Mom.

I kind of mentioned this in my earlier post, but I keep remembering the night almost 20 years ago when my Mom brought home the Sox cap and uniform shirt she had ordered for me from the Montgomery Wards catalog. I was so happy that night that I was almost delerious. Luckily, a little part of me never grew up, and never lost the delerium. I wore that shirt and cap until she ordered me to take it off. Thanks Mom. This has been a rough year for you, especially. For all the gifts you have given me and others, I'm glad you got a little something back last night. I know you were watching, and I know you were glad. Noone deserves it more than you.





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Roll Call.

To the White Sox family I have known...today is for you. To Brian Trembley, the first Sox fan I ever met in 1982, and your dad Gary and mom Betty, today is for you. Congratulations. To Eric Dever and your dad Pete, White Sox diehards for life: today is for you. To the old guy I met two years ago and spent four innings talking to on the concourse in 2004, who grew up in Niles and has lived and died with the White Sox for years: today is for you and your sons.To the 1987 pitching staff of Blaul Motors of the Crystal Lake American Little League, who idolized the Sox everyday win or lose, congratulations. Today is for you. To my 5th Grade teacher Mr. Szucs, congratulations. To Mr. Hawkinson, my favorite English teacher in High School, today is for you. To my Mom, who loved Carlton Fisk nearly as much as I did, and bought me my first Sox shirt and cap from the Montgomery Wards catalog, today is for you. I love you. We deserve this. To the old crazy dude who stands every night by the White Sox bullpen screaming his head off, waving a t-shirt and causing a ruckus, congratulations. To Glen Peterson, to Mike Meyer and your dad Dave, to Kurt Sample, to Jake Austen, to Chris Blum, to Scott Kielbasa, to Todd Price, to Darcy, to Jeremy, to Martha, to Chuck at the baseball card shop, to Scott Browne, to Mr. Weller, to Buck Weaver and Shoeless Joe Jackson, Beltin' Bill Melton, Moose Skowron, Minnie Minoso, Wilbur Wood, Luke Appling, Nellie Fox, Luis Aparicio, Ted Lyons and Billy Pierce, to Comeau who has taken me to so many games over the last few years, to the All Natural crew, to all the diehards I have known; today is our day. We have reached the promised land at last. I'll see you downtown at the parade.




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No, we didn't sleep.

The longest game in World Series history? Are you kidding me? Game 3 was Wagnerian. See-sawing reckless baseball. Bases loaded more times than we could count. Double plays, dudes getting plunked in the helmet, closers closing, lineups flip-flopping like John Kerry at Cape Cod. We were very concerned John Rooney and Ed Farmer were going to have heart attacks. Sox gamers all over the place: Geoff Blum was the hero. Brought in by Ken Williams in a much-debated mid-season trade, he was not previously a, um, fan favorite. Boom. 14th inning game-winning tater. Or maybe Mark Buehrle was the hero. On the radio yesterday afternoon, we heard Buehrle say his arm felt like a piece of meat after pitching Sunday night. That's right folks; just a little more than 48 hours after pitching 7 innings in Game 2, Mark got the save last night. Ozzie made the call for the lefty in the pen and Buehrle was there to man up. Gutsy like John Wayne.

Freddy Garcia takes the bump tonight for Game 4. He faces Brendan Backe, who we aren't too darned afraid of. Report from the United Center at 11.

See Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote. It becomes obvious by the end of the film that In Cold Blood describes Capote as much as Perry Smith and Dick Hickock and their crime. Can a masterpiece destroy its creator? What am I, fucking Richard Roeper? Oof.

As per Hopper's blog, last night we discovered that we aren't as conspiracy oriented as we might have thought. William Cooper does not dominate our conciousness.

Jon Z, we know last night was tough. Good on you for hanging in there. It's almost time to break out the Springsteen. For we can see the promised land.




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Package.

Someone special in a far-northern U.S. city has a package coming their way very soon. OGFP has been busy collecting special items for inclusion. We meant to send a nice Cognac along too, but forgot. Save it for the next one.

Also, we just sent out Mom's birthday card. Two pieces of mail in one day is a record of some sort.

If you watch a disturbing film about Hitler and the destruction of the Third Reich right before going to bed, you are going to have serious nightmares. Not to the point where you wake up in hot sweats, right hand tremoring, moving shadow armies that only exist on paper against enemies set to crush you, but close. Cyanide and the bullet to the temple! Cold! Pure evil doesn't do half-steppin'.

On Wednesday night Mike and I are going to the United Center to watch Game 4 of the World Series on the jumbotron, eat brats, and root on the Pale Hose. If you feel like going, go to Ticketmaster and plop down 15 bux for charity, and have yourself a time. You can even ride the Madison Express to the UC with us.

Tonight is Game 3. Game 2 on Sunday night was perhaps the greatest night for Chicago baseball in 75 years. We'll be telling our Grandkids about Scotty Pods and Konerko's grand slam, and the team from the southside that could. 2 down, 2 to go.

Regina Spektor, you are the soundtrack of my life right now. There might be some good ones, indeed.




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Reader, we know of your dissapointment with us in the past. Too often we have treated you like a one-night stand, a booty call, a FWB dial deep in the night..a careless drunken holler from OGFP, then months of silence.

We are hereby resolving (with certain reservations, of course) to attempt to suck it up and have a steady relationship with this blog. Companionship. Spooning. A Sunday morning shower and brunch and the New York Times on the Web. The works. Okay? We know we have said this before. Can we make it up to you? Do you mind if we sleep with a fan on? We need the white noise.

Last night Milemarker were imperial. Huge. A weapons grade assault on decent volume levels. Note to every other band in the universe: get a second drummer and some light-up satanic symbols for the kick drums. They don't have to play different parts at all, ever, in any of the songs. They just have to hit 'em hard. Trust me. The effect is cataclysmic. Milemarker used to be artsier. They looked and sounded "band". Now they are more like a streetgang. Immediately offensive and a little dangerous. Even though they have a violin playing keyboardist. Get Hustle were good, too. We are still mildly infatuated with Valentine on a *cough* fundamental level, but the free jazz/cabaret/Siouxsie raunch tones stand up on their own.

This show was barely overshadowed by the White Sox victory in Game 1, the first World Series game in Chicago since 1959. Did the OGFP staff wake up at just after 6 AM on Saturday in order to procure tickets, only to be shooed away by Sox security at 10AM? Was he spotted on the Saturday morning news by Mark and Ericka? Did this failure to actually get in the yard sting a trifle? Who can be sure? More importantly, the game itself, and victory. You should have watched it, asshat. The Rocket failed to launch. Crede and Dye hit the taters. The side of beef came in to get the save, striking out 3 of 4 batters faced. We lead the series 1-0. Game 2 tonight on the southside.

A 36-hour date is a truly wonderful thing. All hearts opened and all wines flowed. Shedd Aquarium, Soul Vegetarian, Alcala's. Etc. Etc. And then a little more etc. How much is a plane ticket to Minneapolis? Where can I get more Cowboy Equipment underwear? Inquiring minds would like to know.

36 hours or so until Game 1 of the 2005 World Series, starring your American League Champion Chicago White Sox. Some terms that apply to our team and it's fanbase right now: rare air, deep water, the big dance, unmarked territory, promised land. If you heard Bruce Levine and Ed Farmer's post game coverage on the night the Sox clinched, you have a little taste of the emotions running through Sox Neighborhood (we aren't exactly a nation yet...maybe city-state?) right now. There is more, but I know happy topics can be a bit boring. But you should know by now that we don't let ourselves think about manifest destiny too much at Ozzie for President HQ.

So, forgive us our big smiles today and tomorrow, and hopefully the day after that.