Why the Cleats, Lou?

Heads up—shortest post ever. For me, that is. I promise! It is earth-shatteringly short.

Just an observation, really.

Why is it that in Major League Baseball, the managers wear the same uniforms as the players? Think hard. It is the only professional sport where that exists. I know that in the old days, there was often a player/manager, so he needed to be dressed for play, but that is not the case now.

Can you picture the NBA coaches not wearing their traditional suits or tie and sport coat, and instead wearing silky uniforms and breakaway cover-up pants? Hilarious.

Could you imagine the NFL coaches sporting tight pants, pads, cleats, a jersey and a helmet? Would give play-calling a whole new meaning. And, it would make wearing that Motorola headset a little difficult.

It seems clear to me that the Cubs manager Lou Piniella could avoid the baseball pants, knee-high socks and cleats. Don't think he's going to make it onto the playing field anytime soon. It breaks me into giggles picturing him rounding the bases.

Though, on second thought, the Cubs could use the help?

Holy Cow!

Holy cow, what a week.

Crazy politics, a wild ride on the markets, an absolutely terrible weekend for the Bulldog Nation (and Gator/Badger/Trojan Nations, respectively) resulting in a shakeup in the Top 25 polls, and the White Sox may join the Cubs in the playoffs if tonight's tie-breaker game goes well.

And it's only Tuesday.

Since sports seem to dominate the news (immediately following the news that matters, you know, like to our wallets, our health and our nation's reputation), I decided that we must be doing okay.

If we still can find the extra cash, reserves of passion and boosts of energy it requires to be a sports fan, even in these trying times, then I believe (naively, stubbornly) that we are still alright as a nation.

If we can still dress up like this:








and hang on to some shred of hope that this year will be different, then we must still have heart. And, heart is what it takes to be a sports fan these days.

Especially when your team goes into the season ranked #1 and falls in week 5 to a conference opponent in a decidedly ugly game.

Especially when the "voice of football" in your head retires and it just doesn't seem quite right without him up in the box.

Especially when your city has two teams that may make it to the playoffs, and you're curious what will happen to the city when the north/south side rivalry really heats up in a head-to-head battle across 3 miles of urban terrain.

Especially when you watch your team, with its sorry quarterback and supposedly dominant defense, give up two games in a row in the fourth quarter (or overtime) and you have to hang your head in shame, again.

Especially when your team hasn't won the world series in 100 years and it would just be so nice not to be famous for blowing it.

It is tough to be a sports fan these days.

Call us stubborn. Call us ignorant. Call us in denial. Call us losers. Call us ridiculous. Call us overrated. Call us against the odds. Call us down-and-out.

I'm still game. We believe.

Go Dawgs! Go Cubs! Go Bears! Okay, fine. Go Sox!

Flip Flops and Goose Down?

In light of the changing seasons, I figured I'd take this opportunity to note a few things that have been on my mind.

It's that time of year when...

...people don't know how to dress, so you see some of everything. I passed a woman today in a sundress who was immediately followed by a man in a fleece coat and scarf.

...the allergies are fired up, and you hear people sniffling and sneezing all the way down the hall. Tis a good time to bring antibacterial gel on the CTA bus.

...it isn't warm, and it isn't cold, and it feels just right. Do I sound like Goldilocks? Well, I am.

...clients begin to panic because they haven't met their goals for the year, or they've spent all the money, or the didn't get the budget that they thought they would, and it is not that long until 2009, despite how far away that sounds.

...college football fans flock to the varied sports bars, dive bars and hole-in-the-wall bars to cheer on their favorite team. Alma mater be damned, sometimes you just want to cheer for the underdog. And, sometimes you are pitted against your friends. All in the name of a BCS championship.

...the retail market begins to glitter with the anticipation of all the holiday decor they have been waiting months to use. Well, at least since the last flags and other vestiges of July 4th came down. It is only a matter of time before there are pumpkins and witches and cauldrons everywhere, immediately followed by turkeys, only to be totally outdone by Santa and Christmas trees.

...it is much chillier in the morning and the evenings than it is in the middle of the day, making people dress in layers, strip off the top ones mid-day, only to redress before going home.

...the election coverage fills the broadcasts and the debates cause rifts between friends and family members across the good ole U.S. of A. I suppose we should be thankful that people are paying attention this year.

...the office buildings haven't yet adjusted to the changing temperatures, and are still pumping in the AC as if it were August 2nd. Which, incidentally, is almost always the hottest weekend of the year in Chicago, if my Lollapalooza experiences tell me anything.

...teachers finally have to go back to work, and they no longer bug you to go out for "just one drink" during the week because they've been so bored having to do nothing but read, shop and tan all day while you were at work.

...summer hours at the agency have come to an end and nothing feels longer than your first full 5-day work week after the Labor Day weeks go by. Counting down the hours until Friday.

...families begin to think about holiday travel, and my bank account goes into a near hyperventilative state in anticipation of all the plane tickets to buy.

...it would be wise to start making secret Christmas shopping lists, but that just seems way too organized. Unless the lists are gifts that I'd like to receive, since it is never to early to do that.

...you start thinking about your boyfriend's milestone birthday that is coming up and wondering how on earth you are going to surprise and/or excite the guy who isn't really looking forward to "getting old."

...you realize, quickly thereafter, that you also have a Q4 birthday and it is a tiny teeny smidge bit painful to admit what number you'll be checking on those pesky little doctor's office sign-in forms. This "early-thirties box" isn't all it is cracked up to be.

...the flowerpots and decorative landscaping on Michigan Avenue begin to transition from summery floral to late-year green, which will soon migrate into basic Christmas trees/winter pines/Northwoods greenery planters.

...the Cubs begin to lose and the entire North Side is still hopeful, silently praying, that the curse is broken and that this will still be our year. October just has to be ours!

...the Bears begin to play, and somehow manage to offer up a win against a top-tier team in the first week. Chicagoans know better than to count out a return to hibernation for the team.

...everything and everyone and every day is practically frozen in anticipation, fear and dread for what Old Man Winter will bring us this year. Chicagoans like to have the weather to complain about, granted, but seriously? We don't really need five straight months of snow and frigid wind to fill that blank void in our conversations. We'll figure out something else to discuss with strangers on the bus.

...Starbucks brings back the Pumpkin Spice Latte and their autumn color palette on the point-of-service materials, and somehow, that makes everything else seem okay.

It is really that time of year.

You Drive the Wagon, I'll Ride Shotgun

With the non-stop coverage of the Olympics on television, and the water cooler talk everywhere focused on Michael Phelps Mania, it is hard not to at least be sensitive to, or tuned into, the madness and excitement that is the Olympics in Beijing.

Two weeks ago 90% of the American population probably couldn't name two swimmers, and now the whole country is signing up for swim team and hankering to own a Speedo. My red, bleary eyes are a dead giveaway that I've been staying up way too late to catch the action.

A moment of reflection is due, however, for all of the other bandwagons I've willingly climbed up on, and the few I've deftly managed to avoid.

Bandwagons I've Joined:

College Football - This is not one I'm ashamed of. Despite not having grown up a Dawgs fan (my parents weren't southern, and I only got turned onto it in high school), when you take one look at an SEC tailgate, with the Dawgs gear out in full glory, you fall instantly in love. I'm not apologizing for this one, and keep my Official Bandwagon Member Certification in my top drawer. Go Dawgs!

iPods - Embarrassingly, I still tote around the first generation iPod. It's vintage! And, it is by today's standards, enormous and weighs about 10 lbs. The battery won't hold a charge but it plays great if it is plugged into a dock or my car's adapter. And, what kind of commuter would I be without those clever little white earbud headphones?

The Cubs - I live 4 blocks from Wrigley Field and therefore it would be illegal not to like them, and all kidding aside, those Kosher hot dogs are just too damn delicious.

The Bears - Who doesn't like sitting outside in the wet snowy icy rain when it is 14 degrees outside? And talking smack about our own (lame) quarterback?

The Bulls - I tried. the games are pretty boring these days, and the United Center is just too hard to get home from. Raise your hand if you couldn't give a damn about a league of thugs who make too much money and act like idiots off the court? However, buy me a few $8 beers and spring for the ticket, and I'm in.

Gyms - Egad. I tried it for a few years here and realized that just paying the $60 monthly fee doesn't make you lose weight. If only. I'm pretty sure that my checkbook was the only thing getting any skinner during those long and torturous years of bandwagon-ness.

Sororities - I did it. So sue me. I also wore pearls and jean jackets, date party t-shirts and frat party sweatshirts. Forgive me for my sins, but it sure was one helluva way to meet people at a huge school. Sorority Rush was one giant sanctioned bandwagon, wasn't it?

Halloween - Despite looking hideous most years, I have dutifully concocted a silly costume and tromped all over town like an oversized (and overserved) child. It was much more fun than that a the time, but maybe that was the vodka talking?

Vintage Posters - You know the ones. Yes you do. Turn around in your living room and you'll likely see it, touting a wine or a European destination. They quickly became the rage in about 2000, and I have a huge one in my dining room. I love it, but it isn't that clever when everyone else has one, too.

Hair - Where do I begin? I permed it in elementary school (Lord help me). I teased and sprayed my bangs in middle school. I hot-rolled my hair every morning before high school, and wore it long because that's what the popular girls did. I got to college and in a pseudo-rebellious move, I cut it all off (oooh wasn't I brave?). Then, when I accidentally ended up with a mullet, I started growing it back out. then I moved to Chicago and realized I could use a shorter 'do to seem older in business meetings. Cut it to my chin. Then realized (and was told a former not-so-tactful colleague as much) that I looked better with it long. It's been long since. Should the trend swing back short, I sure hope I miss out. Because I'm clearly not ready (or in the station of life) for the Mom Haircut just yet.

Leather Pants - I think it is still too soon to discuss this one. I'm pretty emotionally scarred by the memories (and the photographic evidence), but at least I never had a Ross Gellar experience while wearing (or removing) them.

Politics - Not as much of a bandwagon-fan there, but inspired by what this election offers. Change is good, and needed, so I'm game. If the wagon makes young people vote, I'll drive.

Blackberry - I confess. Mine is not a Blackberry, but a Blackjack. Yet I'm addicted just the same.

Thongs - Yes. Underwear. I said it. And, I'm admitting it. I turned from a thong-hater, to a swears-by-it thong wearer. Too much information? I know. But, if you give the Hanky Panky brand a try, and can get a second mortgage to cover it, buy some. You'll thank me.

Oversized Shades - I feel a bit like Paris or Nicole, but in my huge sunglasses, I look cool.

Going Green - I recycle. Isn't that enough? No. I know. But I'm working on it. I have just been asked to participate in an interactive marketing program for the household brand method, so I'm gonna up my participation in the green movement. How globally conscious of me.

Facebook - Not afraid to announce that I love it. I'm not a creepy stalker, or a pedophile, or a mom with four gorgeous kids on display. Just your average user who likes to see how people are, who got married to whom, and where everyone lives. Ok, and stalk the occasional ex. Isn't that part of it?

Mac Revolution - Maybe "revolution" gives it too much credit, but I do love my Mac. And, I swear I'll never own a PC again. And the store? So fun and gadgety.

Harry Potter - While I wasn't the fan that was in the Border's Bookstore at midnight, I did read the first three or four, and actually was quite surprised at how much fun they were to read. Until I got publicly ridiculed by a mother to her six-year old on the bus one day for "reading a kid's book." I lost interest shortly thereafter. Coincidence?

Jewelry - Slap bracelets, jelly bracelets, chandelier earrings, chunky plastic necklaces, fake diamond studs, Swatch watches, braided ribbon barrettes, grosgrain ribbons in our hair, scarves in the summer, stone jewelry, turquoise jewelry, etc. I could keep going. I know that most of these are trends in fashion (brief, painful and fleeting) but they seem like a bandwagon at the time. I couldn't swing a cat outside on Michigan Avenue right now without knocking over at least a dozen sporting the latest jewelry or fashion bandwagons.

Weddings & Babies - I fully admit this isn't a bandwagon, but given the number of bridal showers, bachelorette parties, weddings, engagement parties and baby showers I've been to, and the sheer volume of announcements and invitations littering my stainless steel fridge, I'd have to say that something's in the water. I'm going thirsty for now.

Stainless Steel Appliances - Didn't occur to me until I wrote the above, but its true. I'm a convert and cringe a little when I think of the pre-renovation brown fridge and pink stove. Shudder.

Chicago - You'd think I was the president of the tourism office here, I love this place so much. I think that is a healthy addiction, no? I am pretty sure the city loves me back. Besides those few parking tickets...

Blogging - This one is clear. But you're here, aren't you? And still having fun? I'm good enough, smart enough and funny enough? And, gosh darnit, people like me? (Maybe add a comment here just to confirm my suspicions that someone other than my mom, sister and Jenny are reading me daily).


Bandwagons I've Avoided:

Footwear - Those Greek lace-up sandals look painful, cowboy boots and skirts just look ridiculous. Oh, and if you live in L.A.? UGGs aren't for you. Personally, I always thought they were hideous (and sortof still do), but then I tried on my friend Brenna's and dear God in heaven I have to own some. At least the weather here warrants the ugliness.

Jeans - Let's call a spade a spade. Those high-waisted things are atrocious - don't those girls own a mirror? I don't need anything accentuating my girl-pooch, or drawing attention to my crotch.

Alternative Medicine - Short of a pleasant massage, I've never been treated in anything resembling Eastern Medicine. I've not tried cupping (too vain), herbal supplements (too cheap), chiropractic care (too skeptical), acupuncture (too afraid) or those God-awful fish that eat the dead human flesh on your feet (too disgusted).

Tattoos - We've already covered how this is not my thing. I'm just ever so glad that I was strong enough not to cave in high school.

Belly button piercings - Short of almost getting dragged into it in Amsterdam (I blame Mandi and the 12 beers), I didn't succumb to the pressure. My stomach is so glad - I'd probably have to dig it out and have it surgically removed from the gentle rolls I'm gathering down there now, and that's not sexy one bit.

Hybrids - Mostly because I'm fond of my Jeep Liberty, and far too lazy to sell the thing. It's possible that I'll convert after this one is paid off, or when gas prices go to $10 a gallon. At that point I'll have no choice. (I do have a bike in case you're wondering, but I'm far too wimpy to bike to work).

What other bandwagons have you jumped aboard, or deftly avoided? That's all I can think of.

Maybe I'm a joiner, not a rebel?

I know, I know. Hide your surprise.

The Fever

I officially have spring fever.

Growing up in Atlanta, April was the month of fabulous 75+ degree days and eternal sunshine. I'm sure it rained quite a bit, but those soggy days don't stick in my memory quite like the warm days where the sun is blinding, the birds are chirping, and the car windows are left down all day.

April in Atlanta is that perfect time, where it isn't yet July and your back isn't yet sticking to the car seats. You can go all day with the house windows open, no heat and no AC, and it just feels nice. The grill gets a good workout, and the back deck is the new living room.

Baseball games are the background music to a Saturday afternoon, and long naps are required, commenced long before the 7th inning stretch. The mosquitos haven't yet found their way to your backyard, and the trees are starting to look green again. Sunday mornings are complete with the sound of lawn mowers firing up and doing their thing all across the neighborhood, and kids play football in the street stopping only to yell "CAR!" as the neighbors come home from Pike's Nursery to plant the pansies in the empty pots on the front porch.

With the added hours of daylight, the dinnertimes start later, and the family is all smiles. Placemats are dragged out to the back deck, where the wrought iron table is wiped clean of pollen for the feast off the grill. Screen doors are oiled and prepped for a long summer of use, and flip flops and sandals replace the boots of the earlier months.

The flowers are all in full bloom, and the softball leagues are out practicing. People know that this is the best time of year, save for September when the football season begins, and take advantage of it. April in Atlanta is spectacular, and I do think it is a gorgeous month. One of the best.

On the flip side, April in Chicago is a temperamental woman.

Some days she's lovely—encouraging all residents to abandon their down coats and woolen mittens for a light spring jacket and a pair of Ray Bans—and the city sidewalksare full of families pushing strollers, couples holding hands, and kids playing games. Cornhole games are dragged to the front yard, and the Cubs jerseys are worn with pride. Cold beer is poured into red Solo cups as the gang predicts a winning Cubs season, dripping with optimism and hope. The tulips planted by the tens of thousands that line Michigan Avenue finally come into bloom, and you are shocked by the range of colors that exist there. Tourists fill the streets, but the wind is light, so you don't mind.

The anticipation of summer in Chicago is reason enough to get out of bed in April. You can almost taste the warm months, and the sounds of the street festivals begin to flood your mind. You know that summer is close, and the winter clothes are down to the last few wearings before shoving them to the back of the closet for a few glorious months. The eve of summer is almost as good as the three months that this season gets here in the Midwest. People know that time in the sun is a cherished, special thing, and no one here wants to miss a moment of it. Pushing the season, the beaches and lake paths are full of people grasping onto the few fantastic and unseasonably warm days here, and you can almost convince yourself that there will not be any more questionable days.

Then April turns nasty, revolts against the beauty of spring, and has a cold flash for a few days, making you wish you hadn't jumped the season and pulled off the boots. The down coat seems more appropriate on these days, but you just can't bring yourself to wear it, so you just go cold. Clothing is confusing on these crabby April days, and summer feels a long time away. Fans at Wrigley look more like fans at a Bears game, bundled and shivering against the harsh wind off Lake Michigan. Optimism wanes but hope remains. The plants you eagerly bought and potted into your balcony flower boxes wilt and look sad, while the frost glistens on the deck rails. The windows haven't yet been cleaned and the remains of winter are everywhere. The park is sad and lonely, and the beaches call out for visitors who are brave enough to go there.

So we wait.

I believe that April in Chicago is a true test of the human spirit. Teases you just enough to wet your appetite, then takes it all back and reminds you that it won't be consistently beautiful weather until the middle of June. Shows you just what you can expect, and then makes you hold out for the reality of it all.

But, it sure is worth it when it arrives. I remain optimistic, full of hope, and a tad bit chilly without my down coat.

Only in Georgia

My sister gets the credit for this one. The above photo is the Check In/Out list at Winder Barrow High School in northeast Georgia and she has friends who work there. The teachers must sign in and out to leave the campus, and only in Georgia would this appear on the list.

The second to last entry features a lady who signed out not to go to the doctor or on an errand, but because her “Goat Is Out.”

The only goat on the loose here in Chicago is the one who apparently is still stalking the Cubs with a curse. This baseball season is 100 years since the Cubs last won the World Series.

I think this is our year. The Goat is Out.

Fallen Angel

Tonight as I drove home in the cold sleet and fog from having a lovely, cozy dinner with Jill and Josh, I pulled up to the stoplight at Addison and Clark Street. This, for you Chicago residents, is the corner that boasts the legendary Wrigley Field.

The sleet was thick on the windshield, so I engaged the wipers, and saw a white figure in the dark. At first, I thought I was seeing a ghost. I pulled up a little bit, into the street lamps of Clark Street, and realized it wasn't a ghost, it was a Chicago icon, teetering about in the mist. Bouncing off of the cement of the Field's back walls.

It was Ronnie Woo Woo.

He was, and I kid you not, wearing his full Cubs uniform (the home jersey) and was wearing a red, floppy felt Santa hat, and a frayed, wooly blue Chicago Bears scarf. But, with the white jersey and the striped tight pants, there was no mistaking him.

It was Ronnie Woo Woo.

(For you non-Chicago residents or non-Cubs fans, Ronnie Woo Woo is a Chicago sports legend, one that ranks, in fame at least, up there with Ryne Sandberg and Harry Caray. He's the fan, who was once a homeless alcoholic, who convinced his way into so many Cubs home games that he became a part of the Field. Sortof like the ivy. Or the beer stench. He was always there. He roamed the outfield bleachers, shouting, "Cubs Woo. Cubs Woo. Cubs Woo." in the same monotone, high-pitched voice of a strange fan. He is dedicated. And, a bit strange.)

About 2 years ago, I had been invited to the game by my friend Tim, and we went for post-game drinks at the local Cubs bar across the street after the final inning (and the invevitable Cubs loss.) There, we had the rare and celebrated opportunity to meet Ronnie Woo Woo in person.

Kristen and I, both the ever-curious writers who had imbibed a few that day, asked him..."Why the Woo, Ronnie?" He explained, through his newly purchased dentures (Care of Cubs Care, the philanthropic arm of the Clubhouse), that he hadn't missed a home game since the early 60's. He means it. He began his famous chant, "Cubs Woo. Cubs Woo. Cubs Woo." many years ago, and keeps it up today.

I don't know how he does it, or why, more to the point, but he is now famous for this role. And his claim to fame still stands. I think a movie was even made about him.

So, tonight, you can imagine the disappointment. I was shocked, saddened, and a little grieved to see him wandering alone on the sidewalk, in the shadow of his beloved home field, in the cold mist on a Sunday night in the dark. He had claimed to have been a recovering alcoholic (that night at the bar he only chose to sip lemonade) and I believed him. Every slippery word.

But, tonight, a cold night in December, mind you, the sullen truth is, who knows. I was sad. I was a bit surprised. I wanted to pick him up, warm him up, sober him up, and take him home for some warm cider and shelled peanuts. But, it was not to be.

Truthfully, it was like the day I found out Santa wasn't real.

Frankly, I still choose to believe. In Santa, and Ronnie Woo Woo.