A hundred years ...

And so, here we Cubs fans are yet again. Another year ... another year. To run down the litany of world events that have taken place since the Cubs last won the World Series a century ago - and, as of last night, it is officially, finally, a century - would be trite and redundant, since many a media outlet has already done that. What happened last night is better expressed in the pain of the team's many fans, myself included, who are facing both the impossible and inevitable square in the eyes.

One of my dear friends suggested to me today that it maybe was time to move on, that the Cubs were destined to break my heart every time in one way or another, and like to a mercurial lover or a parasitic chum, maybe I should cut myself off, at least somewhat, and get on with my life. (Full disclosure: This friend is a Boston Red Sox fan, which makes her heartfelt advice somewhat suspect, considering that her own pain has been more than lessened by seeing her team win two of the past four World Series.) Even if I were to attempt to implement her advice, I'm not sure if I could. In fact, the Cubs actually take up less of my time than they did during my high school or college days. Today there are other priorities in my life - like paying the rent or wondering who will win the presidential election or what will happen Wilhemina's baby on Ugly Betty. Still, I can be forgiven if I'm down in the dumps for at least the next 24 hours about what could have been, and what will be for the next six months - until spring training stars, of course.

Anticipation ...

It's 8:30 a.m. on the first day of October (Happy Birthday, President Carter!) and I'm waiting to do an interview for an impending assignment at 9 so I can go back to bed for a few hours (didn't sleep well last night for no particular reason). But all that's on my mind is the fact that the Chicago Cubs' playoff run starts today when they host the Los Angeles Dodgers at Wrigley Field.

Everyone knows by now that the Cubs haven't won the Series since 1908, and that a lot of baseball pundits are projecting that this may be the year that all of the sundry Cubs curses are put out to pasture like any old goat. But all I can think of is the many reasons why it won't happen. This, even as I get annoyed when media attention focuses on The Goat and The Black Cat and The Bartman and the other times the Cubs, destined for Glory™, have managed to screw the pooch in the end. (The latest? Just last night on SportsCenter, when the always helpful Rick O'Reilly jotted down the ten ways the Cubs can blow it this year. Lovely.) Hearing many of those same analysts who love the North Siders' chances also say how the Dodgers were the worst-possible playoff matchup for the team isn't helping things. Anyone can be a favorite to win a game or a series or the whole ball of wax, but being a favorite is like a fistful of stocks - it can become just a hunk of paper in not time at all. So there's anxiety building inside Dave, the kind of anxiety that can lead to physical upset if one not careful. But at least I know that if I blow chunks today, it likely won't be because something's wrong with the new liver.

Cross your fingers, everyone. Toes, too, if you have them.

One down ...

... three to go.



Congratulations, Cubbies, Now get back to work. You guys aren't done yet.

Wha' happened?

And so we appear to be close to it. (You know what I'm talking about - or at least you should at this point. Actually, maybe not. After all, in the universe of the Chicago Cubs fan, there are so many "its", and not all of them are positive. But you're smart people, so you'll figure it out.) Just a few days ago, many a Cubs fan, yours truly included, was - well, panicking, to be fair. The team, after a season of near-dominance, seemed to be running out of gas at the worst possible time, with a plethora of losses piling up and the club's two best pitchers, Carlos Zambrano and Rich Harden, on the bench with arm issues. The only thing keeping Cubbie faithful from hurling themselves off of their collective balconies was the convenient fact that the team that was closest to Chicago's blood trail, the Milwaukee Brewers, was going through its own meltdown. Indeed, the Cubs had actually picked up a half-game on Milwaukee despite its troubles.

And now ...

Thanks to some not-always-welcome quirks of fate, the landscape has changed, to say the least. Because Hurricane Ike turned Houston into a waterlogged wasteland and left half the city either underwater or powerless (or both), the three-game series between the Cubs and the resurgent Astros was postponed. Then, over the (justifiable) protests of the Astro management, Major League Baseball shifted two of the games to a "neutral" location. Of course, this being Bud Selig's version of Major League Baseball that we're dealing with, said location was determined to be Milwaukee's Miller Park - also know, affectionally, as Wrigley North. So the bedraggled Astros, many of whom have bigger things on their mind than a pennant race - even their own - flew into Wisconsin on Sunday afternoon with hours to spare and, despite the team's red-hot streak, got no-hit by Zambrano, returning for his first start in almost two weeks. Oh, and the crowd? More than 25,000 people, about 99.95 percent of whom were rabid Cubs fans.

And today? Today the Astros managed to get one hit off of Cubs pitching before losing again 6-1, giving the North Siders a quick four-game winning streak. Meanwhile, the Brewers were getting the suds blown off their head by the Phillies, who swept them in four straight in Philadelphia over the weekend, in the process changing the complexion of the playoff chase. Now the Cubs are ahead of Milwaukee by eight games, the Brewers are tied with the Phillies for the NL wild card with Houston still just two-and-a-half games behind, and Brewers management made the Palin-esque move this afternoon of firing manager Ned Yost with just 12 games left to play, including three against the Cubs at the real Wrigley starting tomorrow.

Game over? Hardly. The Brewers are starting their ace pitcher, CC Sabathia, tomorrow night. He hasn't lost since being traded to Milwaukee in July. And Cubs fans know never to look at a gift goat, er, horse in the mouth. (Yogi Berra is a prophet. Think about that.) But let's just say that the panic has been lessened somewhat. Sure, it came in part from forces beyond our control, maybe even through circumstances we wish could have been different. But it's happened, and now it's up to our lovable "losers" to take advantage and shut the door. Now's the time on Sprockets when we dance.

Three in a row? Oh crap ...

So the Cubs have lost three in a row ... at home. Not the best time to hit the skids, as the season enters the final month and the North Side Nine continue to fend off a ferocious effort by the Brewers to the north. Sure, the Cubs still lead the division by 4 1/2 games. And sure, Milwaukee did the favor of losing to the Mets today, so no ground was lost. Still, these are the type of stretches that has Cub fans like myself chewing our bottom lips a little more, having nightmares about 1969 and billy goats and marauding Bartmen chasing us through a swarm of black cats. So if I look a little ... panicked ... forgive me. I'm worrying. Sue me, I'm my mother's child.

Calm ourselves ...

These are strange times for the Chicago Cubs fan. Frankly, we don't know what to do with ourselves. We look at the baseball standings in our newspapers or on our computer screens, and we scratch out heads in wonder and confusion. What is this we see before us? The Cubs in first place? And widening their lead? We looked to the north last week, as the North Siders, losing momentum and with the Milwaukee Brewers breathing down the neck of our beloved, slogged their way to the Brewers' home park for a crucial (apocalyptic?) four-game series against their newest nemesis, including two games against Milwaukee's best pitchers, CC Sabathia and Ben Sheets. We closed our eyes and grimaced as if we were waiting for the first thwack of our father's belt, prepared for the worst. When we opened our eyes, the Cubs had taken four straight from Milwaukee on their own turf and seemingly changed the complexion of the divisional race.

We have been here before, of course. In 1969, 1984, 1989, 1998, 2003, 2007, and many other years when the Cubs had a pulse entering the dog days of summer, only to peter out in one fashion or another for one reason or another. We still gird ourselves for the inevitable departure of the ground below our favorite team, for the proverbial curse to emerge, for God to be reminded of the developing situation by Lake Michigan and to take appropriate action. As the eternal archenemy of the Cub, the Cardinal, heads toward Wrigley Field for yet another crucial series, we wait in fear and dread for the cock-up, the injury, the quirky moment that will collapse this growing house of cards (not Cards) and crush our hopes yet again. We look at the calendar, fully aware of the significance of this year more than any other, and we pray to whomever will listen to let our team, just this once, Do It.

The Cubs are off today; there are 47 games left in their schedule. They could hold on to make the playoffs ... or not. They could make their first World Series in 63 years ... or not. They could reach the promised land for the first time in a century ... or not. No one, of course, knows the outcome, even if many of us think we know. ("This is it, this is our time!" "They'll find a way to blow it - they always find a way to blow it.") All Cubs fans can do at this point is sit back and try to enjoy the ride. That is, when we're not turning away from the TV screen or trying to find our lucky cap, lest we cost Chicago the pennant.

Yeah, it is kind of easier when they're 20 games out of first place at this point in the season - you know, like they usually are.

An important milestone (or not) ...

Today is the Fourth of July, the 132th anniversary of the singing of the Declaration of Independence (though it was actually ratified on July 2 - but that's neither here or there at this point) - and the 13th anniversary of when President Whitmore, The Fresh Prince and the nebbishy reporter from The Big Chill saved us from those Rasta-looking aliens. But July 4 is also a key date on the baseball calendar, for tradition holds that the teams in first place on America Gives Britain The Finger Day will go on to win their respective divisions. And this "fact" holds particular meaning to us Chicago Cubs fans this year, for as play begins today, the North Siders, despite some recent bumps in the road, are in fact leading their division by two-and-a-half games over second-place St. Louis - whom the Cubs are playing tonight.

Now, it's important to note that the July 4 rule, like many a chuck of baseball lore, is bunk. Last year, for example, the three National League teams in first place on Independence Day - the Mets in the East, Milwaukee in the Central and San Diego in the West - didn't even make the playoffs. Meanwhile, three of the teams who were still around in October, including the eventual NL champion Colorado Rockies and my Cubs - were stagnating around the .500 on July 4. And these aren't even the most egregious examples. The biggest may have been in 1914, when the Boston Braves were in last place on the important date, 15 games behind the New York Baseball Giants in the eight-team National League. Not only did they go on a major winning streak to take the pennant, the Braves then went on to sweep the heavily favored Philadelphia A's in the World Series. Hope, perhaps, for the Seattle Mariners and all the teams in the N.L. West? Well, maybe not. But in a year when Tampa Bay is cleaning the clocks of both the Yankees and Red Sox, anything is possible.

So what does July 4 ultimately mean to baseball fans? In truth, nothing more than an excuse to down some hot dogs and watch a game. But for the nervous Cubs fans, we'll take any glimmer of hope and prophecy we can get. Though sweeping the Cardinals this weekend would definitely help.

Sans beard: 1-0

Cubs 4, White Sox 3 ... so far, so good. :)

Proactive ...

So if you've been paying attention to the sidebar to the right, you will know that the Cubs have hit a bit of a bump in the road. They just got swept by Tampa Bay, which last year, or any other year, would have been a disgrace, but this year, because the Rays are actually quite good now, is just freaking ominous since they just might make the World Series, and the Cubs thus could be playing them in October. But that may be jumping the gun if this mini-slump turns into a great big fat one. Yes, Chicago is still 17 games over .500, is still in first place, in fact hasn't lost any ground since the second-place Cardinals also got swept this week by Kansas City, which is actually a disgrace because the Royals suck. Nevertheless, the Cubs may now be facing the temporary loss of their best pitcher, Carlos Zambrano, with the proverbial shoulder discomfort problem. And starting Friday they begin a series with the crosstown White Sox (eww), and this time more than civic pride is on the line.

So before things starting getting really nasty, it was time for me to play my part in the Cubs' "recovery". Now, I've tried to be proactive this season, doing everything from wearing the right hat before each game, to not watching the actual games 'cause I'm a jinx, to even eating a goat before the season started to figuratively consume the Curse that has been hanging over Wrigley Field for more than 60 years. And I grew a beard - a lucky beard that I strove not to shave off until the Cubs either won the World Series or starting tanking.



At this point, in my nervous condition, three losses in a row constitutes "tanking".

So tonight, with razor and shaving cream in hand, I took one for the team, as it were.




We'll try this look out for a while. If the Cubs stabilize, we'll see where the wind takes me. Personally, though, I feel 12 years old right now.

Ouch!

The thing that most of my friends know about me - indeed, what the friends of many of a Cubs fan know - is that as devotees of the Chicago National League Ball Club, we are pretty much always miserable. In those years when the team is out of the playoff running by the All-Star Break, we aren't happy at yet another futility-filled campaign. And in seasons such as this one when the Cubs are playing like gangbusters - well, in some ways we're in worse shape as we wait for God to suddenly notice the team and decide to set the universe back in order by allowing the bottom to fall out under Wrigley Field. So even though Chicago had the best record in baseball going into last night's action, we fans couldn't just sit back and enjoy it. Instead, we were on pins and needles, knowing that this sweet bliss couldn't last, that something that would send us back into the land of angst would eventually occur.

Last night, that "something" happened.

In the second inning of Wednesday's win against the Brave, the Cubs' leaoff hitter, Alfonso Soriano, was hit in the left hand by a errant pitch. As a result, Soriano, who leads the team in home runs and has 40 runs batted in, is on the shelf for up to six weeks.

Now, I am a Cubs fan, but I'm also a fan of baseball and a logical person. In a season that last six months and 162 games, bad crap is going to happen to every team. It's virtually impossible for a team of 25 players to get through that much time without at least one significant injury, no matter how good or bad it is. Indeed, this is Soriano's second time on the disabled list this season. He missed two weeks in April with a calf strain. During that period, the Cubs went 9-5 and average more than seven runs a game. Besides, this is why God and Branch Rickey created the modern-day farm system, and so far Chicago has had pretty good luck when it comes to reserve players. So all definitely is not lost.

So I will keep saying "tsunami" and "Emily" in my logical consciousness - but in the back of my head, I also will continue to bite my nails and wear my (current) lucky hat during the Cubs games that I of course don't watch because I'm a jinx. I figure that I can relax in October - one way or another.

I probably shouldn't bring this up, but ...

As of today, the last day of May, the Chicago Cubs have, at 35-21, the best record in Major League Baseball. Anyone want to take a guess as to the last time the Cubs had the top record in baseball on May 31? Anyone? Take a wild guess.

I don't know if this means anything, but it's kind of cool. Freaky, weird and batshit scary, but cool nonetheless.

Whoa ...

The Cubs find themselves down 8-0 to Colorado in the third inning this afternoon at a very blustery Wrigley, only to score nine runs in the sixth and seventh to win 10-9? A typical day at the Friendly Confines when the wind is blowing out, sure - except the Cubs usually lose these types of games. Hmm ...

Cubs: It's over (?)

Well, it may be over. "Why the doom and gloom, Dave?",you make ask. "Weren't you saying just last week that it's only April and that perspective must be kept when dealing with the long baseball season?" Yes - yes I was. But that was before I got wind of this:



Yeah, this is what I feared - the Cubs, or rather a Cub, new left fielder Kosume Fukudome, on the cover of Sports Illustrated. What's more, with a proclamation that the team is poised to break its century-long curse.

This is potentially bad. Way bad. This is the convergence of two major curses - the one that has hung over the Cubs for more than 60 years, and the one that dictates that if a team or player that's in contention ends up on the front of SI, disaster may be just behind the corner. Save Michael Jordan, Muhammad Ali and the swimsuit cover model of the year, perhaps, no one seems to be immune to eventually falling prey to this malady. And that includes the Cubs. The last time the magazine stated so prominently that the light at the end of the tunnel was forthcoming was at the beginning of the 2004 season:



Of course the Cubs didn't even make the playoffs (though they did win one more game than they did the previous year, when they were five outs away from the World Series). Speaking of 2003, Kerry Wood also made the cover after the Cubs beat Atlanta in the first round of the playoffs. But we all know how that went.

Still, there are mitigating circumstances. For one,

Emily

. (Thanks, Beth.) For another, the Cubs did make the cover last year during spring training, with Lou Piniella and Alfonso Soriano lounging on the green grass in the middle of the Arizona desert. Perhaps it was mitigated by the snarky subhead of the headline ...



... but the Cubs did go on to win their division, to the shock of many.

So maybe this isn't as cataclysmic as some Cub fans, myself included, make it out to be. And, as I did say, the season is still young. Besides - if Fukudome does lead Chicago to glory days, that Japanese phrase is going to look sweet on a blue T-shirt!

Another Type of Perspective ...

A few weeks ago I wrote about perspective. But perspective comes in many forms. It can be deadly serious, a matter of life and death. Or it can apply to decidedly more frivolous matters - serious, but not deadly serious. Such as, say, your favorite baseball team.

As you can from looking at the side of my blog, the Cubs are doing well. Quite well, as a matter of fact - as of Wednesday afternoon, the team is off to its best start in 23 years. One of the Cubs, Ronny Cedeno, even declared after Monday's win over the Mets that the club was already thinking about the World Series. Now, obviously, I'm a rabid Cub fan, but I also know that talking about the Fall Classic at this extremely early point is folly. Very few pennants are ever won in April, though many of them have been lost in that first month of the season. And even that is not as much of a done deal as it has been in the past. In 2002 the Angels had a horrible first month, and still went on to win it all in October. Three years later Houston stumbled out of the gate so badly that the Chronicle declared the team dead on its front page. The Astros ended up as National League champions. And last year the Cubs sucked hard until until the beginning of June, when a clubhouse fight and one of Lou Piniella's patented tantrums shook Chicago from its slumber.

Then again, remember the aforementioned hot start in 1985? Want to guess where the Cubs finished that year? It wasn't in first.

Cub fans especially are quite sensitive to disruptions in the Force, good and bad. And it doesn't help that the team already has gotten so much hype because of the rapidly approaching 100-year vortex. Many of us groaned noticeably when we heard of Cedeno's quote. This is the kind of jumping the gun that has burned us time and again. At the very least, we thought, Cedeno will probably trip over a bat and blow his knee out sometime on Tuesday as punishment from the baseball gods. But no, that didn't happen.

Instead, the utility infielder hit a grand slam in another win over New York.

Hmmm ... It's only April ... it's only April ...

FUKUDOME!!!!

Fukudome has arrived!! Three-for-three in his Major League debut, including a double and a three-run, game-tying homer in the bottom of the ninth! BOW DOWN TO YOUR NEW CUB OVERLORDS!!!!!

(P.S. This would have been much more effective had the Cubs actually won the blasted game. But hey, you take your victories where you can - even if they aren't actually victories.)

Hope springs eternal ... again ...

And so it begins anew today ...

In case you needed any reminding that this year marks 100 years since the Chicago Cubs last tasted the elixir that is a World Series championship, major outlets such as ESPN, National Public Radio and USA Today have taken great pains to remind you of that stark fact. Of course, the very fact that the world is on the verge of seeing the Cubs hit the triple-digit mark of futility is just one of the myriad of reasons why This Year Is Next Year™ - why the North Siders will finally jump the broom and bring sexy back to Wrigley Field. (Another reason: I ate a goat during the off-season - more on that later, if I get around to it.) Because this will be such a special season, it's my plan to keep daily tabs on the schedule on this high-quality blog, even on the days when I have nothing else to say. Keep an eye on the right-hand side of your screen. The flag you see will be an indicator of how the Cubs did in their most previous contest. Here's hoping for a lot more W's than L's.

Play ball!

Is nothing sacred?

I have to be careful here because Sam Zell, the new owner of the Tribune Company, could some day be in a position to hire me as a journalist - that is, if journalism is still around in the long term. Nevertheless, Zell is also, for now at least the owner of the Chicago Cubs and its home turf, Wrigley Field. And it's his current stewardship of the latter than has in a lather.

Wrigley Field has been around forever and a day. It has been renovated time and time again; the legendary scoreboard, the bleachers, the ivy, the famous front marquee - even the upper decks are not original equipment. And neither, for that matter, is the name - in the beginning, when the ballpark was built to be the home not of the Cubs but of the Federal League's Chicago Whales, the place was called Weeghman Park after the co-owner and president of that team. When the Federal League folded in 1916, Weeghman bought the Cubs, then playing on the West Side of Chicago, and moved them to his existing ballpark. In 1918 William Wrigley, he of the chewing gum, bought controlling interest from Weeghman; at that point, Weeghman Park became Cubs Park, and didn't assume its current moniker until 1927.

But for how much longer will Wrigley Field be "Wrigley Field." Zell, the billionaire real-estate titan known for his blue jeans, his motorcycles and his blustery temperament, bought the sagging Tribune Co. last year to save the media empire from itself, in effect, and at the time he said he would put the Cubs and their ballpark up for sale, though not necessarily to the same bidders. Indeed, it seems his intent is eventually sell Wrigley to the state of Illinois for them to maintain. But before that happens, Zell has recently made it clear that he is seriously thinking about offering the naming rights for Wrigley Field for purchase by any major corporation looking to slap its brand on one of the most iconic places in American sport. Zell says he would do this to help pare down the debt currently being carried by Tribune - even though the $20 million or so he could expect annually from such a deal would be a mere drop in the bucket in terms of affecting the $13 billion worth of debt hanging around Tribune's - and Zell's - neck.

As you can imagine, news that Zell is even considering such a move has not gone over well with the Cubs faithful, or even those who are anything but. As you might also imagine, Zell has made it clear that he doesn't give a shit about that, in almost those exact words. And whether Zell could even pull off such a sale has to be questioned. The backlash against such a move could be greater than one might think if you take into account the passion of the Cubs fans. I'm not saying we would march to, say, Bank of America and burn down the headquarters if they ponied up money for this venture. But could there be a rash of people canceling their accounts? You betcha. Just see what the reaction has been to the renaming of another Chicago institution, Marshall Fields. Macy's, which stripped the famous State Street department store of its time-honored name a couple of years ago in favor of its own corporate label, is still struggling to win back the customers it offended by spitting into the face of Windy City tradition.

And there's another wrinkle that could futz with Zell's grand plans - no matter what you call Wrigley Field, it will always be Wrigley Field thanks to that large red neon marquee on the front of the ballpark. Under Chicago law, which has declared Wrigley a city landmark, it can't be touched, no matter what. And I'm thinking that the city council will be loathe to amend that agreement. Put that in your tailpipe and smoke it, Sam.

Holy cow, indeed ...

I didn't need any more to feel older than I should be. It was enough to realize that Prince, Madonna and Michael Jackson will all be 50 years old this summer, or that there are "young people" who don't realize that Carrie Underwood didn't originate the performance of the power ballad "Alone" that was first immortalized by Heart in 1987, or that it's been 19 years between Indiana Jones movies. But then, this evening, this realization that imprinted on this Cub fan's soul like a hot branding iron ...

Ten years ago today, Harry Caray passed away.

Yeah, it's been a decade since that blustering old man with the saucer-sized glasses who was the voice and the soul of the Chicago Cubs sipped his last cold Bud and journeyed to the diamond in the sky. He died four days after he collapsed at a restaurant in Palm Springs, California, while celebrating Valentine's Day with his beloved wife Dutchie. For Chicagoans and Cub fans, it was a loss more crushing than any late-inning loss, or than the World Series drought that has become as much a part of the Cub legacy as the ivy-covered walls of Wrigley Field. Indeed, we never truly got over losing Harry, as evidenced by the fact that, 10 years on, the team still employs "guest conductors" to carry on Harry's tradition of singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the seventh-inning stretch. His funeral was carried live on all of the local stations in Chicago, with no less than the archbishop of the city presiding. Cub stars such as Mark Grace and Sammy Sosa interrupted their spring training preparations to serve as honorary pallbearers. The team dedicated their season to Caray's memory - a season which ended with a surprise playoff berth and Sosa smashing 66 home runs in his epic (and now tainted) record duel with Mark McGwire. Would the Cubs have done as well without the weight of Harry's passing on their shoulders? Who knows. But it was a glorious summer, and a sad one as well.


Today there's a postmodern statue of Harry outside of Wrigley Field; one wonder what the man would have thought of the image. Fans still leave their empty (or full) cans of Budweiser at its base as an offering to the baseball gods. The restaurants that bear his name are still among the most popular in the Chicagoland area. And the Cubs, none of whom were on the team when Harry was the team's broadcast voice, gather again in the balmy climes of Arizona to prepare for another campaign, hoping that this will be the year that the squad and its fans finally end their wanderings in the desert that is World Series disappointment. But many of those fans would give anything - expect, maybe, that elusive world championship - to have Harry still with us, in the Wrigley broadcast booth, just to hear what he would do with the name Fukudome.

Say it again ... loud and not so proud ...

Wait till next year (one more time).
Ninety-nine years and counting ...





P.S.: Tsunami!!

Perspective (aka "Tsunami!")

Well, my beloved Chicago Cubs have dropped the first two games of their National League Division Series to the Arizona Diamondbacks, and done it in listless fashion. They will return to the friendly confines of Wrigley Field with their backs against the wall, needing to win three straight games to keep alive their dream of nipping their World Series futility streak in the bud before it reaches the century mark - literally. And it's yet another salvo in the ongoing pain and suffering that is being a Cubs fan. At least there's been no cataclysmic, scratch-your-head event like the goat, the black cat or the Bartman to drive us members of Cubs Nation up the freaking wall. But there's always Saturday.

So I'm not a happy camper right now. The optimism that was brimming over my soul on Friday night, when the Cubs clinched the playoffs, is at a low ebb right now. But things could always be worse, as my dear friend Beth has shown me this week, as she's dealt with the hospitalization of both her parents with grace and strength. Sure, she's stressed out of her gourd, but that's to be expected. Beth is one of my best friends and, more often than not, one of my heroes - not just because she's a brilliant writer (see the link to her blog to your right), an excellent conversationalist and has fantastic eyes that can melt the largest glacier on Earth. (Boy, did that sound lame.) She rocks because she keeps my world in perspective. Whenever I get down on myself for some inane reason, she only has to pull one word out of her extensive vocabulary - "tsumani". It's a simple premise, that whatever your deal is, at least your home and existence haven't been wiped out by a massive tidal wave. But more often than not, it knocks me back into the real world. It's to the point that Beth doesn't even have to say it to me - I say it for her and then promptly pipe down, looking at the landscape of my life with open eyes.

Don't get me wrong - Beth is a great listener and gives great advice whenever I ask her for it. But it's good to have friends like her, and others in my life, who love you enough to call you on your crap when it's just that. And if nothing else, what she's gone through this week (both of her parents are back home, by the way) has shown me again how lucky I am that both of my parents are still in reasonably good health, and that I have a roof over my head and am flooded with work these days - and, yeah, even that my favorite baseball team defied the odds this season and actually made the playoffs. So if they lose on Saturday and get swept out of the post-season - hell, yeah, I'm going to be pissed and annoyed and probably grumpy for the next few days. But, you know, they'll get another chance to go all the way next year. And, God willing, I'll be around to yell at them all over again.

Tsunami, y'all.