The Indignant Citizen just finished re-watching Game 2 of the American League Division Series between the White Sox and Red Sox. You know the one: Tad Iguchi hits a three-run homer in the fifth off David Wells and Bobby Jenks pitches two innings for the save. Hmm, it's still so sweet you can almost taste it. Comcast SportsNet is re-running the entire playoff run through Game 4 of the World Series, bless the network’s heart. (Game 4 will air on New Year’s Day.)
The salute to the Sox comes at the perfect time for White Sox fans. With the holidays upon us, and nearly two full months elapsed since the World Series trophy found a home on the South Side, the Indignant Citizen, for one, was primed for a reality check, a little reminder that it was not a dream.
The IC has found that using the following phrase helps keep things in perspective: “The White Sox won the World Series.” Repeat as needed.
The IC’s good friend and former coworker Vince, who runs Exile in Wrigleyville, has done a nice job updating his site during this short off-season, providing news on the big trade with the Phillies for power hitting lefty DH Jim Thome, the re-signing of power hitting first baseman Paul Konerko, the trade with the Pirates for utility infielder and left handed batter Rob Mackowiak, the trade with the Diamondbacks for right-handed pitcher Javier Vazquez, and the contract extension for catcher A.J. Pierzynski.
Watching the games again on Comcast SportsNet obviously doesn’t hold the same drama that watching them live the first time did. But it does allow the IC to record them on VHS (remember that technology?), including all the post-game breakdowns. It’ll make for a nice video library and a fine set of companions to the World Series and Sox Pride DVDs that already inhabit the IC’s TV room bookshelf.
Watching the games again without the stress of an uncertain outcome has also allowed the Indignant Citizen to focus on the abject homerism of ESPN broadcaster Chris Berman. This has been discussed in great detail on all manner of White Sox blogs and message boards, but Berman was so obviously for the Red Sox that even casual baseball fans watching the ALDS purely for shits and giggles must have sensed it.
Fuck him. The Red Sox are finished for another 87 years, and New Englanders should feel free to resume their stoic defeatism as it relates to their baseball team.
Meanwhile the IC will continue to roll on his back in the sweet green grass of the White Sox world championship, arms and legs in the air, reveling in the sweet silliness of it all.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Where's the warmth in global warming?
Interminable winter. Season of searing flesh, frozen feet and unending layers. Winter – cold and dark in the morning, cold and dark at night. Winter – when the cold seeps through any opening in your clothing or your house. Winter, when you’d just as soon crawl into the furnace as wait for it to blow air to warm a room. Winter. . . .
Whoops. Scratch that. It’s only Dec. 19, which means it’s still officially fall. And yet … and yet, it feels like winter. It has for weeks. Chicago, and much of the nation east of the Rockies, has been in the deep freeze since November. So far this December, only three days have managed to make it to freezing (32 degrees Fahrenheit). Snow covers the ground outside the Indignant Citizen’s home to a depth of around five inches, adding a special kind of evil chill close to the ground, where feet live.
When it gets cold like this, the kind of cold that numbs your entire body after just a few minutes’ exposure – fully dressed, of course – we must always hear from the sanctimonious anti-global warming crowd. They crow that the cold is sure proof that global warming is a myth, a ruse perpetrated on slow-thinking citizens by the overzealous, doomsaying environmental movement.
They write letters to newspapers, mostly. Occasionally one of these kooks will end up on an editorial page someplace. These outlets don’t even take into account the multitude of blogs that populate the Internet and that serve as a pulpit for all manner of uninformed opinion. There’s just one problem: The fact that it’s really, really cold so early in the season, both in the eastern U.S. and in Western Europe isn’t proof that global warming is a myth. There are some signs that the opposite is true, that the presence of cold air so early is actually proof that global warming is melting the Antarctic ice sheet into the Atlantic. That cool fresh water is being pumped along the oceanic conveyor belt that runs north-south between the Americas and Africa-Europe, weakening the current and over time changing the atmospheric setup.
While there is little doubt among reputable and thoughtful scientists that the earth’s temperature is rising, there is plenty of debate about exactly how fast the temperature is rising in an historical context and whether the rise is a sign that man is fucking up the planet or merely a cyclical occurrence – another of Earth’s periodic mood swings.
But really, what difference does it make? Say half the scientists think it’s cyclical and half think it’s man’s fault. Who’s to know? We may not learn anything conclusive for hundreds of years, and by then it’ll be too late if the scientists who blame civilization turn out to be right. So why not start treating the planet with a little more respect today? Use a little less energy, recycle a little bit more.
On the way to work this morning, the Indignant Citizen saw a CBS2 TV truck parked on a side street near the Dirksen Federal Building, engine running and the driver asleep inside with his feet up on the dashboard and the heat on. This is an especially ridiculous kind of consumption, and the IC briefly considered removing the truck’s valve stems as a kind of punishment. He thought better of it, though, because no doubt whatever tow truck or repair vehicle that showed up would have left its engine running, too.
In a way, it’s disappointing global warming doesn’t really mean “warming.” It might be easier to stomach if it did. Now all we seem to have to look forward to is the return of the glaciers.
Whoops. Scratch that. It’s only Dec. 19, which means it’s still officially fall. And yet … and yet, it feels like winter. It has for weeks. Chicago, and much of the nation east of the Rockies, has been in the deep freeze since November. So far this December, only three days have managed to make it to freezing (32 degrees Fahrenheit). Snow covers the ground outside the Indignant Citizen’s home to a depth of around five inches, adding a special kind of evil chill close to the ground, where feet live.
When it gets cold like this, the kind of cold that numbs your entire body after just a few minutes’ exposure – fully dressed, of course – we must always hear from the sanctimonious anti-global warming crowd. They crow that the cold is sure proof that global warming is a myth, a ruse perpetrated on slow-thinking citizens by the overzealous, doomsaying environmental movement.
They write letters to newspapers, mostly. Occasionally one of these kooks will end up on an editorial page someplace. These outlets don’t even take into account the multitude of blogs that populate the Internet and that serve as a pulpit for all manner of uninformed opinion. There’s just one problem: The fact that it’s really, really cold so early in the season, both in the eastern U.S. and in Western Europe isn’t proof that global warming is a myth. There are some signs that the opposite is true, that the presence of cold air so early is actually proof that global warming is melting the Antarctic ice sheet into the Atlantic. That cool fresh water is being pumped along the oceanic conveyor belt that runs north-south between the Americas and Africa-Europe, weakening the current and over time changing the atmospheric setup.
While there is little doubt among reputable and thoughtful scientists that the earth’s temperature is rising, there is plenty of debate about exactly how fast the temperature is rising in an historical context and whether the rise is a sign that man is fucking up the planet or merely a cyclical occurrence – another of Earth’s periodic mood swings.
But really, what difference does it make? Say half the scientists think it’s cyclical and half think it’s man’s fault. Who’s to know? We may not learn anything conclusive for hundreds of years, and by then it’ll be too late if the scientists who blame civilization turn out to be right. So why not start treating the planet with a little more respect today? Use a little less energy, recycle a little bit more.
On the way to work this morning, the Indignant Citizen saw a CBS2 TV truck parked on a side street near the Dirksen Federal Building, engine running and the driver asleep inside with his feet up on the dashboard and the heat on. This is an especially ridiculous kind of consumption, and the IC briefly considered removing the truck’s valve stems as a kind of punishment. He thought better of it, though, because no doubt whatever tow truck or repair vehicle that showed up would have left its engine running, too.
In a way, it’s disappointing global warming doesn’t really mean “warming.” It might be easier to stomach if it did. Now all we seem to have to look forward to is the return of the glaciers.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Stupid Is as Stupid Does
There’s stupid and then there’s Christine Barnes.
Barnes, 30, lives in Elmwood Park and was one of the imbicles who stopped on the tracks at a railroad grade crossing on Grand Ave. the night before Thanksgiving. An outbound Metra express train rounded a curve at about 70 miles per hour and slammed into six of the cars on the tracks, throwing those into five other cars. In all 11 cars were destroyed. No one was killed, although Barnes and a few others ended up in the hospital.
Investigators quickly determined the Metra engineer did everything he could have and that two factors contributed to the accident: the design of the intersection and the fact that the drivers stopped on the tracks.
The intersection is bad. The tracks cross Grand Ave. at a diagonal, meaning there’s more track across Grand than if the tracks crossed perpendicular to the street. Additionally, there is a stop light nearby that can cause traffic to back up past the tracks. Which is why the village or Metra or the railroad that runs that line, perhaps all three, paid for giant yellow signs that hang over Grand Ave. warning drivers of the long crossing and admonishing them not to stop on the tracks.
Stories on Friday and Saturday in both the Chicago Tribune and Sun-Times, as well as on local TV, clearly conveyed the frustration police, Metra and crash investigators felt. Of all the steps that could have been taken to prevent the accident, the most basic and least expensive was the exercising of just a little common sense on the part of the drivers. Simply put, they shouldn’t have stopped on the tracks.
So, of course, Barnes stopped on the tracks. That’s dumb enough, but what garns her the Gold Star for Stupidity in this case are her comments in Sunday’s Chicago Tribune. In the story, by Lolly Bowean, Barnes makes clear she takes no blame. The light should have changed or the train should have stopped. But she has no culpability for stopping on the tracks. Barnes told Bowean she is tired of officials blaming the drivers. “What do they think,” she asked. “We really want to be hit by a train? I could have died.”
Of course, no one ever suggested the drivers stopped on the tracks because they wanted to be hit by a train. They’re saying the accident wouldn’t have happened if the drivers had not stopped on the tracks. They’re saying the drivers stopped on the tracks because they failed to use common sense.
They’re saying Barnes and her fellow drivers are idiots.
Every one of those drivers should be ticketed and should have their licenses suspended. But you can bet they’ll sue Metra and the village and the Illinois Department of Transportation and anyone else they can think of in a desperate, flailing attempt to assign responsibility for this accident anywhere except where it rightfully belongs – with the drivers.
Barnes, 30, lives in Elmwood Park and was one of the imbicles who stopped on the tracks at a railroad grade crossing on Grand Ave. the night before Thanksgiving. An outbound Metra express train rounded a curve at about 70 miles per hour and slammed into six of the cars on the tracks, throwing those into five other cars. In all 11 cars were destroyed. No one was killed, although Barnes and a few others ended up in the hospital.
Investigators quickly determined the Metra engineer did everything he could have and that two factors contributed to the accident: the design of the intersection and the fact that the drivers stopped on the tracks.
The intersection is bad. The tracks cross Grand Ave. at a diagonal, meaning there’s more track across Grand than if the tracks crossed perpendicular to the street. Additionally, there is a stop light nearby that can cause traffic to back up past the tracks. Which is why the village or Metra or the railroad that runs that line, perhaps all three, paid for giant yellow signs that hang over Grand Ave. warning drivers of the long crossing and admonishing them not to stop on the tracks.
Stories on Friday and Saturday in both the Chicago Tribune and Sun-Times, as well as on local TV, clearly conveyed the frustration police, Metra and crash investigators felt. Of all the steps that could have been taken to prevent the accident, the most basic and least expensive was the exercising of just a little common sense on the part of the drivers. Simply put, they shouldn’t have stopped on the tracks.
So, of course, Barnes stopped on the tracks. That’s dumb enough, but what garns her the Gold Star for Stupidity in this case are her comments in Sunday’s Chicago Tribune. In the story, by Lolly Bowean, Barnes makes clear she takes no blame. The light should have changed or the train should have stopped. But she has no culpability for stopping on the tracks. Barnes told Bowean she is tired of officials blaming the drivers. “What do they think,” she asked. “We really want to be hit by a train? I could have died.”
Of course, no one ever suggested the drivers stopped on the tracks because they wanted to be hit by a train. They’re saying the accident wouldn’t have happened if the drivers had not stopped on the tracks. They’re saying the drivers stopped on the tracks because they failed to use common sense.
They’re saying Barnes and her fellow drivers are idiots.
Every one of those drivers should be ticketed and should have their licenses suspended. But you can bet they’ll sue Metra and the village and the Illinois Department of Transportation and anyone else they can think of in a desperate, flailing attempt to assign responsibility for this accident anywhere except where it rightfully belongs – with the drivers.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Overflowin’
Sometimes the amount of shit in the toilet exceeds the toilet’s ability to process it. This can occur for one of two reasons. Either someone has laid down one ginormous poo, or several people pooed in succession, each one failing to flush and thereby growing the cumulative shitblob to a size the toilet drain is unsuited to dealing with.
Lately the rhetorical toilet has been getting pretty full on a regular basis and overflowing onto the Indignant Citizen’s nice, clean floor.
Case in point: Bill O’Reilly. On Tuesday he said on his radio show that because San Franciscans voted to oppose military recruitment in public schools and to ban handgun ownership that the United States government had no responsibility to defend that city from a terrorist attack and that it should be effectively cut off from the rest of the country and denied any federal funds.
Occasionally O’Reilly will say something that the Indignant Citizen can stomach, but that usually happens when O’Reilly is advocating a common sense approach to dealing with some stupidity like Wal-Mart asking employees not to say “Merry Christmas” this year.
Tuesday’s hyperbole serves no one’s interests save Bill O’Reilly’s, however. It’s just a stupid thing to say. And it could be easily dismissed as such were it not for the fact that the three to five million people watch his TV show on any given night, and Lord knows how many listen to the radio program, believe he’s operating in what he calls the “No-Spin Zone.” Which of course is bullshit because if he wasn’t spinning he wouldn’t be on TV. Everyone spins, especially on TV. By having an opinion, you spin. By choosing guests, you’re spinning. It should be called the “No One Else But Me Can Spin Zone.”
Reading what O’Reilly has to say about San Francisco is stomach-turning and illustrates the depths to which discourse in this country has sunk. Apparently you can’t get on TV anymore unless you’re advocating for terrorists to blow up landmarks in cities whose policies you disagree with. Hey, Chicago bans handgun ownership, too. Got sumpin’ to say about dat, Bill?
O’Reilly’s over-the-top idiocy ranks right up there with Pat Robertson saying on his “700 Club” show Thursday that residents of Dover, Pa., shouldn’t look to God for help if a natural disaster hits the town because voters there dumped the school board members who favored teaching intelligent design in public school classrooms. “I’d like to say to the good citizens of Dover: if there is a disaster in your area, don’t turn to God. You just rejected him from your city.”
Later, Robertson clarified his remarks: “God is tolerant and loving, but we can’t keep sticking our finger in his eye forever. If they have future problems in Dover, I recommend they call on Charles Darwin. Maybe he can help them.”
Oh please. For chrissake, Robertson, you have the reasoning ability and the vindictiveness of a 13-year-old girl. This whole intelligent design brouhaha has gotten entirely out of hand. Someone needs to reign these Christian wackos back in. They’re becoming as militant as Middle Eastern terrorists. And that might be the next step. We already have fundamentalists and Catholic extremists killing abortion doctors and bombing abortion clinics. How long before they start shooting school superintendents who don’t support intelligent design and blowing up natural history museums?
People, it’s time to cool it the fuck down. San Franciscans pay taxes that support the federal government, and probably get back way less per dollar than they contribute. San Francisco’s infrastructure could use some upgrading, its less fortunate citizens more help from government programs; instead the city has to watch Alaska build bridges to nowhere for people who will never use them.
And by the way, Bill, in America voters make decisions. It is the American way. In fact nothing is more American. The fact that you disagree with it is irrelevant. An election was held; a decision was made. Live with it like a grownup. The Indignant Citizen has had to live with this Bush fucker, and he wasn’t even duly elected the first time. So shut the fuck up about San Francisco and concentrate on real issues.
Pat Robertson: You are going to hell. Plain and simple. God hates hate, and it’s clear you’re a hater. Buy some shorts and get ready for the trip, bitch. The Indignant Citizen will see you there and he will be coming for you.
What else? Oh, Bush’s latest attempt to rally support for this sad war in Iraq. This is a no-win situation. Democrats in congress have no room to criticize, here. They voted to give Bush the authority to wage this conflict, and they have no rhetorical standing to come back now and say it was wrong. To them the Indignant Citizen says: You should have stood up to Bush before. Now it’s too late. You’ve lost credibility. Step aside and let new leaders engage the fight.
As for Bush, he has, apparently, lost his mind completely. “We will never back down, we will never give in, we will never accept anything less than complete victory.” Holy shit, he sounds like Robert Duvall in “Apocalypse Now.” Maybe he means to. But someone should tell him that we’re fighting an unwinnable war. How does one measure “victory” against a slippery enemy like terrorism?
The tactic is brilliant from a rhetorical perspective, though, because it sets the stage for perpetual warfare. We’ll always be at war with terrorists because there is an inexhaustible supply of them, they have unmeetable demands and simply by fighting them militarily we make more of them.
Life must be strange for Ray Bradbury these days, because we have achieved the perpetual warfare he envisioned. We don’t even notice the bombers flying overhead any more, we have grown so used to the noise. In fact this Bush administration has managed to do what no other has ever done—push the bounds of the war debate beyond whether or not we should even be at war. That has already been settled. We are at war and will be for a long, long, long, long, longlonglong time. It is accepted. To end the war and seek a peaceful solution is to admit defeat, and we can’t do that.
Just one question, though. Wasn’t this mission in Iraq already accomplished?
Anyway, there’s a lot of shit in the toilet. Most of it doesn’t need to be there; it is a result of overeating, and eating the wrong things. But there it is. And so the Indignant Citizen asks: Where is the plunger? What plumber might act to drain the swirling, unflushable shitwater? The world dances and squeezes its ass cheeks together, trying to hold it in, as it awaits an answer.
Lately the rhetorical toilet has been getting pretty full on a regular basis and overflowing onto the Indignant Citizen’s nice, clean floor.
Case in point: Bill O’Reilly. On Tuesday he said on his radio show that because San Franciscans voted to oppose military recruitment in public schools and to ban handgun ownership that the United States government had no responsibility to defend that city from a terrorist attack and that it should be effectively cut off from the rest of the country and denied any federal funds.
Occasionally O’Reilly will say something that the Indignant Citizen can stomach, but that usually happens when O’Reilly is advocating a common sense approach to dealing with some stupidity like Wal-Mart asking employees not to say “Merry Christmas” this year.
Tuesday’s hyperbole serves no one’s interests save Bill O’Reilly’s, however. It’s just a stupid thing to say. And it could be easily dismissed as such were it not for the fact that the three to five million people watch his TV show on any given night, and Lord knows how many listen to the radio program, believe he’s operating in what he calls the “No-Spin Zone.” Which of course is bullshit because if he wasn’t spinning he wouldn’t be on TV. Everyone spins, especially on TV. By having an opinion, you spin. By choosing guests, you’re spinning. It should be called the “No One Else But Me Can Spin Zone.”
Reading what O’Reilly has to say about San Francisco is stomach-turning and illustrates the depths to which discourse in this country has sunk. Apparently you can’t get on TV anymore unless you’re advocating for terrorists to blow up landmarks in cities whose policies you disagree with. Hey, Chicago bans handgun ownership, too. Got sumpin’ to say about dat, Bill?
O’Reilly’s over-the-top idiocy ranks right up there with Pat Robertson saying on his “700 Club” show Thursday that residents of Dover, Pa., shouldn’t look to God for help if a natural disaster hits the town because voters there dumped the school board members who favored teaching intelligent design in public school classrooms. “I’d like to say to the good citizens of Dover: if there is a disaster in your area, don’t turn to God. You just rejected him from your city.”
Later, Robertson clarified his remarks: “God is tolerant and loving, but we can’t keep sticking our finger in his eye forever. If they have future problems in Dover, I recommend they call on Charles Darwin. Maybe he can help them.”
Oh please. For chrissake, Robertson, you have the reasoning ability and the vindictiveness of a 13-year-old girl. This whole intelligent design brouhaha has gotten entirely out of hand. Someone needs to reign these Christian wackos back in. They’re becoming as militant as Middle Eastern terrorists. And that might be the next step. We already have fundamentalists and Catholic extremists killing abortion doctors and bombing abortion clinics. How long before they start shooting school superintendents who don’t support intelligent design and blowing up natural history museums?
People, it’s time to cool it the fuck down. San Franciscans pay taxes that support the federal government, and probably get back way less per dollar than they contribute. San Francisco’s infrastructure could use some upgrading, its less fortunate citizens more help from government programs; instead the city has to watch Alaska build bridges to nowhere for people who will never use them.
And by the way, Bill, in America voters make decisions. It is the American way. In fact nothing is more American. The fact that you disagree with it is irrelevant. An election was held; a decision was made. Live with it like a grownup. The Indignant Citizen has had to live with this Bush fucker, and he wasn’t even duly elected the first time. So shut the fuck up about San Francisco and concentrate on real issues.
Pat Robertson: You are going to hell. Plain and simple. God hates hate, and it’s clear you’re a hater. Buy some shorts and get ready for the trip, bitch. The Indignant Citizen will see you there and he will be coming for you.
What else? Oh, Bush’s latest attempt to rally support for this sad war in Iraq. This is a no-win situation. Democrats in congress have no room to criticize, here. They voted to give Bush the authority to wage this conflict, and they have no rhetorical standing to come back now and say it was wrong. To them the Indignant Citizen says: You should have stood up to Bush before. Now it’s too late. You’ve lost credibility. Step aside and let new leaders engage the fight.
As for Bush, he has, apparently, lost his mind completely. “We will never back down, we will never give in, we will never accept anything less than complete victory.” Holy shit, he sounds like Robert Duvall in “Apocalypse Now.” Maybe he means to. But someone should tell him that we’re fighting an unwinnable war. How does one measure “victory” against a slippery enemy like terrorism?
The tactic is brilliant from a rhetorical perspective, though, because it sets the stage for perpetual warfare. We’ll always be at war with terrorists because there is an inexhaustible supply of them, they have unmeetable demands and simply by fighting them militarily we make more of them.
Life must be strange for Ray Bradbury these days, because we have achieved the perpetual warfare he envisioned. We don’t even notice the bombers flying overhead any more, we have grown so used to the noise. In fact this Bush administration has managed to do what no other has ever done—push the bounds of the war debate beyond whether or not we should even be at war. That has already been settled. We are at war and will be for a long, long, long, long, longlonglong time. It is accepted. To end the war and seek a peaceful solution is to admit defeat, and we can’t do that.
Just one question, though. Wasn’t this mission in Iraq already accomplished?
Anyway, there’s a lot of shit in the toilet. Most of it doesn’t need to be there; it is a result of overeating, and eating the wrong things. But there it is. And so the Indignant Citizen asks: Where is the plunger? What plumber might act to drain the swirling, unflushable shitwater? The world dances and squeezes its ass cheeks together, trying to hold it in, as it awaits an answer.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
It’s About Transit, Bitch
For a week now the Indignant Citizen has tried to write about something other than the White Sox. For a week he has failed. Yes, we have this war going on, with new revelations every day about how the Bush administration duped us into sending our sons and daughters to die in the desert.
So what the hell? While the Indignant Citizen keeps replaying the audio and video portions of the Sox World Series highlights—including Paulie’s slammer, Podsednik’s walk-off, Blum’s bullet and Uribe’s unspeakable glove work—we’ll let the West Side Critic work us back into the mix a little bit:
The planets must have misaligned, the sun must be skulking off to some black hole, because it’s just not right that the Seattle Seahawks have a good football team and the Chicago Bears do not.
Let The West Side Critic explain.
On Oct. 16, The West Side Critic, his Lovely and Brilliant Wife and Father-In-Law traveled to Qwest Field (Seahawks Stadium to those who rightly reject the vile, corporate-ass-kissing name) to watch the Seahawks battle the Houston Texans.
It wasn’t much of a battle. The Seahawks monkey-stomped the Texans 41-10, with running back Shaun Alexander running roughshod over every poor bastard sheathed in a blue-and-red jersey. You could say Alexander looked for holes to run through. You could also say he looked for opposing players to run over. He didn’t fuck around. No. 37 truly is a Tall Walking Bitch.
Anyway, sitting in the bleachers, munching on kettle corn, The West Side Critic couldn’t help but think of the current state of sports. The Seattle Seahawks are pretty good. The Chicago Bears kinda suck. The Seattle Mariners suck, too. But the Chicago White Sox won the World Series. Huh?!
At least the Chicago Bears have won a Super Bowl in the last goddamn half-century. Who doesn’t remember the 1985 Chicago Bears? The West Side Critic will never forget the Fridge, the Cro-Magnon looking QB McMahon and their teammates shaking like wounded animals as they “danced” to the Super Bowl shuffle.
What The West Side Critic means is, the Bears should have a good team—they should be dancing to the Super Bowl Shuffle II—the Seahawks shouldn’t be that good (they really never were until Mike Holmgren brought himself and his meaty mustache to town), the White Sox sure as hell shouldn’t have been in the Series and the Mariners shouldn’t suck so damn bad.
Instead, everything is in reverse. Something definitely is wrong with this picture. Next thing you know, Chicagoans will start making eye contact on the street and Seattleites will starting giving each other the ol’ fuck you very much.
OK. OK. The West Side Critic is aware of The Indignant Citizen’s love of the White Sox, and therefore honestly wished the team all the best. After all, the White Sox have Freddy Garcia, that go-all-the-way-nine-inning-killer pitcher and ex-Mariner. Really, The Astros can go fuck themselves. They’re from Texas. The West Side Critic wanted the White Sox to mess with Texas. The Seahawks did.
But The West Side Critic digresses. In fact, The West Side Critic has a completely different point to make that is only marginally connected to the sports rant unleashed several paragraphs ago.
Because what’s important is how The West Side Critic, his Lovely and Brilliant Wife and his Father-In-Law got to Seahawks Stadium. We didn’t drive. We took commuter rail, run by Sound Transit, Puget Sound’s three-county behemoth of a transit agency that’s trying to run light rail, commuter trains and express buses all over urbanized Puget Sound’s ass.
Anyway, it was a pleasant trip on Sounder, the name of the train. Cushy seats. No traffic congestion. No road rage. No sea of brake lights braking. No furrowed brows. No fidgeting with the radio station to find something to distract from the clusterfuck ahead.
Smooth sailing, really. $8 roundtrip. Still, Sound Transit has its problems. It’s gone over budget in its early days and reneged on its promises. It’s supposed to run nine daily roundtrips of Sounder, from Tacoma to Seattle with several stops in between.
It runs four roundtrips. Weekdays, with weekend service for sports events like the Seahawks and Mariners. The agency says it’s going to get to nine daily roundtrips ASAP. It says it’s trying to clean up its act. We’ll see. For all of you outside the West Side (everything west of Chicago, that is), you can take all of this as the West Coast’s way of trying to do high-speed, efficient transit and kind of coming at it slowly, somewhat ineptly. It’s tough. We sprawled a lot in the early days. We like our cars.
But we also like our natural environment. We like our trees. We like alternatives, options, choices. That includes transportation. We’ll see how it goes. Certainly, energy prices seem to be conspiring to force us to rethink our way of life. A good, efficient, cost-effective passenger rail system – if we can ever truly get one in Puget Sound – would be a good thing.
Certainly, it would be far more useful than a quick, pleasant way to get to a ball game.
Peace, out.
West Side Critic
So what the hell? While the Indignant Citizen keeps replaying the audio and video portions of the Sox World Series highlights—including Paulie’s slammer, Podsednik’s walk-off, Blum’s bullet and Uribe’s unspeakable glove work—we’ll let the West Side Critic work us back into the mix a little bit:
The planets must have misaligned, the sun must be skulking off to some black hole, because it’s just not right that the Seattle Seahawks have a good football team and the Chicago Bears do not.
Let The West Side Critic explain.
On Oct. 16, The West Side Critic, his Lovely and Brilliant Wife and Father-In-Law traveled to Qwest Field (Seahawks Stadium to those who rightly reject the vile, corporate-ass-kissing name) to watch the Seahawks battle the Houston Texans.
It wasn’t much of a battle. The Seahawks monkey-stomped the Texans 41-10, with running back Shaun Alexander running roughshod over every poor bastard sheathed in a blue-and-red jersey. You could say Alexander looked for holes to run through. You could also say he looked for opposing players to run over. He didn’t fuck around. No. 37 truly is a Tall Walking Bitch.
Anyway, sitting in the bleachers, munching on kettle corn, The West Side Critic couldn’t help but think of the current state of sports. The Seattle Seahawks are pretty good. The Chicago Bears kinda suck. The Seattle Mariners suck, too. But the Chicago White Sox won the World Series. Huh?!
At least the Chicago Bears have won a Super Bowl in the last goddamn half-century. Who doesn’t remember the 1985 Chicago Bears? The West Side Critic will never forget the Fridge, the Cro-Magnon looking QB McMahon and their teammates shaking like wounded animals as they “danced” to the Super Bowl shuffle.
What The West Side Critic means is, the Bears should have a good team—they should be dancing to the Super Bowl Shuffle II—the Seahawks shouldn’t be that good (they really never were until Mike Holmgren brought himself and his meaty mustache to town), the White Sox sure as hell shouldn’t have been in the Series and the Mariners shouldn’t suck so damn bad.
Instead, everything is in reverse. Something definitely is wrong with this picture. Next thing you know, Chicagoans will start making eye contact on the street and Seattleites will starting giving each other the ol’ fuck you very much.
OK. OK. The West Side Critic is aware of The Indignant Citizen’s love of the White Sox, and therefore honestly wished the team all the best. After all, the White Sox have Freddy Garcia, that go-all-the-way-nine-inning-killer pitcher and ex-Mariner. Really, The Astros can go fuck themselves. They’re from Texas. The West Side Critic wanted the White Sox to mess with Texas. The Seahawks did.
But The West Side Critic digresses. In fact, The West Side Critic has a completely different point to make that is only marginally connected to the sports rant unleashed several paragraphs ago.
Because what’s important is how The West Side Critic, his Lovely and Brilliant Wife and his Father-In-Law got to Seahawks Stadium. We didn’t drive. We took commuter rail, run by Sound Transit, Puget Sound’s three-county behemoth of a transit agency that’s trying to run light rail, commuter trains and express buses all over urbanized Puget Sound’s ass.
Anyway, it was a pleasant trip on Sounder, the name of the train. Cushy seats. No traffic congestion. No road rage. No sea of brake lights braking. No furrowed brows. No fidgeting with the radio station to find something to distract from the clusterfuck ahead.
Smooth sailing, really. $8 roundtrip. Still, Sound Transit has its problems. It’s gone over budget in its early days and reneged on its promises. It’s supposed to run nine daily roundtrips of Sounder, from Tacoma to Seattle with several stops in between.
It runs four roundtrips. Weekdays, with weekend service for sports events like the Seahawks and Mariners. The agency says it’s going to get to nine daily roundtrips ASAP. It says it’s trying to clean up its act. We’ll see. For all of you outside the West Side (everything west of Chicago, that is), you can take all of this as the West Coast’s way of trying to do high-speed, efficient transit and kind of coming at it slowly, somewhat ineptly. It’s tough. We sprawled a lot in the early days. We like our cars.
But we also like our natural environment. We like our trees. We like alternatives, options, choices. That includes transportation. We’ll see how it goes. Certainly, energy prices seem to be conspiring to force us to rethink our way of life. A good, efficient, cost-effective passenger rail system – if we can ever truly get one in Puget Sound – would be a good thing.
Certainly, it would be far more useful than a quick, pleasant way to get to a ball game.
Peace, out.
West Side Critic
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Back to Business ... Almost
That was fun.
Now that the Indignant Citizen has wiped the champagne and beer from his tired eyes, washed the smoke from his clothes and regained his voice after the White Sox stomped the holy living shit out of the Red Sox, Angels and Astros to win the World Series, it’s time to cast a glance across the charred and smoking landscape of life in these United States.
So much crap has piled up on the river banks as White Sox Nation cruised by on the good ship Championship.... There was the high school cheerleader with a crush on the football captain masquerading as a Supreme Court nominee. Someone in government actually got busted for lying. The 2,000th U.S. soldier died in Iraq. And the former governor of the State of Illinois continued to attend his corruption trial. That’s a lot to deal with. But let
us start where we stand, for that is almost always best.
For those who didn’t catch it, Tribune Columnist and cub fan Eric Zorn filed an I-Was-Wrong dispatch from the bottom of the crater that was the Cubs season, a crater that was only made deeper by the White Sox postseason success. Later, in a blog entry that will go down in history on the South Side, Zorn exposed the six-sigma hypocrisy of Sun-Times sports columnist Jay Mariotti over the past year as it related to the White Sox.
Not only is Zorn’s roundup the stuff of instant legend in Sox Blogland, it may be enough to get Mariotti fired. Mariotti, more popularly known on the South Side as Windsock for his tendency to shift positions with the fickle breezes, didn’t file his regular Tuesday column. Instead his spot on the next-to-last page was filled by Carol Slezak, with a note at the bottom of the page informing readers that Mariotti was "Taking the Day Off."
That’s the same tag line, by the way, that the Sun-Times insists on using each time another column by Neil “I Beat My Wife Because I’m a Pussy” Steinberg doesn’t see the light of day because Steinberg is in “therapy” trying to exorcise his demons.
While the Indignant Citizen appreciates Steinberg’s acerbic style and perma-frown outlook on life, the guy hit his wife. He should be fired and forced to attend anger management and world history classes taught by Carl Everett.
When Juan Uribe fired that final bullet to Paul Konerko to record the final out in Game 4 of the World Series, the Indignant Citizen, in the euphoria of the moment, thought perhaps he might have to retire his indignation. Life just seemed too good. Everyone was happy; strangers hugged, joy was everywhere. The sun seemed brighter, the birds chirpier.
It took about four days for the joy to fully wear off. The Indignant Citizen is still happy about the Sox, mind you, but more pressing issues have asserted themselves. And we will get to them shortly. In the meantime, join the Indignant Citizen in congratulating once more the 2005 Chicago White Sox, World Series Champions .
Now that the Indignant Citizen has wiped the champagne and beer from his tired eyes, washed the smoke from his clothes and regained his voice after the White Sox stomped the holy living shit out of the Red Sox, Angels and Astros to win the World Series, it’s time to cast a glance across the charred and smoking landscape of life in these United States.
So much crap has piled up on the river banks as White Sox Nation cruised by on the good ship Championship.... There was the high school cheerleader with a crush on the football captain masquerading as a Supreme Court nominee. Someone in government actually got busted for lying. The 2,000th U.S. soldier died in Iraq. And the former governor of the State of Illinois continued to attend his corruption trial. That’s a lot to deal with. But let
us start where we stand, for that is almost always best.
For those who didn’t catch it, Tribune Columnist and cub fan Eric Zorn filed an I-Was-Wrong dispatch from the bottom of the crater that was the Cubs season, a crater that was only made deeper by the White Sox postseason success. Later, in a blog entry that will go down in history on the South Side, Zorn exposed the six-sigma hypocrisy of Sun-Times sports columnist Jay Mariotti over the past year as it related to the White Sox.
Not only is Zorn’s roundup the stuff of instant legend in Sox Blogland, it may be enough to get Mariotti fired. Mariotti, more popularly known on the South Side as Windsock for his tendency to shift positions with the fickle breezes, didn’t file his regular Tuesday column. Instead his spot on the next-to-last page was filled by Carol Slezak, with a note at the bottom of the page informing readers that Mariotti was "Taking the Day Off."
That’s the same tag line, by the way, that the Sun-Times insists on using each time another column by Neil “I Beat My Wife Because I’m a Pussy” Steinberg doesn’t see the light of day because Steinberg is in “therapy” trying to exorcise his demons.
While the Indignant Citizen appreciates Steinberg’s acerbic style and perma-frown outlook on life, the guy hit his wife. He should be fired and forced to attend anger management and world history classes taught by Carl Everett.
When Juan Uribe fired that final bullet to Paul Konerko to record the final out in Game 4 of the World Series, the Indignant Citizen, in the euphoria of the moment, thought perhaps he might have to retire his indignation. Life just seemed too good. Everyone was happy; strangers hugged, joy was everywhere. The sun seemed brighter, the birds chirpier.
It took about four days for the joy to fully wear off. The Indignant Citizen is still happy about the Sox, mind you, but more pressing issues have asserted themselves. And we will get to them shortly. In the meantime, join the Indignant Citizen in congratulating once more the 2005 Chicago White Sox, World Series Champions .
Thursday, October 27, 2005
That’s a White Sox World Series Winner!!!
Three series: Boston, Anaheim and Houston. Good afternoon, good evening and good night! The White Sox are World Series Champions!
They are predicting cold weather this winter in Chicago. But not for us, not for White Sox Fans. Memories of this fall will keep us warm.
And yes, it feels every bit as good as the Indignant Citizen thought it would.
They are predicting cold weather this winter in Chicago. But not for us, not for White Sox Fans. Memories of this fall will keep us warm.
And yes, it feels every bit as good as the Indignant Citizen thought it would.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Cinch it Up and Hunker Down
In every sports fan's lifetime, there are dates that are seared into the memory. Those dates mark the paths to elation and depression. Which path you are on is often determined by one crack of the bat, one swish of the net, one hard cut to the left or right.
For the Indignant Citizen, the first date was Oct. 12, 1986. That's when his team at the time, the California Angels, one strike away from the World Series, instead surrendered a 6-2 lead in Game 5 of the American League Championship Series to the Boston Red Sox. The Angels, of course, went on to collapse in a red, white and blue heap, handing Boston the AL Pennant. And a few years later Donnie Moore, the Angels relief pitcher who gave up a two-run home run to Dave Henderson in the top of the ninth, killed himself in part because of his despondency over blowing the save. Few remember the Angels rallied to tie in the ninth and had the bases loaded, but failed to score, losing in extra innings.
Every major sports date from then on that has involved a team the Indignant Citizen cheers for has been a variation of that one day, a seemingly endless procession of white flags marking a path to doom and failure on the playing field.
April 24, 1986. The Portland Trail Blazers lose Game 4 of a best of five series to the Denver Nuggets, ending a sub-.500 season. It is the last game coached by Jack Ramsey, who had coached the Blazers to their first and only championship nine years earlier. Yes, this happened earlier in the year than the Angels series, but the Blazers ended the regular season with a 40-42 record, 22 games behind the Lakers. Not much was expected. And they never led in the series.
June 4, 2000. Portland blows a 14-point lead in the fourth quarter of Game 7 to lose in the Western Conference Finals to the Los Angeles Lakers. This one was particularly painful, as the Indignant Citizen had invited an apartment full of people to celebrate the pending trip to the Finals.
June 6, 1999. Portland loses 94-80, its fourth loss in four games to the San Antonio Spurs in the Western Conference Finals. The sweep ended an improbable run in the playoffs for the upstart Blazers.
June 14, 1992. After splitting the first two games in Chicago, Portland loses two of three at home and eventually loses to the Bulls in the NBA Finals. Hey, at least they got there, right?
Wrong. June 14, 1990. After splitting the first two games in Detroit, Portland loses three straight games at home and loses to the Pistons in the NBA Finals. Portland becomes the first team in NBA Finals history to lose three straight games at home.
Oct. 2, 1995. The Angels complete one of the biggest regular season collapses in Major League history by losing a one-game playoff for the AL West title to the Seattle Mariners, 9-1. The Angels at one point had a 10.5-game lead in the division.
You get the picture. It is a trail of tears that has left the Indignant Citizen's feet tired and bloody. And so it is with Fear and Trepidation that the Indignant Citizen prepares himself for this year's baseball playoffs. His association with the Angels faded after he left the West Coast (which is of course when the Angels finally won the World Series, in 2002), and now the Indignant Citizen is a proud Chicago White Sox fan.
Generally the Indignant Citizen prefers to leave the Sox commentary to his good friend and former coworker Vince over at Exile in Wrigleyville. But this is the Playoffs and the Playoffs cry out for comment. So here it is. The White Sox will open today against the defending world champion Boston Red Sox. Here's what Boston has: playoff experience and hitting. Here's what our Sox have: pitching and a chip on their collective shoulders. The winner will play either the goddam Yankees or, of course, the Angels.
This is going to be a frightful, nail biting ride. Goats and heroes will emerge. The Indignant Citizen almost can't bear to watch. Hope is dangerous if not used in moderation, and there are hope pushers giving away massive quantities of the stuff on every street corner in Chicago right now. So far this season, the White Sox have shown an uncanny ability to respond to the full-throated roar of their crazed home fans by laying a giant turd on the U.S. Cellular Field grass. What will happen now, in the Playoffs? How will they respond to the hooting, hollering, arm-waving army of Sox fanatics descending on the South Side to cheer them on?
The Indignant Citizen prefers not to look to history as a guide. Instead, he hopes this season will plant a series of new markers along a new path, one leading to vicarious gratification, vindication, elation and maybe, just maybe, Playoff victories - preferably 11 of them.
The Indignant Citizen is nervous. He is excited. He wants it to all be over soon. He wants to savor every moment. Is it possible to both love and loathe hope? There is nothing left to do now but Get It On and find out.
As the Hawk says, it's time to Cinch it Up and Hunker Down.
Go White Sox.
For the Indignant Citizen, the first date was Oct. 12, 1986. That's when his team at the time, the California Angels, one strike away from the World Series, instead surrendered a 6-2 lead in Game 5 of the American League Championship Series to the Boston Red Sox. The Angels, of course, went on to collapse in a red, white and blue heap, handing Boston the AL Pennant. And a few years later Donnie Moore, the Angels relief pitcher who gave up a two-run home run to Dave Henderson in the top of the ninth, killed himself in part because of his despondency over blowing the save. Few remember the Angels rallied to tie in the ninth and had the bases loaded, but failed to score, losing in extra innings.
Every major sports date from then on that has involved a team the Indignant Citizen cheers for has been a variation of that one day, a seemingly endless procession of white flags marking a path to doom and failure on the playing field.
April 24, 1986. The Portland Trail Blazers lose Game 4 of a best of five series to the Denver Nuggets, ending a sub-.500 season. It is the last game coached by Jack Ramsey, who had coached the Blazers to their first and only championship nine years earlier. Yes, this happened earlier in the year than the Angels series, but the Blazers ended the regular season with a 40-42 record, 22 games behind the Lakers. Not much was expected. And they never led in the series.
June 4, 2000. Portland blows a 14-point lead in the fourth quarter of Game 7 to lose in the Western Conference Finals to the Los Angeles Lakers. This one was particularly painful, as the Indignant Citizen had invited an apartment full of people to celebrate the pending trip to the Finals.
June 6, 1999. Portland loses 94-80, its fourth loss in four games to the San Antonio Spurs in the Western Conference Finals. The sweep ended an improbable run in the playoffs for the upstart Blazers.
June 14, 1992. After splitting the first two games in Chicago, Portland loses two of three at home and eventually loses to the Bulls in the NBA Finals. Hey, at least they got there, right?
Wrong. June 14, 1990. After splitting the first two games in Detroit, Portland loses three straight games at home and loses to the Pistons in the NBA Finals. Portland becomes the first team in NBA Finals history to lose three straight games at home.
Oct. 2, 1995. The Angels complete one of the biggest regular season collapses in Major League history by losing a one-game playoff for the AL West title to the Seattle Mariners, 9-1. The Angels at one point had a 10.5-game lead in the division.
You get the picture. It is a trail of tears that has left the Indignant Citizen's feet tired and bloody. And so it is with Fear and Trepidation that the Indignant Citizen prepares himself for this year's baseball playoffs. His association with the Angels faded after he left the West Coast (which is of course when the Angels finally won the World Series, in 2002), and now the Indignant Citizen is a proud Chicago White Sox fan.
Generally the Indignant Citizen prefers to leave the Sox commentary to his good friend and former coworker Vince over at Exile in Wrigleyville. But this is the Playoffs and the Playoffs cry out for comment. So here it is. The White Sox will open today against the defending world champion Boston Red Sox. Here's what Boston has: playoff experience and hitting. Here's what our Sox have: pitching and a chip on their collective shoulders. The winner will play either the goddam Yankees or, of course, the Angels.
This is going to be a frightful, nail biting ride. Goats and heroes will emerge. The Indignant Citizen almost can't bear to watch. Hope is dangerous if not used in moderation, and there are hope pushers giving away massive quantities of the stuff on every street corner in Chicago right now. So far this season, the White Sox have shown an uncanny ability to respond to the full-throated roar of their crazed home fans by laying a giant turd on the U.S. Cellular Field grass. What will happen now, in the Playoffs? How will they respond to the hooting, hollering, arm-waving army of Sox fanatics descending on the South Side to cheer them on?
The Indignant Citizen prefers not to look to history as a guide. Instead, he hopes this season will plant a series of new markers along a new path, one leading to vicarious gratification, vindication, elation and maybe, just maybe, Playoff victories - preferably 11 of them.
The Indignant Citizen is nervous. He is excited. He wants it to all be over soon. He wants to savor every moment. Is it possible to both love and loathe hope? There is nothing left to do now but Get It On and find out.
As the Hawk says, it's time to Cinch it Up and Hunker Down.
Go White Sox.
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