Thursday, December 01, 2005

What poor gods we have made

We had a very special moment after work yesterday. The Commissioner's World Series Championship trophy is an ugly hunk of metal with what looks to be a circle of flagpoles around an ashtray, and some tiny-assed writing that we couldn't read if we tried. Gloriously, right there smack in the middle of City Hall it stood. We must admit that we threw both of our fists into the air Rocky-style when we first spotted it, even from quite a distance. We resisted the urge to roar loudly and do a celebratory dance featuring chest-beating, weird and aggressive hand gestures, the worm, the robot and ballerina twirls (we're a little rusty on our Balanchine, or we'd be more specific), but barely. We did not run up to the case in a full sprint. We walked very casually. The security guard was already eyeing us a tad apprehensively. Then we wished upon high that we had a cellphone with a camera. We would have taken quite a pictoral. Us showing our #1 fingers with the Commissioner's World Series Championship trophy in the background. Us pretending to lick the Commissioner's World Series Championship trophy. Us attempting to mount the Commissioner's World Series Championship trophy in flagrante. Just kidding. Kind of. In short, we did not embarrass ourselves. But we did stand in front of that thing for about a half-hour admiring it in every shade of light and from every angle. Shit you not, yo.

Today the Commissioner's World Series Championship trophy was gone. Yes, we went back on our lunch break for more oogling. The cop who told us it was gone was very sad, saying and then repeating to us "I liked having it around, man." We heartily concurred.

After some reflection, inch by inch, we are starting to come to grips with this World Series thing. That night at the United Center was bonkers. The parade was amazing. But it hadn't really sunk in much. Our brains were so fried with worry and tension that we didn't enjoy it while it was happening. Our baseball souls spent an entire month with their emotional heads in the sand. We have now watched our new 2005 Chicago White Sox World Series DVD 4 1/2 times in the last 2 days. It is the ultimate in baseball pornography. Don't think we haven't entertained the notion of bringing it to work and watching some more. So far we have showed admirable restraint in this regard. Seeing that trophy kind of brought it home. So did our relief that Paulie re-signed. It is going to kill us to watch Frank Thomas leave town. Losing Aaron Rowand gives us hives even if we did get Big Jim. These men are like family to us.

Now we are talking like parents about their kids after the talent show. Sorry.

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