The Obligatory Year End Musings Post (Read At Own Risk)

So here we are. Penultimate day of 2005. I always try to say something on the day before the last day of the year just so I can say "penultimate."

It's been a hell of a year.

The White Sox defied the odds, the media and their competition and won the freakin World Series. I've drank plenty of champagne in my life, much of it pretty high quality, but it never tasted as sweet as the cheap stuff I guzzled at the bar that cold and rainy October night.

The Illini put the state and the nation on notice with their run to the NCAA Finals, playing in what might be the greatest college basketball game I ever saw.

The Bears didn't score much, but their opponents scored even less.

February found us skiing in Lake Tahoe. September found us tippling through wine country. Both memorable trips.

Made a ton of new friends at the ballpark. Reunited with a bunch of old friends around the poker table. They still take my money.

4 sets of friends got pregnant. Two of them had their kids (congrats Rob and Renee/Mike and Angie), the other two are still baking in the oven.

One set of friends got married. Congrats Mr. and Mrs. Zooks.

I lost one grandparent. Ciao Nanny.

I lost one friend to the suburbs. It happens.

The Catholic Church lost its leader. I've been to church about 5 times in the last 10 years, but was still upset when JP II passed away.

The crazy neighbors next door moved out. The quiet neighbor moved in. Sorry we were stomping our feet on the floor during game 3 of the World Series, Katie. It happens.

My sister decided she wanted to be a Mormon.

I turned 30. Milestone schmilestone.

I started a new job. Hated it initially and then it really grew on me. Just after I really started liking it, company went belly-up. Found another job at a place I always wanted to work and like it a lot so far. Here's hoping it lasts.

I bobbed my head and sang along to "Touch The Sky," "Mr. Brightside," "DOA" and "Holiday." Oh yeah, and "Don't Stop Believin."

I laughed pretty hard at "Sideways." And "Syriana" really made me think.

Venezuelan I'd like to see more of: Ozzie Guillen. Makes baseball fun for the fans and his players.
Venezuelan I'd like to see less of: Hugo Chavez. He's just Castro without the cigar and fatigues.

Happy New Year, everyone.

So Long Farewell Auf Wiedersehn Goodbye

When Marshall Field's announced that they were changing their name to Macy's, my indignation and outrage lasted about 30 seconds. As soon as I found out that they'd continue to carry Frango mints and Thomas Pink dress shirts after the changeover, I figured no big whoop.

Then the news about the Berghoff hit the wires yesterday. I had to blink a couple times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

Lots of memories for me at that place over the past 10 years. I ate there with the former Vice Chairman of the CBOT and his now late sister (who were kinda my mentors in the futures industry) after my last day working for them. I met my Mom's boyfriend Shelley there for the first time in 1997. I got into a beer-over-the-head war with the Killer Bee at Oktoberfest that year too. My trader buddy Johnny D and I hit it up over sauerbraten and creamed spinach every now and then. It's the traditional meeting spot for me and my fellow Internet Sox geek friends before our yearly game outings, and Kris and I would stop in there a lot after Saturday night games, usually the first ones in and the last ones out.

At some point before February 28th, I'm gonna have to head over there for one more Schlachtplatte and a couple mugs of dark. The lines are sure to be out the door...but it'll be worth the wait for one last time.

It's Over

Christmas came and went, completely uneventful which is just how I like it. After spending 13 of the past 17 days on the road, it's great to just be home.

Got a decent present haul, capped off by a sweet Rawlings messenger bag and one of those Cuisinart coffeemakers that has Juan Valdez built right in to grow the beans for you. (Thanks, Dad)

Finished the autobiography of Johnny Cash while in NY. Rambling and random, it's a great work by a great man.

Pressing National Issue

Quite frankly, I don't give a rat's ass about Roe Vs Wade, Medicare or intelligent design.

If I had one crack at writing a piece of legislation (or enacting agency policy), I would call for an immediate ban of all wheeled luggage from aircraft cabins.

Respectfully Submitted,

Ilk (R-IL)

Highly Recommended

Unless you're in North Carolina, good barbecue in the Eastern Time Zone is pretty hard to find. As a kid, I always took barbecue to mean that reddish colored stuff that comes in a Kraft bottle that Mom would dump over chicken or pork chops while they were on the grill.

Then I moved to the Midwest and started hanging out with 'cue snobs on a regular basis. I learned the difference between a wet rub and dry rub, and that the term "spare ribs" has nothing to do with God creating Eve. Sunday after Sunday I'd hang out, watch football, and gorge myself on various smoked creations.

As I mentioned last week, Blue Smoke at 29th and Park in NYC was highly recommended, but it was also a zoo when I tried to get a table for one there last Wednesday at 9 PM. So tonight I hustled over there as soon as I left the office at around 5:45 and popped a squat right at the bar. Fifteen minutes later, I was sinking my teeth into what might be the best pulled pork I've ever had, served over a soggy slice of Wonder Bread with a big side of pit beans. Damned tasty, and thus earning an I-rating of "highly recommended."

I'm here until Thursday. Wonder if they serve breakfast.

Scenes From A French Restaurant

It's not often that I dine alone, and the truth is that for the most part it makes me miserable. I don't want to hide behind a book like my road warrior old man was prone to due during his 15 years of nonstop traveling, and I refused to be one of those "look at me I'm so cool" types fidgeting incessantly with a Blackberry or cell phone.

My goal after traipsing all over the Large Apple Wednesday night was to dine at Blue Smoke, which is owned by The anky Righthander's mother-in-law's neighbors growing up. Unfortunately, the collective BBQ jones of all of New Yorks is focused on Blue Smoke right now. I ambled in there at 9:00 and was told it would be an hour for a table for one.

(On a side note, I think that Chicago is the only city in America where people eat dinner at a "normal hour" anymore. In the past 3 months I've been in Tampa (where everyone eats at 5 so they can catch the early episode of "Golden Girls" on UPN before nodding off at 7:30) and then San Fran, Seattle and New York, where it's a cardinal sin to eat before 9. So think about it, if you live in San Francisco and eat at 9, it's already midnight on the East Coast. Gastrointestinal jet lag, anyone?)

Anyway, I decided that a charming little French place called La Petit Auberge ought to hit the spot. After all, I now work for a French company, and French Girls are hot in spite of their hairiness and haughtiness. So, in I went.

Turns out the place has quite a reputation. According to the somewhat yellowed newsclippings on the wall, Jackie O used to eat there a lot. Ditto Henry Kissinger. I'm guessing they probably never ate together.

Right away, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Me: 30, jeans and untucked pink dress shirt.

Everyone else: 65, ratty cashmere sweaters, wool slacks and sneakers. The Uniform Of Old Money in New York

Undaunted, I plopped down and ordered a glass of vino, taking note f my fellow diners. In front of me: old couple. He was a tall fellow, she was British. He made faces and funny gestures, she cracked up and countered with "Ohh Richard, dahhhling, you have just got to stop." When Richard needed more wine, Richard reached over British Lady and shook his glass at the bar. It was promptly recharged.

Next to me: first date couple. She was 40 trying to look 25. He was 50 trying to look like Richard Branson (who may in fact be older than 50, I'm really not sure) She was NOT a New Yorker--blonde, chesty and squeezed into a black dress and sporting black boots, she had some kind of Midwestern girl trying to be chic vibe going on. He was a New Yorker, but tried to affect an erudite Bostonish accent in an attempt to woo the black dress and black boots off of her.

She ordered a Cosmopolitian. Waiter looked at her in that funny "you stupid American" way that only the French can pull off and brought it to her. She immediately started grumbling about how she could taste the vodka, but her gracious date so nicely decided to share it with her.

They ordered. He went with the prix-fixe option, same as me. The difference is I went with the onion soup and filet of sole. He went with the escargot and duck l'orange. She was a little scared of all the big foreign words on the menu and went with the onion soup as an entree. They barely talked for the rest of my meal.

My guess is the boots stayed on.

Is there a point to this story? Not really.

Razzle Dazzle Frazzle Frazzle

Tomorrow morning, I hop a flight to Seattle at 6:20 AM. I'm there through the weekend, back Monday night at 11. Tuesday, I'm on a plane to NY at 7 am, back from there Friday night. That Sunday, I'm back in the Big Apple again until Thursday, at which point I come home and sleep for 2 days straight until Christmas.

So I'm gonna be pretty scarce. I'm excited to see Mom in Seattle, train for the new job in NYC (as well as reacquaint myself with a city I haven't been to in 4 years) and squeeze in some Christmas parties in between.

Enjoy the season folks. I'll post as time permits.

Hot Stove Thoughts

I haven't posted about baseball in a while, mainly because whenever I do my hands start shaking and I start foaming at the mouth with my usual mid-winter case of Baseball Withdrawal. But a lot's happened in the weeks leading up to the Winter Meetings and so far at the meetings themselves, so here goes:

Cubs sign Bobby Howry. In 2000, Bobby Howry and Kelly Wunsch were the keystones of the White Sox bullpen on their way to the division title. In 2005, Bobby Howry and Bob Wickman were the keystones of the Cleveland Indians bullpen on their way to their close-but-no-cigar run at the AL Central. In between, Howry managed to pitch his way into being traded by the White Sox and then released by the Red Sox before working his way back through AAA to a roster spot with the Tribe. When Howry's hot, he's hot with his 97 MPH fastball. But when Howry's off, well, let's put it this way...Sox fans took to calling him "gascan" in 2001.

White Sox trade Aaron Rowand and Gio Gonzalez to the Phillies for Jim Thome. We all know about Kenny Williams' philosophy of "Grinderball." It won the White Sox a World Championship for crying out loud. In the eyes of many Sox fans, Rowand was grinderball personified with his heart and hustle in the outfield, complete with becoming very acquianted with the centerfield wall at US Cellular. Rowand was a fan favorite and a hell of a guy, but experienced a seriously nasty drop in power in 2005. Thome's been referred to by many as "oft-injured" and "aging" because of a back muscle issue that limited his playing time in 2005. If Thome gets back to his 2004-previous form, watch out world. We're looking at a guy with a career OPS of .025 less than Frank Thomas and 9 30 HR+ seasons.

Blue Jays sign B.J. Ryan to 5-year deal. During the course of my weekly poker games, I'll invariably go all in with a stupid hand and get all kinds of "WTF are you thinking" looks from my fellow players and then wind up kicking myself. I'm going to go ahead and boldly predict that J. P. Riccardi's gonna be in much the same situation next time he and his fellow GMs plop down for a game of Texas Hold 'Em when Ryan's blowing games left and right, relegating the Jays to another third place finish. On the other hand, if I ever spawn a boy, I'm gonna forcefeed him nothing but corn and red meat and make him throw left-handed so he can get mad money like this.

Mets raid Marlins pantry and sign Billy Wagner. Carlos Delgado and Paul Lo Duca join the Metropolitians in exchange for some 19 year olds and a couple bags of baseballs. Wagner comes to the big city from the Phillies. With the NL East by far the division in MLB where parity is most prevalent, you've gotta think the guys in orange and blue might have a shot at ending Atlanta's run this year.

Blue Jays sign A. J. Burnett. A dominating righty, the other AJ in professional baseball was on the short list of just about everyone since season's end. Burnett's been touted as a can't miss kid since 1999. In spite of never having an ERA below 3.30 and a career losing record, he gets a 5 year deal with the Blue Jays at 11 million per. Riccardi is REALLY laying it all on the line.

Sign From Above?

On the penultimate day of my very short stay at MegaLoDerivatives Mart, I experienced something I haven't seen in all my time here.

There was actually a current sports section in the bathroom.

Thanks guys!

So Long, Brett (I think)

As an erstwhile follower of the Chicago Bears, it's my duty to hate all things Green Bay. The stupid orange hunting camo their fans wear, the obnoxious upper Wisconsin accents and those dumb foam blocks they all stick on their overgrown melons all drive me just about bonkers.

But for some reason, I've always had a certain amount of grudging respect for Brett Favre. The Cal Ripken of the NFL, there's no one who's been so good for so long and worn the same uniform the whole time (well, aside from the 4 passes he threw as a member of the Falcons when I was a sophomore in high school).

Yeah, I know he had somewhat of a pillpopping problem for a while. But I don't think he's swallowing the Vike by the handful anymore. He's gutted it out playing with a steel rod in his finger, cracked ribs and plenty of concussions. So when he came back onto the field after a vicious hit on the previous series at the hands of Mike Brown, I fully figured he'd set his jaw, drive the Pack up the field and score the winning TD to break the Bears' hearts, just like he always does when the wind's whipping and it's just too damned cold.

But not today. Favre rolled, looked left and gunned the ball up the field...right into the waiting arms of Bears Big Play Poster Boy Nathan Vasher. We all know what happened next. Vasher zipped down the sideline, pranced into the end zone and we got to sing "Bear Down Chicago Bears" and chant "Green Bay Sucks" at Soldier Field for the first time in God knows how long.

I think he's lost a step, or two. Granted, the Packers have been just decimated by injuries all season and they've long since been eliminated from any shot at the playoffs. But still, it looks like the Favre magic is finally gone.

I don't want #4 to end up like Willie Mays as a Met, or Roger Maris as a Cardinal or Scottie Pippen as a Trailblazer struggling to grab one more shot at glory. Hang it up, Brett. You've done it all.

Picks

All favorites, all early games. We'll know if I hit the jackpot by the time the final gun goes off at Soldier Field.

Parlay (4 Teams)
12/02/05 09:50 ET
25.00/322.84
Result: Pending
Bills(Buffalo)Dolphins(Miami)
12/04/05 (13:05 ET)Dolphins(Miami) -5 (-105)

Buccaneers(TampaBay)Saints(NewOrleans)(N)
12/04/05 (13:05 ET)Buccaneers(TampaBay) -3.5 (-115)

Jaguars(Jacksonville)Browns(Cleveland)
12/04/05 (13:05 ET)Jaguars(Jacksonville) -3 (-105)

Vikings(Minnesota)Lions(Detroit)
12/04/05 (13:05 ET)Vikings(Minnesota) -2.5 (-105)