I walked a thousand miles in the desert and saw in the distance a big Bears triumph in Green Bay.
But when I arrived, I realized it was an oasis.
There was no water, just the taste of cold brats and stale Hamm’s beer in my mouth.
Mike Brown? Down.
Charles Tillman? Down.
Me upon hearing the news? Seven adult carbonated beverages, downed.
And Detroit is in first place. At least the snowmobile-suited, cutesy-pie, cheese-headed dimwits in Green Bay suffered.
Onward.
I hope you realize that the Cubs are going to win the NL wild card. It’s a done deal only because to falter now would be to lower the bar on their history of disappointments. They must now get to the World Series and get swept by, oh, I dunno, let’s say the Yankees. They’re due. It’s been so long for them.
Some might say, “But Bag Boy, would getting there be enough fun to pull you out your lifelong Chicago funk?”
And in reply, I would turn and stare a hole through your forehead. Damn you.
And do not tell me Michael Jordan is eyeing a comeback to play with Shaq in Miami. Do not tell me that. Do not. No. Shut your mouth. Shut it. I’m already down $4,000 for laser treatments to remove the “MJ & Bulls Forever” tattoo off my chest. I don’t need more pain.
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I see Dennis Rodman worked out for the Nuggets. Like me, he can’t let go of the past either.
The Sox know how to do it. No death by a thousand cuts from them, no sir. Theirs was a swift end, and as the Twins left town I greeted their team bus along the expressway.
“Good riddance, Minnesota,” I shouted from the overpass. “You deserve sub-zero temperatures 10 months out of the year.”
And then I egged them. It didn’t change anything, but I felt better
Carpe this, I always say.
Not counting the NHL lockout, there is nothing to get excited about here. I almost yearn for the days of Condors and Rockers.
Take it easy. I said “almost.”
When I hit rock bottom, you’ll know.
Oh yes, you’ll know.
———-
BAG BOY VENTS HIS SPLEEN EVERY FRIDAY IN REDEYE.
Edited by the sports staff of RedEye.