Cubs or the White Sox, doesn't it? Yes it does. You might decide which candidate you will support for the election this year. And you might decide what the name of your first born child will be while sitting in the bleachers. But a much harder question will arise in your mind. Like where the hell are you gonna go to celebrate after the game.

Now that we've the topic in mind, these are the Top Ten Sports Bars in Wrigley to celebrate a Cubbie victory or, I've got to be honest with this, drown the tears of a loss.

(And yes, I know that this will read like an advertisement for these places, but it's not. And if Dub's can promote his hobby on Vineline in each of his posts here, well, I can do the same thing.)



10. The Dugout-950 W. Addison St.
This is the closest bar to the Friendly Confines on this list. It is,literally, a hop, skip and jump away from the home of the Lovable Losers. But that name might change at seasons end. Anyway, this whole in the wall can make for a pretty good time. Sit at the bar and checkout the baseball cards set beneath the spot to rest your beer or watch the game on their plasmas. Scarf down a pretzel with cheese or a plate of nachos. But I warn you, if you're there on a day they are holding a hot dog eating competition, stay outta the way of the competitors, they can get a little unruly.

9. Cubby Bear- 1059 W. Addison St.
Right out the front door of the ball park. O.K. I rescind #10. This might be the closest bar to Wrigley. The 30,000 square feet of space this place is made of is packed tighter than a HEY...KEEP IT CLEAN. Sorry about that. The place is always full after games and rivals with Murphy's for most famous bar to drink at after a Cubs win. You might find a live band rockin' out or a DJ spinning some of today's best.

8. Red Ivy- 3525 N. Clark St.
A relative new comer to the area, Red Ivy is more of an upscale sports bar than the others on this list. It surely is a sports fan bar though. Within the 6,000 feet of drinking and dining space there are seven 42-inch plasmas, three 60-inchers and one giant 90-inch projection t.v. to catchall of the action. Oh yeah, they also have t.v.'s in the bathroom so when you're draining the lizard, you won't miss Ted Lilly's heater to the chin of any White Sox player.

7. Vines on Clark- 3554 N. Clark St.
The kid brother bar to its neighbor to the North, Vines is brought to Cubs fans from the same guys who do Cubby Bear. This place is where you need to be if you want to drink outside. A huge street level beer garden, an open aired patio and a roof top bar/deck can fill the need for sun and drink.

6. Houndstooth- 3438 N. Clark St.
To some, this may not qualify as a sports bar. But anyplace that gives mad cred to Bear Bryant qualifies as a sports joint to me. The Southern feel to this place will comfort you and the Southern style food made in the kitchen will bring you back again and again. Or maybe it will just be the fine drinks whipped up for you by the cute bartender (Lacey) wearing a jean skirt and cowboy boots. I'll leave that for you to decide.

5. Murphy's Bleachers- 3655 N. Sheffield Ave.
Murphy's bleeds Cubbie love. And so do the fans that pack this place to the ceiling before, during and after every home game. It's a big sized place with open-air for all to enjoy. Try the homemade soup of the day or the chili while sitting atop their roof trying to steal a peak of the game across the street.

4. Bernies- 3664 N. Clark St.
Season ticket holders, a few announcers and even a couple two-tree players frequent this pub before and after the games. This place is so Cubs driven, the regulars set up trips to spring training out in Mesa each year. Sip up some suds in the bar or out in the back in their beer garden while enjoying a nice friendly game of Corn Hole/Bean Bags. Why can't we all decide on just one name for this damn game?

3. Sluggers- 3540 N. Clark St.
Sluggers has been described by some as being a "neighborhood sports baron steroids." And I'm pretty sure I'd agree with that. You can drink and dance 'till ya puke on the first floor, atop one of the dueling pianos if you wish, and try your luck at hitting a heater in the second floor batting cages until 3 AM on Saturdays. Or you can drop coins to play video games, pool or mini-bowling. It's kinda like a Chuck E. Cheese for 21-26 year old kids.

2. Mullens- 3527 N. Clark St.
Doesn't matter if it's Matty or Karl behind the bar, Mullens is the place for Cubs fans to belly up to the bar and enjoy a cold one after a game and eat some good 'ol pub grub. TRY THE WINGS!!! From throwing darts to having a quick 18 on the course (I can't remember what that friggin' golf game in bars is called for some reason), the fun that happens in this pub, named after Jim Mullen-a Chicago police officer wounded by gunfire, is worth waiting in line for. Slip JP a fiver and you might have a quicker entrance.

1. Merkles-3516 N. Clark St.
Opened in December '04, in the old Billy Goat Tavern. This place has it all, food, drinks and women. What else is needed to celebrate kicking the shit outta the White Sux, er, White Sox? "Big D's" homemade burgers, zesty wings and, quite possibly, the best tasting chicken sandwich on the street, will have you returning every time the Cubs are playing at home. Everybody, and I do mean EVERYBODY, who steps into this place will leave feeling a little bit better about their day. If it isn't the women (Amy, Courtney, Shannon, Shauna, Megan, Lauren) delivering trays of "Bootie Call" fish bowls or the talented women (Mary Beth, Beth) pouring drinks from behind the bar, it might be the voice of Chris Buehrle singing from the front window or the guys in the back blasting critters on the hunting game. (And now I've lost memory of this friggin' game.)

Top Ten Harry Caray Quotes

For years and years and years, saying that I was a Chicago Cub fan would get me a collective sigh from those around. And saying those words would also get plenty to say: "I'm sorry", "Are those guys ever gonna win?" and "Oh, you like the Lovable Losers." And I'd always tell the people who spoke such, that my Cubbies would win someday, and that I'd be a fan for life. But I'm not gonna lie, there were times that I did almost jump ship and not look back. These times weren't when the bums South of Roosevelt Rd. won their championship a few years back. And now, in a time that gives Cub fans around the world such excitement and anticipation for the rest of the Summer to play out, I must do two things:

1. Apologize to all the faithful whom have always believed that "this year, is gonna be our year." And to those who've never thought of changing their hearts for any other team. And to the one who used to watch day baseball every day from her living room in Joliet as she told me that the Cubs would win it all someday. And when that day did come, I was to celebrate for her, because she knew that she wouldn't be around to see it. (We'll get it for ya' Grandma.)

2. Have all Cubs fans to declare openly, and proudly, that we, the people, whom bleed Cubbie blue and cry Old Style tears, will stand by our Cubbies through thick and thin, through good times and bad, and wait patiently for the celebration to begin. And when it does, we the people, are to scream from the bar tops of Wrigley with uncontainable glory, and cry with happiness as the 27th out is made during game seven of the World Series and to drink until we can't possibly consume one more drop of beer five days after the season has ended. And when the celebration is done, to go and visit, with plenty of more cold beer of course, our good friend who rests at All Saints Cemetery in Des Plaines, Illinois.

Because if it wasn't for our old pal Harry, we would have never believed so long that the Cubbies were gonna win it someday. And we would have never heard him confuse players names like "Jim Sandberg", "Ryne Sanderson" or "Scott Sundberg", like he did during the '87 season when Ryne Sandberg, Jim Sundberg and Scott Sanderson were all proudly on the roster. Nor would we have ever heard the man, who loved unusual names, try to pronounce names backwards.

Harry, this one's for you, bud.


10. “You know they're not going to lose 162 consecutive games.”
And, well, Harry was right. Sure, the club he joined after the 1984 season, the year the Cubs had only won 38 games, had a lot of work to do to improve, but he knew it wouldn't get worse than that year.

9. "Aw, how could he (Jorge Orta) lose the ball in the sun, he's from Mexico."
Never known to be very P.C. when broadcasting, Harry told it how it was. If somebody would make comments like he used to on the radio today, they would probably be the last thing that person ever said on the air. Imagine: "And here comes the grounds crew out to cover the field with the tarp, we'll be under delay now. And, ya know Len, I'm glad these guys are getting onto the field now, laying the tarp. I mean, after they realized that they couldn't cut it as players, at least they can get on the field this way and help them to live up to their dream."

8. "I've only been doing this fifty-four years. With a little experience, I might get better."
From '45-'69, Caray called games for the St. Louis Cardinals, spent one year with the Oakland Athletics, 16-years with the White Sox and 15 with the Cubs. He also called games for Missouri Tigers football, St. Louis University-Billiken basketball, the Boston Celtics and St. Louis Hawks Basketball teams and three Cotton Bowls. Yeah Harry, you could of used just a bit more practice.

7. "Oh, I get a little tired now and then, but knowing my lifestyle, that's only natural."
Harry was 83-years old when he left us. But not for a minute, did he ever let his age take
issue with his love for a good time. If it was sipping cold ones in the booth, or stripping down
to his shorts to beat the heat, Harry was always there to give us, the fans, everything he could.


6. "They (Expos fans) discovered 'boo' is pronounced the same in French as it is in English."
He was always a joker. He looked at baseball, and he saw a game. It was something that
people could go out to enjoy and have a good time. It wasn't anything more to him.

5. "This has been the remarkable thing about the fans in Chicago, they keep drawing an average of a million-three a year, and, when the season's over and they've won their usual seventy-one games, you feel that those fans deserve a medal."
He was always so worried if the fans were having a good time or not. If the stands had 1,386 people sitting in 'em, drinking piss warm beer and eating hot dogs with ketchup and his Cubs were leading 17-2 or the place was packed, all the beer consumed and not a single dog left in the place and we were losing 10-3, as long as the fans were having a good time, Harry was happy.

4. "I figure I had no business being here this long anyway, so what do you care how old I am? I've been on borrowed time for years. You know my old saying: live it up, the meter's running. I've always said that if you don't have fun while you're here, then it's your fault. You only get to do this once."
Maybe just the best bit of advice anybody could give, and or, receive.

3. "Booze, broads, and bullshit. If you got all that, what else do you need?"
-Booze? With all the bars around the Friendly Confines, booze is taken care of.
-Broads? Have you seen the competition that the Sun-Times is holding to decide which team has the best looking female fans? Broads are taken care of as well.
-Bullshit? It's been 100 long and tiring years with morons running the team, from both the field and the front offices. We got plenty of bullshit.

2. "When I die, I hope they don't cremate me 'cuz I'll burn forever.”
Sadly, in a restaurant in Palm Springs, enjoying a meal with his wife Dutchie for Valentine's Day,
Harry had a heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital but never regained consciousness and died four days later.

1. "I knew the profanity used up and down my street would not go over the air...So I trained myself to say 'Holy Cow' instead.”
If this were truly the case, which I'm sure it was, Harry would have swore alot. It seemed that every time he spoke, there was at least one "Holy Cow" in every phrase.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Caray
http://mlb.mlb.com/chc/history/season_records.jsp

Top Ten Reasons Gable Was So Damn Good.

When I was 10-years old, a 5th grader at Channahon Jr. High School, I served the only detention assignment I ever received by Ms. Perkins, the teacher who thought I was goofing around with a Bunson burner. Because of that hour and 15 minutes I was forced to spend with the creepy librarian after school that day, I missed the first day of basketball practice. Not wanting to be the kid who was a day behind in drills, I opted for the only other sport going on at the time, wrestling. But I knew nothing about the sport except Hulk Hogan was the man and Jimmy "Super Fly" Snuka could jump off the top rope and come damn close to the other side of the ring before crashing his head into the poor sap lying on the mat beneath him. I was so angry at that woman for punishing me for igniting the burner and I promised myself that I would, some day, get her back for making me miss the first day of practice, making me take part in a sport I knew nothing about. The next week, wrestling started, and on the first day, our coach asked us all what we wanted from the sport. Some said they wanted to be in the WWF someday. Others said they wanted to beat people up. But one of us sitting on the mat said he wanted to be like Gable. Besides him and the coaches, nobody else knew who Gable was. But for the next eight years, the day I sat with the librarian never crossed my mind again as I found that crushing noses with devilish cross faces and popping shoulders out of sockets with an arm bar or a double chicken wing was much more enjoyable than sinking a free throw or draining a three ever could have been, so thanks Ms. Perkins and I'm going to let you decide which answer is correct for the following question: What is wrestling?


A: Wrestling is a sport in which two unarmed opponents grapple with one another and try to secure a fall, i.e., cause the opponent to lose balance and fall to the mat, and ultimately pin the supine opponent's shoulders to it, through the use of body grips, strength, and adroitness.

B: A fake sport on television, loaded with monstrous men and scantly clad women, who are more often than not, complete knock-outs. The women not the men.

C: When two guys wear tight outfits and touch each other as they roll around on the floor for all to observe.

If you chose C, you don't know shit. If you're answer was B, well, you're kinda right but not totally. And if you chose A, congrats, you just won a button.

Dan Gable is the man who, still to this day, is the best wrestler and/or wrestling coach ever to step onto a mat. And these just may be the ten reasons why he was so damn good.

10.

In 1963, Dan Gable began his wrestling career. Though he wasn't allowed to wrestle on the varsity level his freshman year, for the next three three years he went undefeated, 64-0, and won three state championships, which gained him a scholarship to the University of Iowa, the toughest wrestling program in the country.

"Right out of high school I never had the fear of getting beat, which is how most people lose."-Gable

9.

During the summer months between his high school graduation and his first day of college, Gable trained with Bob Buzzard. Buzzard had won a pair of Big Eight (the old school Big Ten) wrestling titles and wanted to help Gable become better. There were days that Buzzard would crush Gable on the mat, and days that he'd fool around and let the young boy make some moves on him. But on their last day of training together, Buzzard decided to show Gable, beside his three state titles in high school, he had a ways to go to make it on the college level. After that day of training, Gable fell with tears of disappointment in himself.

"I vowed I wouldn't ever let anyone destroy me again. I was going to work at it every day, so hard that I would be the toughest guy in the world. By the end of practice, I wanted to be physically tired, to know that I'd been through a workout. If I wasn't tired, I must have cheated somehow, so I stayed a little longer."-Gable

8.

He pushed his body to its limit. He pushed his body passed its limit. He wouldn't let himself enjoy all the nice things others enjoyed. He had a dedication, a love even, for being the best. And even though he was the best, he never let himself feel that he was the best. He was an offensive wrestler at all times. He would always attack and didn't wait for his opponent to do such. And never, did he give an opponenet a second to relax or counter any of his attacks.

"I shoot, I score. He shoots, I score."-Gable

7.

After graduation, he attended the greatest wrestling college in the country, University of Iowa, and continued his dominance on the mat by going 118-1, improving his career wrestling record to 182-1, with two national championships. His only defeat came in the NCAA finals his senior year, losing to Larry Owings, a sophomore from the University of Washington. Owings cut weight to wrestle Gable at the tournament. At the end of the first period, Gable trailed 7-2. He rallied to tie the match at 8 apiece by the end of the second. But he ended up losing 13-11 for the only loss of his wrestling career.

"All I worried about was what (Owings) was doing to me, instead of what I was doing to him. When you start worrying about that stuff, you're going down the wrong path.”-Gable

6.

After graduating from U of I, he trained heavily for the Olympics. For three years, he trained seven hours a day, rain, shine or snow, everyday of the week. He climbed ropes to build his strength and endurance, ran up and down stairs with teammates on his back, ran non stop for cardio and, obviously, still practiced his wrestling techniques.

"When I lifted weights, I didn't lift just to maintain my muscle tone. I lifted to increase what I already had, to push to a new limit. Every time I worked, I was getting a little better. I kept moving that limit back and back. Every time I walked out of the gym, I was a little better than when I walked in."-Gable

5.

Even though his college wrestling days were over, he still trained. He trained for the titles he won at the '71 Pan American Games, the '72 Tbilisi Tournament, the '71 World Championships and the six Midlands Open Championships he was victorious in. It was a beautiful dominance by maybe the most dedicated athlete ever.

"Gold medals aren't really made of gold. They're made of sweat, determination and a hard-to-find alloy called guts."-Gable

4.

In 1972, Gable tore cartilage in his left knee and refused a doctors recommendation of surgery. He kept practicing and changed his style of wrestling from offensive to defensive-offensive. Then the '72 Olympics began. These games were the games the Russian's vowed to find a man to beat Gable. They failed. And so did every other country who had a man facing Gable on the mat. Gable won the gold medal, without allowing a single point to any of the opponents he faced. Bobby Douglas, the Hall of Fame Iowa State coach, compared Gable's dominance to "that of a major league pitcher throwing 3 no-hitters in a single World Series...it just never happens."

"The 1st period is won by the best technician. The 2nd period is won by the kid in the best shape. The 3rd period is won by the kid with the biggest heart."-Gable.

3.

After he had finished his years of dominance on the mat, Gable dominated from the edge of it. Over his 21-year coaching career, his teams won 15 National Championships, nine of which were consecutive. His overall career dual meet record as a coach is 284-16, perhaps making him the coach with the greatest win percentage of all time.

"More enduring than any other sport, wrestling teaches self-control and pride. Some have wrestled without great skill - none have wrestled without pride.”-Gable

2.

He was a true coach. He didn't let his wrestlers slack. He pushed them all just as hard as he pushed himself all those years. If a wrestler wasn't up for it, they weren't expected to return. Gable wanted purity for the sport. With a coaching record like the one he holds, I'm pretty sure his wrestlers followed him. He wouldn't let anything hold his men back.

"But we've got to work. We can't just live on reputations at all-by any means.”-Gable.

1.

Perhaps the reasoning behind Gable's determination to be the best wrestler in the World as we know it, to be so driven to be the best, and to destroy every opponent, but one, over his entire career, is this: In 1964, Gable, then a 16-year old sophomore, went with his family on a fishing trip over the Memorial Day weekend. His sister Diane, 19, didn't want to go and stayed home for. Upon the return of the family to their home in Waterloo, Iowa, the family discovered that Diane had been sexually assaulted and murdered. Gable remembered a one time friend of Diane's who once had said he was interested in her named Tom Kyle. Kyle confessed to Diane's murder and assault and was sentenced to life in prison. But the loss of his big sister turned Gable into a machine who was obsessed with wrestling.

"Once you've wrestled, everything else in life is easy."-Gable.