Although some people consider writing an "art form," as a "writer" I feel it is unfair to true artists to juxtapose the written word with some of the work by obscenely talented artists like my friend Marcelo.
While I find myself extraordinarily jealous of his skill and on many a dark night have plotted to murder him and consume his brain in order to hopefully absorb some of his super human capabilities, I simply cannot bring myself to do so, I'm sure he appreciates it.
TOPIC: Please take some time to view his art here While it may be considered “dark”, and many of you may not "get it" there is no denying the raw talent he possesses. Enjoy.
Thursday, 17 February 2005
Cameron Falls in Love
Monday was Valentines Day, which I apparently spent, and I’m quoting here “sitting at a table with [Previous Hook-Up] holding hands and staring into each others eyes.” I have no memory of this. I was incensed. When Sean told me, I promised to deliver unmentionable suffering upon his person if he did not stop spreading this slanderous filth. That’s when he went to the video replay.
TheBar has surveillance cameras and the Manager loves to give me shit, so when he saw how I was spending this most sacred of Hallmark Holidays he made sure to save the tape. We walked down stairs and there on the screen was exactly what Sean had described to me. I was disgusted with myself as a man and all I wanted to do was get in the shower and scrub myself like a rape victim. It was horrible.
Anyway, apart from this disgusting display, V-Day got me thinking about all of my past “relationships.” To say that they failed would be to imply that, at some point, they had even a remote chance of success. There was the 19-year-old I turned into a lesbian. Twice. The Hooters chick that stole my cat. On my birthday. The stripper who tried to run me over with her car. And who could forget, the girl who tried to stab me and , upon failing to do so, broke a beer bottle on the back of my head. But then there was you. You know who you are. . .
You’ve always been there for me, as far back as I can remember. Always stood by my side never judging, always loving. You aren’t like the others. You always put my needs first and you’re so easy to hang out with. No fancy dinners, no boring conversations, no lavish gifts, you’re content to just be around me. You like all my friends and enjoy a ballgame or a few drinks at the bar as much as a quiet night alone. Best of all, you always seem to be there when I need you.
And the sex. Dear god, it’s glorious. You always seem to know exactly what I like. With out even asking you are willing to please me as often as I want. Concerned only with my happiness, you ask nothing in return. No cuddling no pillow talk, as soon as I’m satisfied you light me a cigarette, crack me a beer and change the channel to ESPN.
Sure, we’ve had our problems. I’m sorry about all the cheating but I always come back to you don’t I? You’re the one I love, those others didn’t mean anything to me you know that. I’m sorry about your sister, it was a horrible drunken mistake. You two look so much alike. Can you ever forgive me? I want you back. I want us to be together forever. I’m sorry to do it like this but I wanted everyone to know. I wanted to prove to you that you’re the one I want. I thought this was the best way to do it.
I don’t know if it makes any difference but I still carry your picture with me. I love you.
TheBar has surveillance cameras and the Manager loves to give me shit, so when he saw how I was spending this most sacred of Hallmark Holidays he made sure to save the tape. We walked down stairs and there on the screen was exactly what Sean had described to me. I was disgusted with myself as a man and all I wanted to do was get in the shower and scrub myself like a rape victim. It was horrible.
Anyway, apart from this disgusting display, V-Day got me thinking about all of my past “relationships.” To say that they failed would be to imply that, at some point, they had even a remote chance of success. There was the 19-year-old I turned into a lesbian. Twice. The Hooters chick that stole my cat. On my birthday. The stripper who tried to run me over with her car. And who could forget, the girl who tried to stab me and , upon failing to do so, broke a beer bottle on the back of my head. But then there was you. You know who you are. . .
You’ve always been there for me, as far back as I can remember. Always stood by my side never judging, always loving. You aren’t like the others. You always put my needs first and you’re so easy to hang out with. No fancy dinners, no boring conversations, no lavish gifts, you’re content to just be around me. You like all my friends and enjoy a ballgame or a few drinks at the bar as much as a quiet night alone. Best of all, you always seem to be there when I need you.
And the sex. Dear god, it’s glorious. You always seem to know exactly what I like. With out even asking you are willing to please me as often as I want. Concerned only with my happiness, you ask nothing in return. No cuddling no pillow talk, as soon as I’m satisfied you light me a cigarette, crack me a beer and change the channel to ESPN.
Sure, we’ve had our problems. I’m sorry about all the cheating but I always come back to you don’t I? You’re the one I love, those others didn’t mean anything to me you know that. I’m sorry about your sister, it was a horrible drunken mistake. You two look so much alike. Can you ever forgive me? I want you back. I want us to be together forever. I’m sorry to do it like this but I wanted everyone to know. I wanted to prove to you that you’re the one I want. I thought this was the best way to do it.
I don’t know if it makes any difference but I still carry your picture with me. I love you.
Thursday, 3 February 2005
Via con Dios, Sammy
I had originally entitled my valedictory Sosa article "Hendry Finds Cure for Cancer." It was a seething attack of a man I called an abandoner, an egomaniac, a cheater and a prima donna. It then moved in to an uncomfortable verbal fellatio of Jim Hendry and his shrewd negotiating skills, finally resolving with joyous "See ya' Sammy Suckass." That was the way I felt, or so I thought.
I had been saying for some time that The Cubs had to get rid of Sammy. I actually wanted it done 2 years ago so the could have made a move for Vlad Guerrero on the free agent market, but what do I know? I'm just a fan. Vlad won the MVP, Sammy missed 40 games and hit .252 with 130 strikeouts. Bitterness and righteous indignation aside, his departure was long overdue.
I can't pin point exactly when I started my descent toward despising Sammy but I turned on him like a pre-menstrual chick on a gossiping co worker. It wasn't so much a single incident but rather an amalgamation of events. Either way, before I knew it, he had become the focus for a disproportionate amount of my rage.
I watched or listened to at least parts of all 162 Cubs games last year, scheduled my lunches around the 1:20 home games and I went to about 15 at Wrigley. I read articles and box scores, listened to interviews and press conferences. I got e-mails from Cubs.com after every game. I even compiled my own list of stats throughout the season in a 7 page Excel file. Yes, I'm a nerd. Shut up, that's not the point. I knew this team better than I know some of my friends, Sammy needed to go and I felt qualified to make that decision. I was also not shy about voicing said
opinion.
He had been slipping for a while but everything was magnified and seem infinitely more egregious last season. Following an injury, he refused a rehab assignment. Despite his anemic offense, he wouldn't move down in the batting order. He didn't even dress out for the final game and left before the first inning was over. During the off-season, in an interview with his home town Dominican paper, he blasted Dusty Baker, the Cubs and the treatment he received, claming it was unfair.
The Baker aspect was another interesting wrinkle in the rapidly unfolding Sammy Saga. Dusty, during his managerial campaign in San Francisco, had by all accounts, a good relationship with arguably the most difficult ego in the game: Barry Bonds. Baker and Balco (oops, Barry) got along fine, yet he and Sammy had a tumultuous power struggle that was well publicized and created a rift within the fans and players. It wasn't working. It was time to move on. Everyone knew it.
Sammy wanted out, too. He restructured his contract so that it would be easier for him to be unloaded. It was just a matter of time. So, I waited and waited. Days passed, abound with rumors of his trade, The Mets, The Rangers, The Nationals, The Braves. The papers and talk radio shows were almost entirety devoted to his possible move. But nothing was happening. I was becoming increasingly anxious, all the marquee free agents were signing elsewhere and we were still stuck with Sosa. I was beginning to think the deal would never go through. It looked bleak. I knew that another year with Sosa was another year without a World Series.
Then, suddenly, it happened. Friday night, Brehon Pub, my phone rang. A deliriously overjoyed friend began shouting "He's gone! Sosa's gone! He got traded to Baltimore! He's finally out!" I took a deep breath and calmly informed him that if he were fucking with me, I would feed him his vital organs in front of his family. He assured me that it was true. To verify, I turned on ESPN and there it was. He was gone. I ordered a round of like 12 celebratory shots for the people around me, some weren't even Cubs fans, several couldn't care less, still others didn't know me and asked that I stop hugging them and yelling in their ear.
I called everyone I knew who was even remotely interested in The Cubs to tell them. It was met with mixed reactions as it was pretty late and I was hammered and yelling almost unintelligibly, but I didn't care. I was too excited to concern myself with trivial things like etiquette or the possibility of waking people up. Sammy was gone, everyone needed to know.
At that point I wasn't even sure about the conditions of the trade, not that it really mattered, the albatross was gone. I would have been happy with a beer vendor and a mascot. I spent the next few days researching the players we got, it looked good. 2 solid prospects and a utility guy who could bat lead off play in the outfield and in the infield as needed. Nice. Hendry did it again.
Wednesday afternoon I was putting the finishing touches on my article when my friend Sean invited me out for a drink. We met at The Green Door Tavern up the street to have a few beers and watch the press conference that would finalize something I had been wanting for a long time. It was good to have Sean there as he is one of the only other people I know who shares and understands my ridiculous infatuation/borderline obsession with the Cubs. We had discussed this moment numerous times before and it was now finally here. We were both giddy with excitement.
We watched the TV intently, waiting and talking when finally, there it was. The podium, the painted backdrop of Camden Yards and Sammy Sosa, sharing the same smile Sean and I had plastered on our faces. This was it. They showed highlights of Sammy's time with the Cubs, his homeruns, a few diving catches, his trade mark sprint out to right field. I grumbled and asked why they didn't show any footage of him flailing wildly at a face high fast ball to end an inning. Where were the botched routine fly ball shots? Then I realized, I didn't care, I would never have to see those thing again, why let bitterness get in the way of such a magical moment.
Sammy was finally introduced to the crowd. I watched as he took of his jacket and pulled on the bright white jersey with "Orioles" scrawled across the front in orange and black cursive. The familiar "SOSA 21" emblazoned on the back. He smiled again as he put on the hat, kissed his fingers, tapped his heart and it was final. Sosa was no longer a Cub. I went to breathe a sigh of relief, but it didn't come.
I was suddenly awash in a wave of unexpected emotions, to call it bitter sweet would be a trite oversimplification and surprisingly, I took very little enjoyment in it at all. What was happening? I felt a twinge of loss, a strange, almost painful nostalgia. "No," I said. "This is what I wanted. This is what I've been waiting for. Why does it feel like this. I'm supposed to be happy." I searched for that unbridled joy I had felt upon first learning about the trade 4 days earlier but it wasn't there, I was confused. I looked to Sean and it was obvious he was struggling with the same things. "I feel like I just dumped my girlfriend and thought it was ok until I saw her at the bar with another man, smiling." he said "I want him back."
We both sat in silence wrestling with a bevy of unforeseen feelings. We watched and listened as Sammy thanked the city of Chicago and all of the fans. He said he wanted to finish his career here and he wishes it could have been different. I'm sure he was told to say those thing but it felt genuine. I could see that he loved it here and despite all the shit, he was going to miss us, too.
Then just to cap it off, he equated the situation to a marriage saying, "Sometime ju gotta getta divorce." Ouch. Then a big grin returned to his face, accentuated by the flashing cameras. He paused as if to soak in the feeling of being wanted and appreciated again. He held it for a little longer than I wanted. You could tell he was enjoying it. Finally he said he was looking forward to the future and his new team. I suddenly began to have my doubts about the whole thing.
The gravity of the situation finally hit me, we just paid twelve million dollars to get rid of a Chicago icon, the most prolific offensive force in the history of Cubdom and a first-ballot-hall-of-famer.
I still think it was the right move but I got so caught up in the disappointment and anger, I forgot how much he meant to this city. He had his faults, his skills were declining but now that he's gone, I can't help but think of the first homerun I saw him hit in person, or the ball he threw into the stands during Game 2 of the NLCS. A ball that glanced of my finger tips and fell just short of my out reached hands. I remember him charging out to right field proudly waving that little American flag after 9-11. Even now the sneezing and the corked bat fade away and I'm reminded of a man I cheered for, a man who helped save my favorite sport. A man who was the face of the North Side for a decade and arguably the best Cub to ever play.
Despite all the incendiary, degrading things I said and wrote, it still hurt to watch him leave.
I'm gonna miss you, Sammy. I wish you the best. I'm sorry we couldn't make it work but I'll see you in Cooperstown where I know you'll be wearing Cubby Blue.
I had been saying for some time that The Cubs had to get rid of Sammy. I actually wanted it done 2 years ago so the could have made a move for Vlad Guerrero on the free agent market, but what do I know? I'm just a fan. Vlad won the MVP, Sammy missed 40 games and hit .252 with 130 strikeouts. Bitterness and righteous indignation aside, his departure was long overdue.
I can't pin point exactly when I started my descent toward despising Sammy but I turned on him like a pre-menstrual chick on a gossiping co worker. It wasn't so much a single incident but rather an amalgamation of events. Either way, before I knew it, he had become the focus for a disproportionate amount of my rage.
I watched or listened to at least parts of all 162 Cubs games last year, scheduled my lunches around the 1:20 home games and I went to about 15 at Wrigley. I read articles and box scores, listened to interviews and press conferences. I got e-mails from Cubs.com after every game. I even compiled my own list of stats throughout the season in a 7 page Excel file. Yes, I'm a nerd. Shut up, that's not the point. I knew this team better than I know some of my friends, Sammy needed to go and I felt qualified to make that decision. I was also not shy about voicing said
opinion.
He had been slipping for a while but everything was magnified and seem infinitely more egregious last season. Following an injury, he refused a rehab assignment. Despite his anemic offense, he wouldn't move down in the batting order. He didn't even dress out for the final game and left before the first inning was over. During the off-season, in an interview with his home town Dominican paper, he blasted Dusty Baker, the Cubs and the treatment he received, claming it was unfair.
The Baker aspect was another interesting wrinkle in the rapidly unfolding Sammy Saga. Dusty, during his managerial campaign in San Francisco, had by all accounts, a good relationship with arguably the most difficult ego in the game: Barry Bonds. Baker and Balco (oops, Barry) got along fine, yet he and Sammy had a tumultuous power struggle that was well publicized and created a rift within the fans and players. It wasn't working. It was time to move on. Everyone knew it.
Sammy wanted out, too. He restructured his contract so that it would be easier for him to be unloaded. It was just a matter of time. So, I waited and waited. Days passed, abound with rumors of his trade, The Mets, The Rangers, The Nationals, The Braves. The papers and talk radio shows were almost entirety devoted to his possible move. But nothing was happening. I was becoming increasingly anxious, all the marquee free agents were signing elsewhere and we were still stuck with Sosa. I was beginning to think the deal would never go through. It looked bleak. I knew that another year with Sosa was another year without a World Series.
Then, suddenly, it happened. Friday night, Brehon Pub, my phone rang. A deliriously overjoyed friend began shouting "He's gone! Sosa's gone! He got traded to Baltimore! He's finally out!" I took a deep breath and calmly informed him that if he were fucking with me, I would feed him his vital organs in front of his family. He assured me that it was true. To verify, I turned on ESPN and there it was. He was gone. I ordered a round of like 12 celebratory shots for the people around me, some weren't even Cubs fans, several couldn't care less, still others didn't know me and asked that I stop hugging them and yelling in their ear.
I called everyone I knew who was even remotely interested in The Cubs to tell them. It was met with mixed reactions as it was pretty late and I was hammered and yelling almost unintelligibly, but I didn't care. I was too excited to concern myself with trivial things like etiquette or the possibility of waking people up. Sammy was gone, everyone needed to know.
At that point I wasn't even sure about the conditions of the trade, not that it really mattered, the albatross was gone. I would have been happy with a beer vendor and a mascot. I spent the next few days researching the players we got, it looked good. 2 solid prospects and a utility guy who could bat lead off play in the outfield and in the infield as needed. Nice. Hendry did it again.
Wednesday afternoon I was putting the finishing touches on my article when my friend Sean invited me out for a drink. We met at The Green Door Tavern up the street to have a few beers and watch the press conference that would finalize something I had been wanting for a long time. It was good to have Sean there as he is one of the only other people I know who shares and understands my ridiculous infatuation/borderline obsession with the Cubs. We had discussed this moment numerous times before and it was now finally here. We were both giddy with excitement.
We watched the TV intently, waiting and talking when finally, there it was. The podium, the painted backdrop of Camden Yards and Sammy Sosa, sharing the same smile Sean and I had plastered on our faces. This was it. They showed highlights of Sammy's time with the Cubs, his homeruns, a few diving catches, his trade mark sprint out to right field. I grumbled and asked why they didn't show any footage of him flailing wildly at a face high fast ball to end an inning. Where were the botched routine fly ball shots? Then I realized, I didn't care, I would never have to see those thing again, why let bitterness get in the way of such a magical moment.
Sammy was finally introduced to the crowd. I watched as he took of his jacket and pulled on the bright white jersey with "Orioles" scrawled across the front in orange and black cursive. The familiar "SOSA 21" emblazoned on the back. He smiled again as he put on the hat, kissed his fingers, tapped his heart and it was final. Sosa was no longer a Cub. I went to breathe a sigh of relief, but it didn't come.
I was suddenly awash in a wave of unexpected emotions, to call it bitter sweet would be a trite oversimplification and surprisingly, I took very little enjoyment in it at all. What was happening? I felt a twinge of loss, a strange, almost painful nostalgia. "No," I said. "This is what I wanted. This is what I've been waiting for. Why does it feel like this. I'm supposed to be happy." I searched for that unbridled joy I had felt upon first learning about the trade 4 days earlier but it wasn't there, I was confused. I looked to Sean and it was obvious he was struggling with the same things. "I feel like I just dumped my girlfriend and thought it was ok until I saw her at the bar with another man, smiling." he said "I want him back."
We both sat in silence wrestling with a bevy of unforeseen feelings. We watched and listened as Sammy thanked the city of Chicago and all of the fans. He said he wanted to finish his career here and he wishes it could have been different. I'm sure he was told to say those thing but it felt genuine. I could see that he loved it here and despite all the shit, he was going to miss us, too.
Then just to cap it off, he equated the situation to a marriage saying, "Sometime ju gotta getta divorce." Ouch. Then a big grin returned to his face, accentuated by the flashing cameras. He paused as if to soak in the feeling of being wanted and appreciated again. He held it for a little longer than I wanted. You could tell he was enjoying it. Finally he said he was looking forward to the future and his new team. I suddenly began to have my doubts about the whole thing.
The gravity of the situation finally hit me, we just paid twelve million dollars to get rid of a Chicago icon, the most prolific offensive force in the history of Cubdom and a first-ballot-hall-of-famer.
I still think it was the right move but I got so caught up in the disappointment and anger, I forgot how much he meant to this city. He had his faults, his skills were declining but now that he's gone, I can't help but think of the first homerun I saw him hit in person, or the ball he threw into the stands during Game 2 of the NLCS. A ball that glanced of my finger tips and fell just short of my out reached hands. I remember him charging out to right field proudly waving that little American flag after 9-11. Even now the sneezing and the corked bat fade away and I'm reminded of a man I cheered for, a man who helped save my favorite sport. A man who was the face of the North Side for a decade and arguably the best Cub to ever play.
Despite all the incendiary, degrading things I said and wrote, it still hurt to watch him leave.
I'm gonna miss you, Sammy. I wish you the best. I'm sorry we couldn't make it work but I'll see you in Cooperstown where I know you'll be wearing Cubby Blue.
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