Doff a cap to the 'sweepers! 16 games out, but I'm feeling like it's Armistice Day.

Maybe it was because I had a fade on, or maybe it was because the heat index was over 100 degrees, but when Greg left I felt Field of Dreams. We all did.

I think the heat's also affecting Chris Speier. He's kinda still lamping on DMX in Belly mode, ie: "Fuck a cop car, I'm driving around, speeding, smoking weed I don't give a fuck." He also needs to get a wave-home skills re-up.

Birdman Jr.

Today I was outside the solid gold money fortress that is the Chicago Tribune building, surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of visiting Cards fans. Cameras drawn, 'cause clearly Michigan and Wacker is a picturesque, cute little area. It's got nothing on Brandston, and it's Charlie Daniels Band residency.

Holding onto a one-run lead in the bottom of the seventh, I can't help but point out that Todd Walker is looking rather Road House. He looks like he'd punch his own dad if he had to. He'd be on my Cubs barfight dream team, donnybrooking with Michael Barrett and the ghost of Kyle Farnsworth past.

Word to Braden Looper: Yeah, go ahead and bean Aramis. You'll end up as dead as LaRussa's dog.

Two out of three ain't bad. In April maybe. Digression.

Prior was throwing no-hitter ball though five, before he developed a bizarre case of claw-hand, which will probably land him on the three year DL. At this point Jim Hendry could throw together a package deal, maybe Wood and Prior to DC for a Soriano rookie card and some fishing poles.



Multiply this by 9 and you have an idea of who we're facing tonight. STL strikes fear into my heart, like angels of death riding atop pale Clydesdales.

Previous half-empty Old Style posts aside, I've got a right special feeling about tonite's little soiree in the Empire state, mostly because Zambrano's been in "Your family's grieving, fuck 'em" mode.


Z tracking Joey Cora's scent.

I myself will be in the Friendly Confines this week to see the Hindenberg go down, but in baseball terms (read: Redbirds series). Hey, remember that thing we used to do all the time? You know, when we didn't lose?



Put two of them together and it's called a streak.

Cubs-8
Mets-7

So maybe I'm not the great, well, guy that predicts shit right all the time. But before we cue up Queens greatest hits (on the real, no puns!), lets all remember who we're dealing with.

Cedeno. Healthy 0-5 with three K's. Loving the big show, all smiley and running out ground-outs. Cute, really. Dusty's maddening loyalty to shitty players is making me feel a bit Estes.




Prally reading from his novella, "How to lose fifteen-plus games and still have a starting job (in chicago)"

Anyone else want to mash-out on Traschel, re: his unique delivery times? Throw the ball, son!

Staying positive, Aramis is on a bender, which is pleasant.



Don't waste my motherfucking time!

As the trade deadline approaches, I have no doubt in my mind that nothing will be accomplished. Fast track to nowhere fast. I think Carlos Marmol is being fitted with a mechanical hand, though. Maybe he can roll down to Mesa and play Halo 2 with Ryan Norwood.



Heavy rumors about Soriano landing in Chicago! Oh, right, my bad. The other side of town. I can see him fitting in with the other half-men and Kirk Gibsons. Get to bunt camp.

Who could we dump off for Glenallen Hill?

Nineteen games out. Can somebody get Jim Hendry to netflix Field of Dreams for the plane ride up to New York? How about Rookie of the Year? Neifi and Cedeno are feeling The Notebook.

In essence we're taking a MASH unit up to Shea to face a squad that's been feeling like this all season:



That's David Wright with the big chain. No love for Billy Wagner, 'cause duke won't respect the come-ups! Dynamite with a laser-sight!

Mets sweep.

Leave it to us, man. We will go to Washington and get swept, like, every single time. You don't have to be Nostradamus to predict that:

1. The Cubs won't hit shit out of cavernous RFK. Hell, we couldn't hit dingers out of a little-league park if we were swinging off of tees.
2. Sean Marshall will continue to be the Job of MLB pitching, constantly maligned by some invisible baseball deity (read: Dusty Baker). Someone put this kid out to pasture, or trade him to the Dominican league for Randall Simon and a quart of rum.
3. Contract year or no (isn't it every year?), we will make this man look like the second coming of Ted Williams:



















But I guess this is what we've come to expect from a team that thinks the way to plug the hole in the proverbial dam is to sign Phil Nevin. Also, Baker is swallowing crazy pills en masse--where's Walker and Murton? Perez still rocking second? Madness.

Anyone got a line on how to find this guy?