View From The Bleachers

Talking Cubs Baseball Since 2003



September 2004



Fan Mail

Written by , Posted in General

Not really sure what to make of this one. I recieved it late Thursday or Friday night, I can’t remember which. Anyways, take a look and tell me what you think.

A Wild Card Manifesto

I see it clean and simple. The cubs have global warming
on our side, we’re getting hot at the right time and we can
thank mother nature.

All the player-hater reporters are causing the ice in
greenland to melt. Their hot air disrupted the penguin
migration. The resulting Zambrano-Edmonds shakespearean
tempest has screwed up the trade winds and hope blows

Prior and Wood are the young knights recently healed,
Sammy is flourishing in 6th, Rush, Grudz, Nefi,
Hollandswroth, and Walker are all doing their part,
Farnsworth and the deer, Latroy coming into his own, Maddux
the old mage, the beauty of Patterson and the sacrifice,
Aramis and his musketeers… the ingredients are there.

We also have the gods, we have Neoga, the iriquois wind
goddess. The timing is immaculate.

Like the winter of 78-79 that dropped 89.7 inches of snow
and the series of hurricanes of that preceded. The summer
of 78 produced hurricanes Amelia * Bess * Cora * Ella *
Flossie* Greta * Hope * Irma * Juliet * Kendra.
Hurricanes are like opponents. Opponents are like Walter
Payton’s garbage hills. All hills can be climbed if the
mind is focused.

The Gints have lasagna lovin large hills. Those lasorda
lovin kirk gibson waving blue and white and the feisty
Padres. Luckily the midwest has small hills. the
pirates, the reds and the mets. Yes the hills are alive
with the sound of Harey Carey…

Ahhh but what is this song? This song is the bleacher bums
singing true, the sound of a goat squealing, the crescendo
of Evers to Tinkers to Chance. Its the high hat of a guy
named Three Finger Mordecai Brown,

The song has been played every spring and a few lucky
Septembers. It duets like Bowery and Greenburg. The song
has been played in the the billy goat tavern and at
weddings founded at the Cubby Bear. It’s the song of the
Big Red’s hook, of Ron Cey’s waddle, of Dawson’s arm
ripping a runner out at home. Its the theme tune to Bill
Murray breaking out of jail. The eerie polka of Ryno’s
perseverance and of Santo’s courage. Its a waltz that
weeps in San Diego.

But this year, the sounds of an Iriquois flute play on the
shores of lake Michigan. This year hurricanes and the fans
are a giant oboe, lifting the cubs’ big bats, bats
cushioned by an Iriqious wind goddess. This is no carefree
bud man. This is what should be.

This is Neoga whistiling a song of destiny.

you can feel it,

a cubs fan