Nightmares Do Come True

As of today, the White Sox are five and a half games out of the American League Wild Card race. There's only one week left to play, so they're pretty much done for the season. No playoffs this year, no undescribable joy will wash over the city of Chicago, just another post-season that will most likely end up in another Yankee championship. For those of you who decided not to watch last year's World Series (and there were a bunch of you, considering it was the lowest rated championship series ever) I hope this is what you wanted: Derek Jeter and A-Rod hoisting up the silver trophy, smiles spread across their faces like cream cheese, and the city of New York getting what they've had 28 times already. Yep, makes me want to puke too. But I'm sure you'll all still watch.

After another season of east-coast writers blathering on and on about the Yankees and Red Sox (seriously, if I have to hear anymore about Bill Simmons' love for the Red Sox, I may just put my fist through a computer) I wonder where the heart of the baseball loving world is. No one wanted to watch the White Sox and Astros (2 teams that never grace that stage) yet all I hear from everyone outside of New York is "I'm so sick of the Yankees." Maybe it's the fact that they win all of the time, or that they get the most press, or that no matter what happens Derek Jeter can do no wrong. Maybe it was the plethora of ESPN segments documenting, in minute detail, the slump of A-Rod, or the fact that he graced the cover of SI as soon as he crawled out of it. Maybe it's Steinbrenner and his "I don't care how many babies die as long as we win" attitude. Maybe it's the weekly paycheck you have to fork over just to see a game in that garbage dump known as Yankee Stadium. Or maybe it's the fact that every time you turned around in the 90's, New York was winning a championship. Whichever your reason, make sure you're aware of this: whatever team you support, you do so selfishly, without any thought to the good of baseball. You want to watch Desperate Housewives instead of an amazing World Series? That's fine, but get used to seeing the Yankees winning it every other year. Eat up Jeter like he's a french silk pie, becuase that's all you're going to have to eat for a long time.

You see, baseball wants the Yankees to win, and they'll do anything to make sure that the kids from the Bronx are in the playoffs every year. It's about money people, money from ratings, and with the Yankees comes those ratings. And the fat man gets richer. How much money did Steinbrenner and Bud Selig make off of last years playoffs? I couldn't say, but I bet they'll make twices as much this year. Good for them, they don't have enough as it is. Right?

My point is to show how futile an effort it is for any team to think that they can build a dynasty unless they're stationed in New York. Baseball doesn't want it, and what baseball doesn't want baseball doesn't get. Everyone outside of Houston and half of Chicago played their part in exacerbating this problem last post season. You sat on your couches and watched Big Brother 412 and not two deserving teams on baseball's grandest stage. You gave up on the game because your team wasn't involved. Selfish and damning. Good job people, I hope you fucking loooove A-Rod then.

So now I wonder: are there any true baseball fans left. When defining the true fans of a sport (and not a team) we have to consider how dedicated the people are to viewing and participating in all things pertaining to that sport. A true baseball fan watches every inning of the game he's viewing, unless his wife tells him otherwise. A true baseball fan watches that late west-coast game until he can't keep his eyes open. A true fan watches the playoffs all the way through, no matter who wins. And so, as a result of the television ratings of last year's World Series (one that didn't involve the Red Sox or Yankees) I've come to the conclusion that there are hardly any true fans left in this country. That, seriously, makes me want to cry. We all know that the players no longer play for the love of the game and we, as fans, berate them for their greediness and lack of morality. But we're all just the same as them. Only we're not millionaires, so what's our excuse? As soon as it becomes obvious that our team isn't going to win it all, we stop watching. Or, in other words, we stop filling the pockets of baseball's brass. That's when the phone call is made to Bud, "Give Steinbrenner more cash, and make sure his boys win." Excuse me while I go relieve my stomach cramps.

So the Yankees it is. Dark blue skies with pinstriped clouds, and Jeter's chiseled mug on every billboard like the face of Big Brother. He's watching you, and pretty soon, you'll have no other choice but to watch him.

Gross Inequities

Rex Grossman is the new Terrell Owens. No, he's not riding a stationary bike, doing sit ups in his driveway, or lambasting his teammates through the media. But it seems that everywhere you look, on every ESPN segment and in every Sportsline article, Rex Grossman is being mentioned. I play a lot of fantasy football and I'm a verocious reader of everything pertaining to the game. And every day this week, on every fantasy football website, there has been an article discussing the heroics of the Bears' signal caller. So as Owens recovers from surgery and his team sits through their bye week, Rex Grossman, after 2 great games, is on the tip of everyone's tongue; normally a spot reserved for the enigmatic TO.

In the opinion of most, Grossman's torrid start should be considered an aberration and not an early glimpse of a Manningesque future. He's always hurt and has never had a game like he had in week 2. The doubters repeat the stale mantra of "we haven't seen enough" but I say, we've seen plenty. Yes, the first two games were against Green Bay and Detroit (2 defenses that no one is playing on their fantasy team) but there is a larger sample from which we can use to make an educated guess as to whether or not Grossman is for real. Two years ago, in his first season as a starter, the kid from Florida (a product of the Spurrier quarterback factory in Gainesville) broke his leg during a touchdown run in Minnesota. His season was over, but he showed flashes of competence. He was nimble in the pocket, made good decisions, and had a bazooka connected to his neck. I remember liking Rex. Then came the pre-season last year, and another injury that held him out for most of the season. What a savage ballet the Bears performed under Kyle Orton, barely keeping our heads above the water in every game he started, and we pined for someone more accurate - someone with moxy. Then, in a frigid December game at Soldier Field, Lovie made the half time call for the recently healed Grossman. The city was buzzing as he stepped on the field, and number 8 delivered. On his first pass play, Rex fired a 25 yard strike to Muhsin Muhammad. The crowd erupted, and everyone in my apartment flew off the couch in excitement, and if you looked closely you could actually see smoke trailing the ball in slow motion instant replay. All right, now we have a QB. He showed his poise in the playoffs, putting up 21 points against a tough Carolina defense - 21 points which, in almost every other game that season, would have been enough to win the game - but the prevailing mindset of everyone inolved in the pro game was "we haven't seen enough."

Fast forward to this week. Rex's numbers after 2 games: 38 for 53, 551 yards, 5 touchdowns, and 1 interception. And again, the pundits spew forth the same milk toast analysis, citing his inexperience and injury history. Listen, both of his injuries were nasty, bone breaking injuries, not a long series of hamstring issues, or finger issues, or shoulder problems that just wouldn't go away. No, they were freak incidents that caused catastrophic damage to his body. Steve McNair is injury prone, DeShaun Foster is injury prone, even Terrell Owens is injury prone. Rex Grossman is not injury prone, he's just had bad luck. So all of the talk about "he needs to stay healthy" seems extremely reduntant at this point. Of course he has to stay healthy, but so does every other quarterback.

Eric Karabell is a fantasy sports analyst for ESPN. I read his articles a lot, and I used to actually take his advice, but the past few years have taught me about how stretched his knowledge of sports is. I'm not implying that he's misinformed or just plain stupid about sports, but he's asked to know so much about so many different sports, that you can't call him an expert on any given fantasy game. This became blatantly obvious this year, when he picked the Bears to miss out on even a wild card birth in the NFC. In arguably the weakest division in football, in a watered down NFC, Karabell thought the team with the best defense in all of football last year wasn't going to make it to the playoffs. And he's still down on the Bears, picking the Vikings to win this week. He's also hopped on the Grossman bashing bandwagon. What all of this tells me is that he's never seen Grossman play. I truly believe this is the case. Because Grossman has shown that he's extremely intelligent and he's shown that he's a leader. He has the physical tools (a cannon for an arm and good legs) and he has the swagger you need as an NFL quarterback. And it even looks like he has solid weapons around him. For years, we in Chicago have waited for this moment, and we watched in awe as it actually happened. We saw a kid become a man. Too bad no one else in the country did.

The Great Dame

Let me start off by saying this, Brady Quinn of Notre Dame has not looked sharp in his first 2 games. He doesn't look like the same QB who threw for over 3,900 yards and 32 TD's last year. What he does look like is a Notre Dame quarterback (the most high profile position on one of the most high profiled programs in the country) who has heard too many people tell him he's going to win the Heisman Trophy this year. He looks like a kid trying too hard to match his previous season. He looks like he's on the verge crumbling under the enormous pressure.

At least that's how I felt in the first quarter of the Penn State game this afternoon.

Then NBC shows you a shot of Charlie Weiss on the sidelines, arms folded across his chest, his face both calm and serious, and you think, "everything is going to be all right." And sure enough, it is. If anything can stop the astounding weight of Heisman hype (which includes preseason covers of both Sports Illustrated and ESPN the magazine) from crushing Brady Quinn, it's the flabby arms of Weiss. Has there ever been a coach in the college game that has exuded more confidence than the former New England Patriots offensive coordinator? I'll say this now, if Notre Dame doesn't win 3 or 4 championships during Weiss's tenure, it will be a huge underachievement. Lou Holtz was a legend, but you always felt he was walking a fine line between genius and insanity. With Bob Davie, there was no doubt it was insanity. And Tyrone Willingham, although smart and extremely competent, just doesn't have the game day mind to bring a program to the top level. But with coach Weiss, you get a feeling of security that only your beloved mother can otherwise provide. You know he's under control at all times, you know that he's always thinking 10 plays ahead, and you're confident in the system of the mad genius. Yes, he's mad, but in a good way.

And just as we were all ready to write Brady Quinn off, the Irish QB, suddenly glowing in a confidence similar to that which constantly hovers over his coach, shows everyone why he's the favorite to win the Heisman Trophy. His maturation in his senior season is to be expected, considering his intelligence, and the fact that God created his body and arm out of the perfect quarterback cast. But would he really be at the top of everyone's player of the year list if it wasn't for Weiss? Possibly, but I don't think Brady Quinn would've been able to handle the Heisman pressure under Tyrone "Best Coach Between Sunday and Friday" Willingham. So as I watched Quinn struggle through the first quarter, I began to wonder where the stud of 2005 had gone. Then he found Samardzija in the back of the endzone, and NBC flashed a shot of a smiling coach Weiss, his arms thrust skyward, and I found myself breathing a long awaited, stress aleviating, sigh of relief. The golden boy is back...and he brought his coach with him.

Where's the Lovie?

As I scope the vast array of NFL pundits making their bold predictions for this season, I'm beginning to wonder how the Bears aren't on anyone's radar. Let's quickly rehash last year's season: Grossman goes down in the preseason, Orton steps in; Orton is awful, but the defense keeps the season alive; Grossman returns in week 15 against the Falcons and everyone starts talking Super Bowl; Bears win the division, beat Favre to a pulp; Panthers come to town for a playoff game and Steve Smith crushes the hopes of Chicagoans who haven't had a playoff victory to cheer for since the Clinton administration (weren't those the days). Then comes the draft, and while I'm not that happy with the results, I must (absolutely must) believe that Jerry Angelo and Lovie Smith know more about football than I do. So, as I watched the Bears pass on potential offensive playmakers, trade down out of their 1st round slot, and pick up a guy they probably could've had a round or two later, I told myself "They know what they're doing." Well, what they did was strengthen a defense which is returning all 11 of their starters. Now the #1 defense from last year has depth. Scary!

But everyone is hung up on the offense, and rightly so. The receivers are inexperienced, the quarterback is unproven, and no one knows who will get the bulk of the running carries this year. Yet no one talks about the offensive line. Does anyone remember that Thomas Jones ran for over 13,000 yards last year with almost no passing game to compliment him? And if you think that was based solely on Jones' talent, ala Barry Sanders, you're fooling yourself. And since when is having 2 good running backs a problem? The Panthers worked that formula all of last season, same with the Dolphins, Broncos, and the World Champion Steelers. It's a great, smart way of keeping your running backs healthy. Just ask the Packers what it means to your team when you lose your top RB (or 2 in their case). It's not a problem, it's a luxury. Enjoy it.

The biggest question revolves around the passing game. Again, whichever quarterback plays will be well protected by the offensive line. But which quarterback will it be? Does it matter? In what year did the Bears change to a high-octane, score 42 points a game, football team? Maybe in 2010 it'll happen but to my knowledge, the offense wants to grind the ball on the ground and use the passing game as a compliment. So neither QB is expected to carry a full load, they just have to be decent. Remember this: Kyle Orton, in his rookie season, with the accuracy of my half-blind grandmother, won 10 games. 10 GAMES! How? Becuase of the running game and defense, both of which will be just as good as last year. So why is everyone hung up on Grossman and Griese? Either one will be better than Orton was, so what's the worry? 150 yards and a touchdown is all that's asked of a Bears quarterback. Are we all so sure that Grossman, after a few preseason games, won't be able to put up those mediocre numbers? And the receivers will be just fine. Anyone who was paying attention last year saw Mark Bradley coming out of his shell, looking like a future star, until a leg injury ended his season. He'll be back at full strength before you know it and will be a productive #2 receiver opposite Muhammad.

Let's also not forget that, in the middle of the Patriots dynasty, a warm weather team called the Buccaneers won the Super Bowl. Before that, it was the Baltimore Ravens. Quick, name one player on either of those offenses. Ha, I knew it. You'll be lucky to remember Brad Johnson. The reason those teams won was because of their defenses. Quick, name 10 players from those 2 defenses. Not that hard is it? What Tampa and Baltimore had on defense is the same as what the Bears have now. So if they can do it, why can't we? Most of the pieces are in place for a deep run in the playoffs, no matter what you think of the passing game. Yes, there are holes in the lineup and a few injuries, but what team doesn't have those. What if Shaun Alexander goes down in week 1, or Steve Smith misses all of the season with hamstring problems, are those teams still going to be picked by the "experts" to go to the Super Bowl? I doubt it. Outside of Brian Urlacher, what single player do the Bears rely on like those teams do (and Briggs could come close to Urlacher's production if he needed to step into the middle linebacker spot)? One bad cut, late hit, or awkward landing destroys a lot of teams in this league, but not the Bears.

And yes, I am a Bears fan, so I'm biased. But come on, where's the love?

Lefty You Say?

In response to a reporter's inquiry last night, Dusty Baker let it be known that the Cubs are in need of a lefty pitcher to throw batting practice. Apparently Dusty is trying to shift the focus of his team's lackluster play away from the mounting injuries to their best players and on to their southpaw problems in the pre-game. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the problem is with the Cubs this year: they just don't have enough healthy talent. If you plug Prior and Wood into their normal slots in the rotation and Mr. Miyagi Derrick Lee's wrist so he can suit up daily at 1st base, you'd have a playoff caliber team. With the additions of Juan Pierre, Bob Howry, and Scott Eyre, along with the shockingly stellar play of Matt Murton, the Cubs would have been able to win almost as many games as the White Sox this year. But sadly, the horses that the Cubs rode in on all died on their way through the pass. Now they're forced to clear those rotting carcasses off the path with a host of rookie pitchers, and Neifi Perez.

Every year it's the same thing coming from Cubs fans: This is our year. Some years these obligatory statements hold more merit than others, and this year was one of those years. That was until spring training started, when Wood and Prior crumbled like animal crackers in the sweaty palm of hungry fat man. Then came another all too common Cubs fan mantra: Not again. These injuries were bad enough, stung like the wetted end of a snapping towel, but Derrick Lee going down...that was more like getting rocked in the groin by a size 12. He was carrying the team, bringing the Cubs to a more than respectable record, among the top teams in the division. And then came Los Angeles two weeks ago, and that ill-fated bunt by Rafael Furcal.

Isn't it ironic? Don't you think? Jim Hendry of the Cubs courted Furcal in the off season like a silver back monkey in the heart of the mating season. But Furcal relented, pushed away his suitor, and chose a much sunnier option on the west coast. As the speedy shortstop dropped his bunt down the first base line, as Eyre dove and flipped the ball a mile over Lee's head, as Lee stepped into Furcal's path causing a collision that left Lee sprawling in pain on the infield dirt, do you think Hendry heard the waning notes of a famous Alanis Morrisette song in the back of his balding dome? If not, I'm sure he felt a strong distate in his mouth and a sickening feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was Mick Jagger belting out an early 60's "It's All Over Now." Either way, the message was as clear to him as it was to all of Cubs nation watching: your season is over. Which leads to another perrenial phrase that I've heard floated from the lips of Cubs fans: Wait until next year.

But hey, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the Cubs do have a shot at winning it all this year and that their main problem, one whose reclamation will solve a lot of their on field problems, is that the team cannot find a lefty to throw batting practice. "It's hard to find someone who's off work," Dusty said, "If we played night games, maybe they could come over after work." Yet every day game ever played at Wrigley Field has been sold out. If the stadium holds 41,000 people and we say only half are men, and only 10% of those men are lefties, and maybe 1% of those lefties aren't drunk by the time they enter the stadium, that still leaves 20 available options to pitch batting practice every game. If just one of those men can get a ball over the plate, well then, problem solved. So for all of you southpaw Cubs fans, I beseech you to curb your raging alcoholism and get to the ball park. You never know, you just might be able to save this year's season.

Oh My, Omar

Has anyone seen the Mets play recently? If not, then you obviously missed the old fashioned beat down they delivered to the Nats last night. New York's second team may now have a team that can compete against the elderly pitching staff and monster lineup of the crosstown Yankees. Is this a team that has gelled instantly like the White Sox of last year, or is this a result of the talent that Met's GM Omar Minaya has assembled over the past two seasons?

This past off-season I stopped hearing those annoying questions of whether or not Kenny Williams knew what he was doing. No one questions the man's baseball mind and savvyness on the trading blocks anymore after assembling one of the most coherent teams in recent memory. Since Minaya took over in 2003, he has spent money like Dan Snyder after a 5-11 season, acquiring almost every sought after free agent on the market. And now the Mets are 9-1, pounding teams down in their pursuit of disrupting (their appetite for destruction) the Braves improbable hunt for a 14th straight division championship.

Two years ago it was Pedro and Carlos Beltran. Last year it was Billy Wagner, Carlos Delgado, and Paul LoDuca. You add those all-stars, each one of them at their respective positions, with the homegrown talent they've stirred up (David Wright and Jose Reyes) and you've got the makings of an NL pennant winner. Now not all of Minaya's moves have been as slick as Pat Riley's hair (see Kris Benson and Kaz Matsui) but no one's perfect. Even the salient Billy Beane makes a false move every once in a while. But after seeing this team beat up on almost everyone they have played so far, I'd say his GM report card looks better than Lindsey Lohan did two years ago.

You may be saying, "It's a long season. Wait and see." If I were a Mets fan, I would probably be skeptical too. But things are looking pretty good in the Big Apple right now. If you're a lover of baseball and live anywhere near New York you probably feel better than a massage from a girl named Fingers. Your lineup is going to score a ton of runs and your bullpen is solid. For those two reasons alone you'll probably end up winning near 80 games. I would take that. So pack that tinder box stadium, crack open a few cold ones for me, and pray that your starting pitching holds up. This could be as special a season for you as last year's was for me.

The Fight For The 8th Spot

As of today the Bulls are tied with Philadelphia for the 8th and final playoff spot in the Eastern Conference. Our airwaves and plasma screens are currently bombarded with the hype, and hope, of a second year of playoff basketball. Our "experts" talk about the fight for that coveted final spot and dangle that carrot, the one filled with thoughts of our Jordan era teams, in front of Bulls fan's eager faces. I've seen eyes light up in conversations, smiles spread over the idea of the playoffs, even momentary lapses in depression at the mere chance that the Bulls might win their 7th championship. I too dream of the days when the championship trophy is once more hoisted in a triumphant Grant Park ceremony, but the fact is, even if we do make the playoffs, this season will be a failure.

There are 2 reasons for this line of thought. The first being that even if the Bulls do make it to the playoffs, they will be destroyed by the Detroit Pistons. Anyone who thinks that our Chicago team has a chance at defeating the top team in the East, the one that has made it to the finals two years in a row, the team that dominates opponents with their stifling defense and amazingly efficient offense, is painfully kidding themselves. It's a waste of time to dream of something that you know can never happen, think of Guns n' Roses' Chinese Democracy album, for inevitably, and irrevocably, those dreams will be shattered.

The second reason applies to next year's draft. The Bulls have New York's pick this year, and thanks to Isiah Thomas that will be a damn good draft slot, plus our own. Making the playoffs drops our draft position down between one and two places. In an NBA draft that last two rounds and, even then, ends up being more watered down than a Miller Lite, those two positions are big. The difference between the 10th pick in the draft and the 12th pick in the draft could mean the difference between a powerhouse big guy, to complement the front court player we're sure to take with the Knick's pick, and a role player who will probably be traded in two years.

So I say, flush this season down the toilet and look to the future. I mean, is a losing record really considered a positive just because we made the over-stocked NBA playoffs? Our back court is loaded. Heinrich, Gordon, Duhon - they're the reasons we're even in this hunt. The Bulls' big guys, oh Sweetney you big oaf, have offered nothing to help out the stellar play of our guards. If we had one dominant player inside, and I love Chandler but he's far from dominant, we wouldn't even be having these discussions about the 8th spot, we'd be talking about playoff tickets for game one of the first round. And that's exactly what we'll be doing next year, after a monster draft that should propel us into the elite of the East. Then, and only then, will our desire at another championship be a realistic possiblity. Otherwise, get used to talking about that 8th spot.

To Pull Or Not To Pull

When the White Sox went up by six runs last night I felt pretty damn good. I figured that the two straight losses to the Indians were an aberration, that the World Champs just needed to break off a bit of rust, and that Ozzie's maddening pitching moves in the finale of that series were just him having a bad day. Then I watched Jon Garland give up a few runs in the fifth, then a few more in that same inning, and by the third out he had given up five. I yelled at the screen, "Get him out of there Ozzie," and one of my viewing partners followed with, "There's no way he'll leave him in there for the fifth." Not only did Ozzie leave him in for the fifth, but he left him in for the sixth too, at which time he gave up his eighth run, and the White Sox lead. Finally, Ozzie took the towel from around his neck and walked to the mound in need of a reliever. At the same time I walked to the toilet, in dire need of some relief.

Having watched The Blizzard of Oz for over two years now, I understand - slightly - what he's trying to do out there on the diamond. Yes, he wants to let his pitchers know he has confidence in them, raise there levels of self-assurance so that he can once again pull four straight complete playoff games out of his black and silver hat. These things I do understand. What I don't understand is how Ozzie could basically give that game to the Royals, one of the worst teams in the league. Let's say he pulls Garland after his horrendous fourth inning, and we go in to the bottom of the fifth with a two run lead (the Sox scored a run in the top of the inning). Politte, Cotts, and Jenks, all of whom had a day off on Thursday and were at no risk of injury or burn out, couldn't have done worse than Garland did the next two innings. Most likely, they would have held that lead and given the White Sox that oh-so-important win in the first game of an away series. But Ozzie waited until Garland handed over that large lead, after the Royals had plated their 8th run, before sending in Thornton (who proceded to give up a few more runs in a 10-7 Royals win). Why did Guillen do this?

On Wednesday, when Brandon McCarthy had had two days rest, Ozzie pulled the toothpick hurler after only an inning, only to watch Boone Logan give up a game tying homerun to Travis Hafner. Now last I checked, Hafner is a powerhouse hitter who hits lefty pitchers just as well as righties, so why take out your best arm in the pen, your long reliever, just to play the lefty-righty matchup with a rookie pitcher. As I sat in the stands watching that white ball clear the green fence in right-center, I thought to myself, "This didn't need to happen." Those words rang the next day, like a song you can't get out of your head, as the Royals pounded Garland well into the six.

"This didn't need to happen." I can only imagine that every Cub fan in the state has been reciting those words since the final out of last year's World Series, and if that is the case, then Ozzie has now brought me down to their level. In four games I've watched Ozzie make mistake after mistake and I can only hope that it is Ozzie's twin brother in the dugout making these calls, not the lightning rod that took this city to the World Series last year. If it is Fozzie (as I assume his twin brother would be named) then please, call your brother and get him back with the team. We need the Ozzie of last year, the fireball that pulled no punches with the media or his players, the AL Manager of the Year, the savior of the south side. Please, Ozzie, come back from whatever your planet you're on right now and win some damn games.

Break Out The Asterisks

Fans in San Diego's Petco Park greeted Barry Bonds on opening day with a sereis of white cardboard statements, none of them of the 'We Love You Barry' variety. Some of southern California's finest questioned Bonds' perilous chase at Aaron's home run record, others questioned his sexuality, the size of his head, and the length and width of that which resides in the front sling of his banana hammock. But like coconut on a German chocolate roundcake, the icing having a strong flavor that doesn't appeal to most, one fan took it up a notch by throwing a plastic syringe at Barry's feet. Hours later Jesse Jackson lost his shit, attacking everyone from the tosser of said syringe to security inside the stadium. Now, does anyone really think Bonds wants Jesse Jackson on his side? Come to think of it, does anyone want Jesse Jackson on their side? His arrival on the scene, and not Game of Shadows, means things in BarryLand have gotten serious. All brought on, one way or another, by one single syringe.

I can hear my mom now, "Oh, that poor man." And if I were an outsider, with no emotional attachement to the game, I would agree with her. But as a lifelong baseball fan, one who has lived and died with every White Sox pitch over the past 29 years, I say the behavior of that syringe tosser was spot-on. As Peter Gammons said, "(the syringe) did not present any danger to Bonds or to any othe player," so we can throw out the Jackson diatribe, which was focused solely on the safety of the juiced beast, and instead explore the intentions of that infamous needle-thrower. Let's face it, the guy was pissed at Bonds - either that or he wanted to show the guys in San Francisco's front office what an arm he has. Assuming the former is correct, I believe he had every right to hurl that needle-less missile.

If Barry Bonds felt he had the right to turn himself into an early twenties Hulk Hogan just because he was pissed that McGuire and Sosa were getting the attention he deserved, and in doing so breaking one of the most respected records in all of sports, one synonymous with the greatness of a drunk named Ruth and the drive of a man known to his mom as Henry, then Mr. Needle Thrower had the right to land that plastic syringe at the tip of Barry's left toe (an egregiously large left toe, if it fits with the rest of his freakish frame). The fact is he cheated. He cheated the game, the fans, the record books, the players, and, most of all, himself. Yes, Barry cheated Barry. How? Look at the hoopla surrounding him now. We'll all look back at this season and say to our kids "Boy, you should have seen the disgusting mess that was Bonds' exit from the game." He's tarnished his legacy with a thick soot that no amount of Oxyclean could rub off. And for what? Fame and glory? Where's the fame and glory now? We're talking about asterisks on his record for pete's sake. Is that the way Bonds wanted to go out? Was 72 homeruns really worth it?

And when Barry breaks Ruth's record, and I cringe at the thought, what do you think will come flying from the stands then? There will probably be a bunch of hotdog wrappers, a few bottles, and if anyone can sneak one in, a bowling ball. And even if, to the horror of Jesse Jackson, that bowling ball hits Bonds point blank in the head, IT WON'T HURT HIM. His head is now bigger than that ball by a long shot, a shot longer than one of his swats into McCovey Cove, and even a sixteen pound ball couldn't split that inflated - in more than one way - melon. I can see the marble ball dribbling down his shoulder, a spiderweb crack in its curved side, and a fully conscious Barry looking down at it wondering, "How did it all come to this?" Then he'll see the anger and disgust on the faces of those he tried so hard to impress and in that moment maybe, just maybe, he might regret what he's done.