There are three of us Laugisch brothers. I've introduced you to the "Singing Mule" Fred and you all are quite aware that the failings in my life stem from me being a Wolfpacker, but there is one other among us that I have yet to expose to this audience. Henry. I prefer, Hank, but most people in his life use his proper name. He being a Laugisch, I doubt he worries too much how anyone will address him; Hank is opinionated as any of us, and is starting to master the art of the political argument much like our dear mother...but not quite. Believe me, when you go to talk politics with Faith Helen Page Laugisch you had better come prepared to debate...she can definitely bring the "heat."
Hank is a year older than me and we always had to share a room while growing up. Let's see, there is my sister Laurie who was always going to have her own room and Fred was the oldest, so that left Hank and me to decide how we were going to stack our bunks in the broom closet. Believe it or not, we graduated High School together, it seems he couldn't handle the rigors of first grade on his own, so Mom and Dad decided to pull him out and wait for his younger and more mature brother to hold his hand for 12 friggin years. Only later did I find out that he really didn't need anyone to hold his hand...he is a great manipulator and could get a Baptist minister to drink moonshine in five minutes.
For the most part in our lives we have gotten along great, but it also means we are very competitive. He pulls for Satan (heels), I bleed Wolfpack Red. He loves some Washington Redskins and I pulled for the Cowboys. I have since changed allegiance to the Panthers. I swore that once a pro team was established in NC I would root for them and I detest everything that the current Cowboy owner, Jerry Jones, represents. Hank's also a die hard Cincinnati Reds fan and I root for my beloved Atlanta Braves. He can't stand the fact that he taught me how to play chess and hasn't beaten me in twenty years, and that I hold a lifetime "one on one" basketball series edge over him to the tune of 685-4. He will never figure out how to stop my left handed "Tommy Burleson" hook shot.
As we are competitive in most everything, politics is no different. Let me preface this by saying, I don't discuss politics with someone unless I know them. This might be the only blog of mine that you read regarding some of my political leanings. As I have learned, most Americans are not very "thick-skinned" when it comes to talking about religion or politics; therefore the only thing you need to know about them, they are one and the same: American. Basically, I can find common ground with the most ardent "yellow dog" Democrat and staunchest "Bible Thumping" Republican.
Every now and again Hank will get the better of me in a political discussion and have me backed into a corner. Mind you, it doesn't happen very often and I'm able to get out of it, usually, because I have a card up my sleeve that he has no defense against...he has never once voted in a general election. Yeah, that's right, unpatriotic SOB! Rumor has it though, that his daughter, Paige, may have shamed him last November into actually doing the deed, but until I visually lay my eyes upon a voter registration card we'll continue to call him a communist. On these occasions he'll start railing against a certain politician or a law he finds stupid or how things would be different if he were the governor. Invariably, I'll interrupt him and ask, "Did you vote this year?" He'll respond by saying, "No, what's that got to do with it?" I end it by telling him, "If you don't vote, you don't have anything to bitch about!" I usually get up and walk away and as I trail out the door, I tell him, "I'm not arguing politics with a guy too damn lazy to vote!"
Hank got me to thinking, especially the part about how things would be different if he were the the governor. Well, I don't desire to hold such a lofty position in politics, but damn if I wouldn't like to see a few things changed. If there were some device that could do that...make me governor for a day...I would love to tweak a particular pet peeve of mine: Prison.
As I only have one day in office I figured the penal system would be the perfect place to start..and to be quite honest, it would be an easy fix. My main beef with prison is that I personally don't think it is all that intimidating...and am I the only one who has a problem with an individual being sentenced to "Life" and twenty years later the scumbag is out walking the streets? Back to the issue about prisons. Today, prisoners have it made with all the rights of a law abiding citizen...3 hots and a cot, free medical care, Internet, college courses and yes...cable TV. Much to my consternation, I find it abominable that convicted felons live better than most soldiers do in the military.
My philosophy is that prison should be a place to deter crime, not rehabilitate. Therefore, in Mark's world prison should be the place where a criminal should start thinking about changing his day job. Here's how we make it happen:
1. Remove all the recreational items such as TV, books, Internet, movies, games and yes...weight lifting equipment. Sorry. It's suppose to be prison...not day camp and we don't need anymore criminals who can bench press a Volkswagen. This also includes taking out the air conditioning and letting them use fans. Hey, if it was good enough for me in the Army, it's damn good enough for criminals.
2. Work them from sun-up to sundown. Make them break big rocks into little rocks til there are no more. It doesn't have to be creative or productive and they don't even have to leave the facility...they could dig holes and fill them back up and start back over again. There are a million things we could make these morons do and my point is to make it so physically exhausting that all they want to do at night is...sleep.
3. This is the most important step. They do need some comfort music to whistle too while they work. So, I suggest installing speaker systems throughout the prisons and playing only two songs on a repeat loop. Here's the torture in all that. It would be two songs from the eighties that made me want to slash my wrists: Boy George and Culture Club's "Ill Tumble For You," and Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want to Have Fun." There is no way in the world that anyone would want to endure that on a daily basis.
That's it. See how easy that would be? Three lousy paragraphs and I have made the streets of North Carolina safer than probably 150 years of social reform in the penal system. Whew! That was quite tiresome and as I stated it would probably consume my day as governor. That was easy compared to my next challenge and it will require more than a day as our State's top executive: Getting Brother Hank to become a registered voter and a better chess player. Vaya Con dios everybody!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Great Dog Naming Debate
We're very dog friendly here at 41 Planters Glen Drive. Although, we're not, "bring your Great Dane or Irish Wolfhound over and let them take a 'Clydesdale' dump in our yard" friendly, but for the most part canines fair well at Casa Laugisch. We even had the distinct pleasure of sharing our home with a certain brown Cocker Spaniel for ten years. Buster was an awesome dog but I refuse to care for another animal that has to spend the entire day by itself. We don't have children and are both working professionals...least wise, Claudia is a professional teacher...I dabble at being a professional. I cant bear to think of how lonely that can be for a dog to be couped up in a house all day...waiting and waiting. We decided that we would forgo the responsibility of taking on another pet til at least one of us was retired.
It has been decreed that, regardless of what breed we decide to adopt, it will be a combo pair, either a brother-brother, sister-sister or the dealers choice, sister-brother, combo. She is leaning toward the brother-sister combo and I'm in favor of two boys. It got us to thinking about prospective names for these beasts.
Do you know the most popular dog name? According to this organization, Veterinarian Pet Insurance, Max has been the most popular dog name for the past six years. Here's the top ten: Max, Baily, Buddy, Molly, Maggie, Lucy, Daily, Bella, Jake and Rocky. Those names are fine if your generation was watching Howdy Doody, some are ok, but the others have to go. There was one interesting name that didn't make the top ten, but I was more surprised anyone would name their dog this: Gizmo. As this is my blog and I get to make the rules, that right there is a stupid name and the result of poor parenting...you know this is where Mom and Dad just caved into the kids wishes and allowed the protector of the family to walk through life with some moronic title. I'm here to put an end to this, right now.
I will get to what Claudia and I decided upon for the names of our future dogs in a minute, but in the mean time I'm going to give a remedial course in how to name your dog. Male dogs are easy, because, naturally, I'm a guy and I usually leave the "foo-foo" stuff to Claudia anyways. To start, the Dog is a symbol of strength and they react strongly to visible leadership..."Muffy" is not going to be the Alpha male of the pack no matter what breed it is...that's a name for a Gerbil. Hondo is a name I always wanted to give a dog. It is a tribute to one of my favorite authors, Louis La Mour and his book by the same name. Duke and Dutch are solid names as are Patton, Ike and MacArthur which keeps you grounded to that leadership theme. You could also classify male dogs in the blue collar category, especially if they're lacking that distinct leadership trait and go with Hank, Ralph or Stan. These are the dogs that will carry the mail for you, chase the cats and cars and annoyingly bark at anyone who comes in the yard. My sister, Laurie, had a brindle colored French/Belgian Mastiff that was close to 160 lbs...he was a big bastard and had a fitting name...Titan.
As for the girl canines, I tend to feel they deserve a feminine quality to their name, but be careful and remember...Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.... Dixie is a favorite for me living here in the South. I love the previously mentioned Molly and Claudia's sister Brenda and her family had a chocolate lab named Madison who was the most majestic and lady-like dog I have ever known. Some others I'm fond of are Daisy, Biscuit, Lulu, and Ema. One of the more striking names I've heard was Abbey Rose, man...I love that handle.
Back to our little quandary of future names. It goes without saying that the breed has to play an important part in all this...you'll get a chuckle out of this one...we're going to get 2 English Bulldogs. Yeah, I knew you would like it...can you see me and Claudia walking these short, fat behemoths in the park? Anyways, as I said earlier she is leaning toward the Brother-Sister combo and naming them Ike and Tina...please, I hope no one needs me to help them get that one. I like it and it is a helluva a conversation piece. My names, if I get the opportunity to pick 2 brothers would be Thurl and Cozelle. It's a WOLFPACK thing...Thurl Bailey and Cozelle McQueen were stalwarts on the 1983 NCAA championship team and I thought it would be a fitting honor to name my dogs after them. There you have it...how to name your dog...go forth and make this a better world for that lovable four legged friend of yours and give them a name they can be proud of.
It has been decreed that, regardless of what breed we decide to adopt, it will be a combo pair, either a brother-brother, sister-sister or the dealers choice, sister-brother, combo. She is leaning toward the brother-sister combo and I'm in favor of two boys. It got us to thinking about prospective names for these beasts.
Do you know the most popular dog name? According to this organization, Veterinarian Pet Insurance, Max has been the most popular dog name for the past six years. Here's the top ten: Max, Baily, Buddy, Molly, Maggie, Lucy, Daily, Bella, Jake and Rocky. Those names are fine if your generation was watching Howdy Doody, some are ok, but the others have to go. There was one interesting name that didn't make the top ten, but I was more surprised anyone would name their dog this: Gizmo. As this is my blog and I get to make the rules, that right there is a stupid name and the result of poor parenting...you know this is where Mom and Dad just caved into the kids wishes and allowed the protector of the family to walk through life with some moronic title. I'm here to put an end to this, right now.
I will get to what Claudia and I decided upon for the names of our future dogs in a minute, but in the mean time I'm going to give a remedial course in how to name your dog. Male dogs are easy, because, naturally, I'm a guy and I usually leave the "foo-foo" stuff to Claudia anyways. To start, the Dog is a symbol of strength and they react strongly to visible leadership..."Muffy" is not going to be the Alpha male of the pack no matter what breed it is...that's a name for a Gerbil. Hondo is a name I always wanted to give a dog. It is a tribute to one of my favorite authors, Louis La Mour and his book by the same name. Duke and Dutch are solid names as are Patton, Ike and MacArthur which keeps you grounded to that leadership theme. You could also classify male dogs in the blue collar category, especially if they're lacking that distinct leadership trait and go with Hank, Ralph or Stan. These are the dogs that will carry the mail for you, chase the cats and cars and annoyingly bark at anyone who comes in the yard. My sister, Laurie, had a brindle colored French/Belgian Mastiff that was close to 160 lbs...he was a big bastard and had a fitting name...Titan.
As for the girl canines, I tend to feel they deserve a feminine quality to their name, but be careful and remember...Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.... Dixie is a favorite for me living here in the South. I love the previously mentioned Molly and Claudia's sister Brenda and her family had a chocolate lab named Madison who was the most majestic and lady-like dog I have ever known. Some others I'm fond of are Daisy, Biscuit, Lulu, and Ema. One of the more striking names I've heard was Abbey Rose, man...I love that handle.
Back to our little quandary of future names. It goes without saying that the breed has to play an important part in all this...you'll get a chuckle out of this one...we're going to get 2 English Bulldogs. Yeah, I knew you would like it...can you see me and Claudia walking these short, fat behemoths in the park? Anyways, as I said earlier she is leaning toward the Brother-Sister combo and naming them Ike and Tina...please, I hope no one needs me to help them get that one. I like it and it is a helluva a conversation piece. My names, if I get the opportunity to pick 2 brothers would be Thurl and Cozelle. It's a WOLFPACK thing...Thurl Bailey and Cozelle McQueen were stalwarts on the 1983 NCAA championship team and I thought it would be a fitting honor to name my dogs after them. There you have it...how to name your dog...go forth and make this a better world for that lovable four legged friend of yours and give them a name they can be proud of.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Biting the Hair of the Dog
It has now become a rite of Spring, and for the past four years my buddy Loyd has taken me out and gotten me completely, "In the gutter, lying drunk." That's as good as a description that comes to mind and it was far from my intention of ending up that way, on the contrary, it was only suppose to be a few round of beers, some great Ruckus Pizza and take in a local Rock & Roll band. All it took was for some stranger to offer us a single round of Tequila and it was Nightmare on Elm Street all over again. Last year, it got so bad I had to sleep in a lawn chair outside his RV... I knew I was going to heave (hurl, pimento parade, spew...whatever you call it) and I definitely didn't want to do it inside...it seems as if the year before somebody might have accidentally "relieved" themselves in the corner of the trailer after our night on the town. I know, how is it that Loyd still considers me a friend?
Mind you, it isn't exactly his fault...he's not holding a pistol to my head...the bottom line is that I'm an absolute panty waste of an alcohol drinker. Loyd, on the other hand is the complete opposite, the man can hold his liquor...and I mean that it in a good way; he has this rare disposition found in few men who can drink straight grain alcohol as if it were water, and then proceed to plow the back forty. As usual, I refuse to accept responsibility for my own actions when modern science can explain it away. I wasn't that much of a drinker before my weight loss, and now that I have shed some of my inner child, I just don't belly up to the bar all that well anymore...and that might be a blessing in disguise. Don't let my cute little Blog title fool you, yes, I do enjoy beer, but I don't make it a routine. In fact I would classify myself as a "social alcoholic," if such a title exists. What that means is I usually partake in alcohol consumption at gatherings and after about 4 or 5 beers...I'm toast. Claudia and I usually flip a coin before we leave to see who will be the designated driver, but on most of these occasions she is the one dragging my ass back to the "hoosegow." 4 or 5 beers doesn't usually put me in the "obliterated" category but it will get me in trouble with "Johnny Lawman" and the last thing I want to do, is encourage anyone to drink and drive...it's just not worth it.
Anyways, I can hold my own when it comes to beer, it's when men decide to be men and desire the straight stuff that the train starts coming off the tracks for me. I enjoy a mixed drink every now and again. My brother-in-law, Pete, got me hooked on "CC and 7" and he has absolutely the best Margarita recipe that I have ever tasted; I just don't do well with straight shots of liquor. Personally, I just don't find straight anything in alcohol all that tasty...bourbon, scotch, vodka, moonshine...none of it. We men though, are a proud lot and when the call goes out for "shots," we have to defend our manhood...it's in our blood, the nature of the world. So, what is Mark's booze "kryptonite?" Without hesitation...RUM. I avoid it like the plague and have vivid nightmares of when I was a young lad of nineteen living in the barracks and trying to make my mark in the world...I failed miserably.
Every good Army Story starts out with, "You're not going to believe this shit...," so, "you're not going to believe this shit" when I tell you about the time a handful of us young GI's were downtown in the local Gasthaus enjoying life, drinking the local beer and having a grand 'ole time. It's a story that has been re-hashed many times so I'll skip to the part where the evil "Rum" ferry has magically armed all of us with a single shot of her potion. We end up toasting one another, how we hate every Sergeant in the unit, the Commander and eventually the Army.
Fast forward to the next morning...I'm saying this because, truthfully, I couldn't remember anything between the time we drank those shots of Bacardi 151 RUM and the annoying knock at our barracks door and our Section Sergeant barking at us to make PT formation. I could hear him speaking (yelling was more like it) to me and I was physically awake but I couldn't move or talk...it was that bad. I could see the leg of my room mate and knew he was lying on the floor, but that was about the extent of it as he was probably in the same condition as your faithful super hero.
Sergent Allen, our section sergeant at the time, wasn't about to let 2 snot nosed PFC's(Private First Class is a rank in the Army) make a fool of him. He was able to get the CQ keys and promptly opened our door. As I mentioned, I was completely immobile, but awake...the look on Sergeant Allen's face and the fact that he covered his mouth told me that something had gone horribly wrong the evening before...he was intermittently yelling at me to, "get up!" and trying to cover his mouth. He left frustrated but more determined; he reappeared in less than ten minutes with another soldier carrying water hoses. You can imagine the scene and the complete mess that was made when he "unleashed the hounds" on 2 drunken, young sots lying in their own bile. Least wise, that is what they told me, because, truly, I don't remember vomiting...and yeah, sports fans...this was an epic FUBAR on my part.
The good thing out of that, was once the sergeant turned the hose on us, it relieved my fear that I was paralyzed. The not so good result of this was the Commander and First Sergeant were disturbed by the actions of two of their young Privates. It was decreed that myself and my room-mate would be made an example of. I got busted down to PRIVATE, loss of 1/2 month's pay, 2 months extra duty and a month restricted to post. The "Piece De Resistance" of the punishment was that we had to vacate our room and set up a 10 man Arctic tent in front of the barracks and move all our belongings, bunk, locker and gear in as well.
Recall that I said we were "restricted" to post for a month? The part that really sucked for us was that we never got any sleep. Between all the floor scrubbing, room painting and kitchen details assigned as "extra duty" after the end of Work Day formation, we were constantly having to defend our tent from the other assholes in the billets who would pull up our stakes in the middle of the night or even worse on weekends, when they would return from downtown and decide to mess with us...it was actually hilarious as hell, but imagine having to re-stake your tent at odd hours of the night for 30 friggin days...we were two tired mo-fos when we were allowed to move back into the billets and to this day I have never taken a shot of rum again.
Back to Loyd and our most recent adventure: I didn't cause any physical damage( this means I didn't get sick), which for me is a victory. Once the walls started moving I knew it was over and stuck solely to water, but even if you put lipstick on a pig...it's still a pig. All the water in the world wasn't going to flush out the tequila that had already made it to my brain. I retreated to the back seat of the car and went to sleep. I woke up the next morning in the RV (damn if I can remember how we got there) with a massive headache. There sitting across from me was Loyd, bright eyed and bushy tail drinking a Bloody Mary. He had politely laid out some Alka-Seltzer and water and offered me some of his concoction. His only advice was, "Hair of the dog...drink it!!" I being a panty waste knew that wasn't going to happen; it was only 3 hours later that I could actually function and made it to the shower.
I have no illusions of grandeur about all this...it is what it is...and I hardly feel the need to improve this aspect of my life as it happens so infrequently but, if you find the Dogwoods blooming and the birds singing and haven't heard from me in a while, just drive out to Carter Finley Stadium and prop my "pickled" carcass up against whatever object will support me and kick me til I groan...it will be much appreciated.
Mind you, it isn't exactly his fault...he's not holding a pistol to my head...the bottom line is that I'm an absolute panty waste of an alcohol drinker. Loyd, on the other hand is the complete opposite, the man can hold his liquor...and I mean that it in a good way; he has this rare disposition found in few men who can drink straight grain alcohol as if it were water, and then proceed to plow the back forty. As usual, I refuse to accept responsibility for my own actions when modern science can explain it away. I wasn't that much of a drinker before my weight loss, and now that I have shed some of my inner child, I just don't belly up to the bar all that well anymore...and that might be a blessing in disguise. Don't let my cute little Blog title fool you, yes, I do enjoy beer, but I don't make it a routine. In fact I would classify myself as a "social alcoholic," if such a title exists. What that means is I usually partake in alcohol consumption at gatherings and after about 4 or 5 beers...I'm toast. Claudia and I usually flip a coin before we leave to see who will be the designated driver, but on most of these occasions she is the one dragging my ass back to the "hoosegow." 4 or 5 beers doesn't usually put me in the "obliterated" category but it will get me in trouble with "Johnny Lawman" and the last thing I want to do, is encourage anyone to drink and drive...it's just not worth it.
Anyways, I can hold my own when it comes to beer, it's when men decide to be men and desire the straight stuff that the train starts coming off the tracks for me. I enjoy a mixed drink every now and again. My brother-in-law, Pete, got me hooked on "CC and 7" and he has absolutely the best Margarita recipe that I have ever tasted; I just don't do well with straight shots of liquor. Personally, I just don't find straight anything in alcohol all that tasty...bourbon, scotch, vodka, moonshine...none of it. We men though, are a proud lot and when the call goes out for "shots," we have to defend our manhood...it's in our blood, the nature of the world. So, what is Mark's booze "kryptonite?" Without hesitation...RUM. I avoid it like the plague and have vivid nightmares of when I was a young lad of nineteen living in the barracks and trying to make my mark in the world...I failed miserably.
Every good Army Story starts out with, "You're not going to believe this shit...," so, "you're not going to believe this shit" when I tell you about the time a handful of us young GI's were downtown in the local Gasthaus enjoying life, drinking the local beer and having a grand 'ole time. It's a story that has been re-hashed many times so I'll skip to the part where the evil "Rum" ferry has magically armed all of us with a single shot of her potion. We end up toasting one another, how we hate every Sergeant in the unit, the Commander and eventually the Army.
Fast forward to the next morning...I'm saying this because, truthfully, I couldn't remember anything between the time we drank those shots of Bacardi 151 RUM and the annoying knock at our barracks door and our Section Sergeant barking at us to make PT formation. I could hear him speaking (yelling was more like it) to me and I was physically awake but I couldn't move or talk...it was that bad. I could see the leg of my room mate and knew he was lying on the floor, but that was about the extent of it as he was probably in the same condition as your faithful super hero.
Sergent Allen, our section sergeant at the time, wasn't about to let 2 snot nosed PFC's(Private First Class is a rank in the Army) make a fool of him. He was able to get the CQ keys and promptly opened our door. As I mentioned, I was completely immobile, but awake...the look on Sergeant Allen's face and the fact that he covered his mouth told me that something had gone horribly wrong the evening before...he was intermittently yelling at me to, "get up!" and trying to cover his mouth. He left frustrated but more determined; he reappeared in less than ten minutes with another soldier carrying water hoses. You can imagine the scene and the complete mess that was made when he "unleashed the hounds" on 2 drunken, young sots lying in their own bile. Least wise, that is what they told me, because, truly, I don't remember vomiting...and yeah, sports fans...this was an epic FUBAR on my part.
The good thing out of that, was once the sergeant turned the hose on us, it relieved my fear that I was paralyzed. The not so good result of this was the Commander and First Sergeant were disturbed by the actions of two of their young Privates. It was decreed that myself and my room-mate would be made an example of. I got busted down to PRIVATE, loss of 1/2 month's pay, 2 months extra duty and a month restricted to post. The "Piece De Resistance" of the punishment was that we had to vacate our room and set up a 10 man Arctic tent in front of the barracks and move all our belongings, bunk, locker and gear in as well.
Recall that I said we were "restricted" to post for a month? The part that really sucked for us was that we never got any sleep. Between all the floor scrubbing, room painting and kitchen details assigned as "extra duty" after the end of Work Day formation, we were constantly having to defend our tent from the other assholes in the billets who would pull up our stakes in the middle of the night or even worse on weekends, when they would return from downtown and decide to mess with us...it was actually hilarious as hell, but imagine having to re-stake your tent at odd hours of the night for 30 friggin days...we were two tired mo-fos when we were allowed to move back into the billets and to this day I have never taken a shot of rum again.
Back to Loyd and our most recent adventure: I didn't cause any physical damage( this means I didn't get sick), which for me is a victory. Once the walls started moving I knew it was over and stuck solely to water, but even if you put lipstick on a pig...it's still a pig. All the water in the world wasn't going to flush out the tequila that had already made it to my brain. I retreated to the back seat of the car and went to sleep. I woke up the next morning in the RV (damn if I can remember how we got there) with a massive headache. There sitting across from me was Loyd, bright eyed and bushy tail drinking a Bloody Mary. He had politely laid out some Alka-Seltzer and water and offered me some of his concoction. His only advice was, "Hair of the dog...drink it!!" I being a panty waste knew that wasn't going to happen; it was only 3 hours later that I could actually function and made it to the shower.
I have no illusions of grandeur about all this...it is what it is...and I hardly feel the need to improve this aspect of my life as it happens so infrequently but, if you find the Dogwoods blooming and the birds singing and haven't heard from me in a while, just drive out to Carter Finley Stadium and prop my "pickled" carcass up against whatever object will support me and kick me til I groan...it will be much appreciated.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Ode to Cubbie Fan
Some say it is a dying sport. It will soon be viewed much like the burned out wreckage that Boxing has become, where every once in a while Americans will watch on the oft chance that history might be repeated or we hear the snippets of the immortal verbiage "Down goes Frazier!!" echoed by the iconic Howard Cosell that makes us remember that it was once the "Sport of Kings." Baseball doesn't loom as large on the American landscape as it once did; however, it is not going to go quietly into the night until one fan base has their say so. Cubbies.
Admiration is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Cubs fans, due mostly to their unflappable support of a team that hasn't given them a lot to root for, these oh...so many years. Unadulterated pity is the second most common emotion and pure scorn is the third as you realize that by seasons end, they'll have their beating hearts ripped from their bodies once again, and will be left pondering during those cold, blustery Chicago winters why God hates them so...they are literally, sports version of the Bible's "Job."
As I write this on the second day of the 2010 Major League season I sadly report that my Bravos ripped the Cubs 16-5 on opening day. Lets face it folks, it's one thing to be a Red Sox fan and having to endure the "Curse of the Bambino" and not to have won a World Series since 1918, but they at least got there on multiple occasions and have been competitive...and during this first decade of the new millenia won 2 titles in 2004 and 2007. The Cubs have not even graced the Fall Classic since 1946 and their last championship was 1908. Um...that's 102 years of "suckdom!"
Seriously, what is the most memorable thing you know about the Cubs? Off the top of my head, the late voice of Harry Caray singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch and that they reside in venerable Wrigley Field with Ivy covered brick walls in the outfield. When the first thing you think of when talking about a team isn't championships...or that the most popular mode of transportation when they did win one was the Horse and Buggy...you've got some major problems. Really, does anyone have a deep seated resentment of this team? I honestly and truly hate the damn Yankees and anything associated to UNC-CH but how can anyone hate these guys? Here's the kicker: Their complete success at being inept has allowed them to become the poster child for the ubiquitous "lovable loser," and has garnered them legions of fans. Which makes them the perfect team to pull for if you enjoy despair and misery. There must be hoards of miserable people in the United States because I would rank their numbers just behind the damn Yankees and Red Sox. I'm willing to bet that we all know of at least one Cubs fan that would die to have their ashes scattered over that ballpark.
That someone for me is my boss Barney. Get this: He's not from Chicago...which blows my mind as to how he even wound up as a Cubs Fan. Barney hails from Tobaccoville, NC. I just don't envision that little hamlet being this deep rooted haven for misplaced Cub fans nor would I suspect, that it has the technological capability of reaching the Cubs radio broadcast or TV affiliate. Times have changed though, and Cable and Satellite have made it a smaller world...but come on, man! He comes from the middle of BFE, North Cacalacky, and is a Cubs fan?
Barney is the engineer that I dream of being...which is why he is probably my boss...he is quite capable in our field and creates spreadsheets that boggle my mind...I know, that doesn't take a whole helluva lot...but you get the picture. There is one other thing about him that I haven't told...he is a fine graduate of NC STATE University, as is yours truly...which only means he's very good with numbers and has probably driven a tractor or two in his lifetime. Some of you have already figured out where I'm going with this, but for the rest of you...when you combine the magnitude of losing that the Cubs have heaped upon you with the utter despair of being a Wolfpack Fan since Jimmy V was run out of town 30 years ago your dealing with universal forces that Zeus himself couldn't conjure up. Appearance wise Barney seems like a normal individual, he's got a great family, wife and kids that love and adore him. He's very active in the community with his church and is also the manager of his son's T-Ball team, but deep inside this man is a burning rage that can only be doused by a singular championship from one of his beloved teams. From where I'm sitting I don't see that happening anytime soon and that is only going to fuel the fire in this poor man's soul.
I get Barney for a multitude of reasons...which is why if he should ever lose his friggin mind at work...I'm going to be the only one to walk away with just a limp. I lived with a Cubs fan whilst I was growing up in the form of dear 'ole dad. Henry C. Laugisch was really from Chicago and often he would tell us of the stories of visiting friends who lived next to Wriggly Field and watching the games from their balconies...he didn't mention anything about the cubs losing, but it was implied. Dad wasn't a die hard Cubbie as Barney is today, but he would at least keep track of them when they were playing well and tell us "this is the year!!" Sadly, he and millions of cubbies never got to experience that one fleeting moment.
Personally, I think the Cubs and their intensely loyal fans have suffered enough...can you imagine what would happen if they did win the series? My hat goes off to you...Cubbies...and without a doubt I will root for 'em when they're not playing Atlanta this year but maybe this is how it's suppose to be...that one constant you can always count on like lightening after thunder, the changing of the seasons and the migration of birds. Good luck Cubs, America is pulling for you.
Admiration is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Cubs fans, due mostly to their unflappable support of a team that hasn't given them a lot to root for, these oh...so many years. Unadulterated pity is the second most common emotion and pure scorn is the third as you realize that by seasons end, they'll have their beating hearts ripped from their bodies once again, and will be left pondering during those cold, blustery Chicago winters why God hates them so...they are literally, sports version of the Bible's "Job."
As I write this on the second day of the 2010 Major League season I sadly report that my Bravos ripped the Cubs 16-5 on opening day. Lets face it folks, it's one thing to be a Red Sox fan and having to endure the "Curse of the Bambino" and not to have won a World Series since 1918, but they at least got there on multiple occasions and have been competitive...and during this first decade of the new millenia won 2 titles in 2004 and 2007. The Cubs have not even graced the Fall Classic since 1946 and their last championship was 1908. Um...that's 102 years of "suckdom!"
Seriously, what is the most memorable thing you know about the Cubs? Off the top of my head, the late voice of Harry Caray singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch and that they reside in venerable Wrigley Field with Ivy covered brick walls in the outfield. When the first thing you think of when talking about a team isn't championships...or that the most popular mode of transportation when they did win one was the Horse and Buggy...you've got some major problems. Really, does anyone have a deep seated resentment of this team? I honestly and truly hate the damn Yankees and anything associated to UNC-CH but how can anyone hate these guys? Here's the kicker: Their complete success at being inept has allowed them to become the poster child for the ubiquitous "lovable loser," and has garnered them legions of fans. Which makes them the perfect team to pull for if you enjoy despair and misery. There must be hoards of miserable people in the United States because I would rank their numbers just behind the damn Yankees and Red Sox. I'm willing to bet that we all know of at least one Cubs fan that would die to have their ashes scattered over that ballpark.
That someone for me is my boss Barney. Get this: He's not from Chicago...which blows my mind as to how he even wound up as a Cubs Fan. Barney hails from Tobaccoville, NC. I just don't envision that little hamlet being this deep rooted haven for misplaced Cub fans nor would I suspect, that it has the technological capability of reaching the Cubs radio broadcast or TV affiliate. Times have changed though, and Cable and Satellite have made it a smaller world...but come on, man! He comes from the middle of BFE, North Cacalacky, and is a Cubs fan?
Barney is the engineer that I dream of being...which is why he is probably my boss...he is quite capable in our field and creates spreadsheets that boggle my mind...I know, that doesn't take a whole helluva lot...but you get the picture. There is one other thing about him that I haven't told...he is a fine graduate of NC STATE University, as is yours truly...which only means he's very good with numbers and has probably driven a tractor or two in his lifetime. Some of you have already figured out where I'm going with this, but for the rest of you...when you combine the magnitude of losing that the Cubs have heaped upon you with the utter despair of being a Wolfpack Fan since Jimmy V was run out of town 30 years ago your dealing with universal forces that Zeus himself couldn't conjure up. Appearance wise Barney seems like a normal individual, he's got a great family, wife and kids that love and adore him. He's very active in the community with his church and is also the manager of his son's T-Ball team, but deep inside this man is a burning rage that can only be doused by a singular championship from one of his beloved teams. From where I'm sitting I don't see that happening anytime soon and that is only going to fuel the fire in this poor man's soul.
I get Barney for a multitude of reasons...which is why if he should ever lose his friggin mind at work...I'm going to be the only one to walk away with just a limp. I lived with a Cubs fan whilst I was growing up in the form of dear 'ole dad. Henry C. Laugisch was really from Chicago and often he would tell us of the stories of visiting friends who lived next to Wriggly Field and watching the games from their balconies...he didn't mention anything about the cubs losing, but it was implied. Dad wasn't a die hard Cubbie as Barney is today, but he would at least keep track of them when they were playing well and tell us "this is the year!!" Sadly, he and millions of cubbies never got to experience that one fleeting moment.
Personally, I think the Cubs and their intensely loyal fans have suffered enough...can you imagine what would happen if they did win the series? My hat goes off to you...Cubbies...and without a doubt I will root for 'em when they're not playing Atlanta this year but maybe this is how it's suppose to be...that one constant you can always count on like lightening after thunder, the changing of the seasons and the migration of birds. Good luck Cubs, America is pulling for you.
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