Thursday, January 15, 2004

This White Sox off-season has been the worst in recent memory. Who have we lost? Carl Everett. Roberto Alomar. Bartolo Colon. Tom Gordon. Scott Sullivan. Tony Graffanino. With nary a whimper, I might add. Who have we gained? Jose Uribe. At least we kept Scott Schoenweis! That's like saying your going to improve your jazz fusion band by spiking Jaco Pastorious' Crystal Light with hemlock and getting the bassist from Veruca Salt to be your main songwriter. Magglio = Cobham.

In Berto Center news, the Bulls have been playing like the turd burglars we suspect they might forever be. Eddy Curry is supposed to be the big man down low, a monster in the paint and on the post. He's a beast who should dominate opponents front lines with physical play, especially since he hasn't been a rookie since before 9/11. All he's done this year is to give goons like Brian Grant foul shots aplenty and generally embarass the franchise with his "jazz hands" ball control meltdowns. 6 rebounds a game? Al Jolson could give Curry a Marv Albert-style facial from his pine box. Dave Corzine had better stats, and he was the worst honky center this side of Bill Walton's old clipped toenails. Tyson Chandler, the other twin tower, sits on the bench waiting for Cortosone shots and complimentary boxes of Skittles while his back heals. Jamal Crawford is just like a young MJ, except he can't shoot, penetrate, work a passing lane or draw fouls better than a seventh grader. Worst of all, the United Center is full almost every game. Can you imagine what Bulls fans would do watching Ben Wallace and Chauncey B every night?

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