Senator Ball,

I think it is both commendable and forward-thinking of you to take your decision making process on the issue of gay marriage to the public. I hope you consider each and every response to your tweet but more importantly, I hope and pray that you do the right thing. In this case, despite the debate that has engulfed our nation for the past few years, the right thing is plainly obvious. The constitution guarantees equality to all Americans, not only those who live and think the same way as those in the majority. That single fact, more than anything else is what separates The United States of America from the rest of the world and makes us great. The great American tradition of treating all of our citizens equally is what makes the rest of the world look to us for guidance and it is the greatest principle upon which this country was founded. According to these simple, yet important American values, the only thing to do is vote in favor of gay marriage.

I recently moved back east from California, where I lived during the 2008 election when prop 8 was voted in and gay marriage was banned. As a straight male, gay marriage had never been something to which I had given much thought, but in the months leading up to the election, as the debate raged on, I couldn't help but think of my gay friends, neighbors and co-workers and what it meant to them. I started to put myself in their shoes and think about how I would feel if the government dictated to me who I was allowed to love or marry. It is not the place of this or any other government to strip its citizens of any rights because of who they are or how they were born. When the results of the prop 8 decision were announced, it made me ashamed to be a Californian. Nobody was effected positively by the decision. Those who supported the bill gained nothing. Their lives, families and marriages didn't change, but those who opposed it were devastated. Many had their lives disastrously altered because the state stepped in and told them they couldn't carry out their plans of starting a family in the legal and traditional sense. There is enough division in this country. We need to start taking steps toward unity. Allowing all Americans the right to marry is a positive step in that direction.

More importantly, by denying gay Americans this or any other right, it implies that being gay is a choice and this implication opens the door to many other forms of discrimination from housing to employment to education. You wouldn't deny an American such a fundamental right if he or she was born left handed or with blond hair or if he or she were black or Catholic. Homosexuality is no different than any of these distinguishing features. People don't choose who they are attracted to or who they love. Gay Americans have no more control or choice in the matter than straight Americans and treating them as if they do only encourages their marginalization in society.

As a representative of the GOP, you profess to believe in freedom, small government, the absence of the government meddling in or interfering with your personal affairs. Banning gay marriage flies in the face of these values. It flies in the face of everything not just the GOP but The United States of America stands for. Please don't listen to those who are naive enough to hide behind the veil of so called "family values" or defense of the "sanctity of marriage". This is bigotry dressed up to sound noble. The best way to promote family values in this country is to allow all Americans, gay or straight to have families and the best way to defend the honor and sanctity of marriage is to give everyone the chance to experience it. It seems the issue that's keeping you on the fence is that of religious protections. This would be well and good if it were the job of the state senate to govern from a religious standpoint which the Constitution makes clear it is not. This is not a religious issue, it's a legal one. If religious organizations choose not to recognize same sex marriage, the same way certain religions don't recognize interfaith marriages, that's for them to decide. But insisting upon language in the bill guaranteeing them this right is unrealistic and I think you know it. This comes across as a device by which you can vote down the bill without directly or publicly opposing gay marriage. Take a stand Senator. You either believe that all Americans are equal or you don't. If you believe they are, you should vote in favor of the bill. The simple fact is that religion shouldn't even play a roll in your decision making process. Religion and government are to remain separate in this country. This is for the good of both religion and government and going against this principle weakens both.

In closing Senator, let me appeal to you to think about your legacy as a lawmaker in this country. You have the opportunity to create sweeping change simply by allowing gay Americans to exercise a right already afforded to every other group in this nation. It is my firm belief that 50 years from now, this period in American history will be remembered in a similar light to the civil rights movement and it is up to you to decide which side of this great struggle you want to be associated with. I have no doubt that those who stand up and defend the rights of all Americans to marry and pursue happiness will be remembered like Dwight Eisenhower and Bobby Kennedy as leaders and agents of change while those who opposed it will forever be cast to the same category in history as George Wallace and Bull Connor as bigots, anti-progressives and hate-mongers. I believe you know in your heart that the best thing for your state, this nation and for your constituents, many of whom are gay, is to fight for the rights of all Americans and vote in favor of gay marriage. Throughout our nation's history New York has been a leader on a national scale. Your great state is once again presented with the opportunity to lead by example by passing groundbreaking legislation and upholding the fundamental American value of equality. Take the lead. Do what's right. Thank you again, Senator for encouraging public discussion on this issue and soliciting the opinions of the people. It is a great sign that you are carefully considering both sides of the issue and I will continue to pray that you vote on the side of equality and freedom.

Respectfully,

Bill Malinowski

-Wild

There are three guys that come to mind who deserve a break:  Obama, Michael Vick and LeBron James.  This isn't a political blog, those are for douchebags and (speaking of douchebags) Rick Reilly beat me to defending Vick.  I hate it when I find myself agreeing with Reilly.  But I digress, I'm here to defend LBJ.

First, I don't want to hear anymore shit about how Cleveland basketball fans are "long suffering".  Cleveland baseball fans and Cleveland football fans are long suffering.  But before LeBron came to town, you fuckers didn't even know you had a basketball team.  Just pretend it never happened.  Revert back to not giving a fuck.  Not caring suits you, just like the rest of the country doesn't give a shit about you.  Also, so what if you are long suffering?  Do you think you're somehow karmically entitled?  This is a Cubs fan talking.  Suffering defeat for extended periods of time doesn't entitle you to shit.  What fucking fantasy world are you living in?  This is the real world lady!  Life's not fair.  Deal with it.  You live in the middle of the Goddamn rust-belt.  You should be used to disappointment.

Next, the idea that James turned his back on his hometown is ridiculous.  He's not from Cleveland.  He's from Akron.  And even if he was from Cleveland, this isn't the movies, where the kid grows up to play for the team he grew up loving.  This is real life, where players play where they have the greatest chance of winning and will make the most money.  Grow up Peter Pan, Count Chocula.

Do you fucking people really think that LeBron or any athlete in any city owes anything to the fans?  I know you go to games and watch them on TV and sort of indirectly pay their salaries, but you pay Steve Jobs' salary too if you own an ipod.  Do you expect his loyalty?  His personal loyalty to you?  No, you expect him to sell you an awesome status symbol that will be obsolete in 18-36 months.  If Jobs moved to Japan to run Sony because they had better R&D and could pay him more (and the climate was better, the nightlife was hotter and the people were better looking)  would you be pissed?  "That bastard!  I pay his salary!  I supported him!  I love my ipod so he should love me dammit!"  Of course you wouldn't.  That would be crazy.  You'd be happy for him that he took a new and exciting opportunity and had the chance to make a little more coin than before.  Your addiction to Mochaccinos indirectly pays Howard Schultz's salary.  You support Starbucks, you go there every day.  But you don't expect anything from Schultz personally.  You expect a fucking latte.  It's the same with athletes.  They don't owe you shit.  You paid for a ticket, and one of the greatest players to ever strap on basketball shoes entertained the shit out of you.  That's it.  Obligation over.  The fact that you live in the city he reps, love his team or worship him is fucking meaningless, except in your head.  Get out of your damn head and get a clue.

When did it become OK to wish personal harm towards someone we disagree with?  Who signed off on all of this psychotic vitriol?  Listen up, Tea Partiers, PETA People and Jilted Clevelandites:  You disagree with these people's decisions.  They disappointed you.  You don't approve of their actions.  Voicing that disapproval is great, but there's no need to threaten people, wish they were dead or compare them to Hitler, Stalin or Charles Barkley.  Lighten up Cleveland.  He didn't go to Miami with the intent of slighting, insulting, or personally harming you.  He did it so he could play ball with his friends with whom he already won a gold medal.  Miami could offer him that.  Chicago couldn't, New York couldn't and you couldn't, but he waited until the very last minute to see if you maybe could, so he could stay and keep all you ungrateful sucktards happy.  He didn't wait until the last minute as part of some diabolical plan to sink your franchise.  He was holding out hope, just like you were that the organization would be able to move heaven and earth and bring Wade and Bosch up to the foul smelling shores of Lake Erie.  But it didn't work out.  Stop fucking crying about it.

I know what you're saying, "But 'The Decision' was such a classless move!"  Yeah.  He could have handled that better.  But he's 25 years old - and speaking as a 25 year old guy, let me tell you, sometimes 25 year old guys do stupid shit.  It's not that uncommon - or unfathomable - especially when you have Nike and ESPN in your ear, egging you on to turn this thing into the biggest media spectacle ever.  ESPN, once again is guilty of creating, and thus becoming the story.  Don't believe me?  Turn on ESPN today.  They haven't gone more than twelve and a half minutes since midnight last night without talking about LeBron's "homecoming".  They've been planning this for months.  Their level of sociopathic manipulation makes Alonzo Harris look like a fucking boy scout.  They played up the free-agent bonanza, reported stories based on twitter and hearsay and turned "The Decision" into the landmark event of controversy it's become.  Don't get so caught up in it.  He left.  He brought you closer to greatness than you've ever been and then he left.

This isn't the first time we've seen Cleveland sports fans bitch like a bunch of little girls.  You pulled the same shit when Modell moved the Browns.  Sports is a business.  The teams, the players, the coaches, the fucking waterboys are there to make money.  They appreciate their fans.  That doesn't make them forever indebted to their fans.  These things happen - and not just to you.  Want proof?  The Browns moved to Baltimore - a city that lost their football team over night a few decades earlier.  Part of being an adult is learning to deal with disappointment, accepting that not everything is going to go your way.  Congratulations Cleveland fans, for the second time in two decades you've proven yourselves to be children.  Does anything get done in that city? Or do you just sit around and bitch about how bad the Indians suck,  how hard the Browns blow (glad you got them back huh? Those two winning seasons in the last 12 years must make it all worth it) and how unfair it is that LeBron left?  What do you people do when you're passed over for promotions or cut off in traffic?  Go into a coma?  Spontaneously combust?  You want to know why LeBron left?  Because he's a winner and Cleveland is a city of losers.  Losing is a tradition in Cleveland.  Failure is a way of life - and constantly bitching about that isn't going to reverse this trend.  Incidentally, having the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame doesn't redeem you.  A lot of cities have museums.

And stop acting so giddy that the Heat are having trouble adjusting to three of the biggest stars in the league.  They're 11-8, not 8-11.  What did you think they were going to win all 82 games? 80? 73?  I've got news for you.  Some records never will be broken.  Kobe's never going to score 100 points, Ichiro will never have a 56 game hitting streak and no one will ever win 72 games again (What?  This website is Chicago biased.  We told you it would be).  I hope tonight is a turning point for the Heat.  I hope the big 3 play like the stars they are and just embarrass the shit out of all of you.  I hope the Cavs get absolutely dominated tonight and LeBron puts up a career high while he, Bosch and Wade all post tripple doubles.  Would that shut you up?  Probably not.  If you assholes had any balls or any class, you'd give your returning hero a standing ovation tonight.  But you don't, so you won't.  Fine.  Enjoy your miserable, never-winning-shit, "poor me I'm stuck in shitty Cleveland" existence.

Finally, in the immortal words of Jimmy Kimmel, "Cleveland doesn't rock.  Cleveland sucks.  Your football team is the color of shit."  That should just about sum it up.

-Wild

From the 2:04 mark in the first quarter on, the issue was never in doubt.  March scored us some excellent front row seats in the south end zone, so Robert Blanton's momentum shifting blocked punt/TD occurred right in front of us.  From that point on, it was all Irish, all the time.  Despite seemingly insurmountable injuries on both sides of the ball, the Irish played like the team Brian Kelly's been talking about all year. True  freshman QB Tommy Rees threw 13 of 20 with 3 TD's and no INT's.  The defense was equally as impressive as the offense and special teams with three HUGE 4th down stops, completely cutting off any momentum the Utes attempted to mount, two of which were goal line stands (one, like the punt return, occurred less than 50 feet from where we were sitting).  It was just an absolutely fantastic way to close the Stadium for the season.  Fans went from bemoaning the "losing-est senior class in ND history" to a true belief that we could "BEAT SC!"  (which we did!) as the boisterous chants suggested as we left the field.  Oh yeah - we GOT ON THE FIELD!!!!!!

A perfect ND day that included tailgating, a fly over during the Anthem and an exciting, Irish dominated game ended in splendid fashion as the ushers said "fuck it" and let anyone who wanted to go on the field and celebrate with the students, band, Irish Guard and players.  Jimmy touched the cross bar of the goal post, I almost had a stroke and we both checked something off our bucket lists.  I won't go into how awesome of an experience this was, because words won't do it justice, but leaving the stadium the same way Knute Rockne, Joe Montana and Derrick Mays did was an almost perfect experience.

Watching the Irish turn a corner as a team, even this late in the season, combined with all the pomp and circumstance surrounding Irish Football (The Band of The Fighting Irish, The Irish Guard, The acres upon acres of tailgaters, the fighter jets during the National Anthem) would have made for an incredible experience on their own, but getting to celebrate with the team on the hallowed ground of the football field and walking out through the tunnel that Rudy and so many other young Domer hopefuls have prayed they could one day sprint out of with their gold helmets shining in the sun was nothing short of miraculous.  I could feel the presence of Leyden and Crowley, the winning spirit of Holtz and Parseghian, the energy of the crowd chanting "We are ND! We are ND!"  As the band finished and fans started to make their way out of the stadium, we didn't want the moment to end, taking our time exiting through the players' tunnel and savoring our time on the field we had watched our heroes compete on since our youth.

Suffice to say, Saturday's game shot right up into my top 5 all time sports experiences and that's saying something.  To give you an idea of the company this game was in, here's the complete list:

Top 5 Sports Memories:

#5: December 10, 2005 - The Bradley Center 111-106 Bucks over Cavs, LeBron throws up 52 points like it ain't no thing

This was the single greatest individual performance by an athlete I've ever witnessed first hand.  I was interning on the sports desk at Milwaukee's ABC affiliate when my boss tossed me a media pass and asked "Wanna go see LeBron?"  Fuck and yes I did!  No camera crew, no report to file, just free media room grub and press row seats for absolute domination.  LeBron would put up 52 points in a losing effort, but the sheer dominance he showed and absolute manhandling of anyone who tried to guard him, take the lane away or contest him at the hole was unlike anything I'd ever seen on a basketball court.  I got to go to the press conference and everything after the game, but sitting there, watching LBJ score at will, it was clear that the NBA's next heir to greatness had arrived.

#4: January 20, 2006 - The Bradley Center 67-65 Marquette over ND, Steve Novak knocks down buzzer beating 3 FTW

A roommate's dad had sick seats for this sold out game (every year, Marquette breaks its own attendance record for Wisconsin basketball during either the Madison game or the ND game.  This was that game!) and I somehow finagled an invite.  We sat in the 5th row, pounding Guinness and cheering on the Golden Eagles in a real barn burner.  As the final seconds ticked off the clock, it looked like hope was lost until Steve Novak, MU's never-miss forward got the ball at the elbow.  3.  Swish.  Buzzer.  A capacity crowd at the Bradley Center absolutely lost their shit.  I've seen a lot of amazing games at the BC, but this one takes the cake.

#3: August 14, 1998 - Yankee Stadium 6-4 Yankees over Rangers, Bernie Williams hits a walk-off 2 run homer

This game was special for a few reasons.  One was the slam bang finish, courtesy of Bernie Williams, which we'll get to in a second.  Another is that I attended with my die-hard Yankees fan Uncle, my sister (who would call Williams' shot) and my dad.  The last is that I believe the summer of '98 was the greatest summer for baseball in my lifetime.

I'm sure this will draw a lot of ire from a lot of people, but you can't argue with the fact that the home run race  that summer was the most exciting thing we'd seen in decades from the sport (especially since at the time we didn't, or chose not to know what we know now) and that it single-handedly  saved baseball, which still hadn't recovered from the strike.  This piece of history, combined with the Yankees' record breaking 125 wins (regular season and post season combined) brought me back to baseball that summer.  I had never turned on it completely, but some of the passion definitely died in 1994 and the summer of '98 rekindled it.

Despite the home run race happening right in my backyard, as the two NL Central sluggers duked it out chasing Maris, this would be the only game I attended during that historic summer.  I may not have gotten to see Sosa or McGwire as they chased greatness, but I did get to see the winning-est team in the history of the game record a W.

With two out and one on in the bottom of the ninth, we were hopeful as the Yanks had just tied the game at 4.  As my dad and I rooted for Bernie Williams to keep the rally alive with a sensible base hit, my sister looked at us and said "Bernie's gonna hit a walk-off."  We laughed and explained to her that we just needed base runners and that predicting/wishing for a home run was bad baseball karma.  What the fuck did we know?  With a 3-2 count, Williams dinged one to right center ("It's a walk-off!"), The Stadium erupted, and we left the game chanting "Bernie! Bernie! Bernie!" with 50,000 of our best friends as Sinatra's "New York, New York" blared over the PA system and Bob Shepard implored us all to travel safe.

#2: November 13, 2010 - Notre Dame Stadium 28-3 Irish over Utah, WE GOT ON THE FIELD

See above.  Did I mention WE GOT ON THE FIELD?

#1: April 28, 1995 - Wrigley Field 4-3 Cubs over Expos, My dad is the man

Opening Day, 1995.  At least 2 out of every 3 Opening Days in Chicago are absolutely horrid.  We've had rain, snow, wind, sub-freezing temperatures and embarrassing defeats.  But every so often, the baseball gods smile on Chicago and give us an actual spring day to welcome back the boys of summer.  This was one of those Opening Days.  72 degrees, sunny, a light lake breeze, the perfect climate for North Side Baseball.  I knew my dad had tickets to the game but was told he was taking clients.  Undeterred, I continued to pester him throughout breakfast and the ride to school, making sure he didn't have an extra ticket he'd maybe forgotten about.  I was assured that every ticket in his possession was spoken for.

Dejected, I trudged toward the schoolhouse looking forward to wasting 8 hours of prime sunshine bored to tears by whatever the hell it is they teach you in the fourth grade.  I spent most of the morning staring out the window, wishing I could be out playing street hockey, riding bikes or sitting at Wrigley Field watching the Cubs.  Sometime around 10 AM, the class was suffering through one of the those God-awful film strips they used to show you.  It was the kind with taped narration but no moving pictures.  I sincerely hope they don't make students sit through that shit any more.  If my memory serves me right, it was the story of Caddie Woodlawn, some pioneer chick who was home schooled and spent her days doing bad ass things like splitting wood and boiling the laundry.  Anyway, just as I was seriously considering stabbing myself with one of those deadly geometry compasses, I saw my mom appear outside the classroom door.  Fuck.  Was it Market Day?  What the shit was Mom doing here? Did someone die?  Holy Christ someone died.

My baby sister had been born the previous fall and demanded around 99% of my mom's attention, so for her to make an appearance at school meant some serious shit must be up.  She usually didn't even pick me up from school at the end of the day.  My mind started spinning with horrible worst case scenarios as I wondered what couldn't wait until 3PM.  As the teacher slipped out and briefly talked with my mom in the hall, I took mental stock of my weekend activities and wondered what I could have done to be in enough trouble for my mom to show up at school.  As the embarrassment of having a parent show up at school mounted (for some reason, to a fourth grader, this is mortifying) and my teacher came back in and told me to go talk to my mom, I braced for the worst.

As soon as I hit the hallway, my mother's face lit up.  "Wanna go to the Cubs game?" she asked.

"Shut up!" I shot back in disbelief.

"I will not," she returned.  I was the hell out of that school faster than a roided out Marion Jones out of the blocks (too soon? too dated?).  I didn't even go back and get my books.  Didn't stop at my locker.  I just ran outside and jumped in the car.  CHECK OUT ALL THOSE POOR BASTARDS ROTTING AWAY IN STUPID SCHOOL!  I'M GOING TO WRIGLEY!!!!!!  Within a half hour, I was on the L and headed for Addison.  My dad picked me up at the L stop and brought me over to Sluggers (my first and to this day favorite bar) where we had pre-game burgers with some of his clients and buddies from work.  This was also the day I learned about Jell-O shots, (the combination of Jell-O and alcohol is just as fascinating to a 10 year old as it is to a college freshman, however being about 11 years short of legal drinking age, I was not allowed to partake) indoor batting cages and waitresses with tons of cleavage.

Right before game time, we made our way across the street and found our seats in the first few rows along the right field line.  I remember the sense of anticipation as we approached the gates and the butterflies I felt when the ancient usher who ripped my ticket looked at me and said "Welcome to Wrigley Field, son".  I had been to Wrigley Field before, but this was opening day!  And I was supposed to be in school!  I was king shit of turd mountain!

As we walked out of the tunnel into the bright sunlight, revealing the deep green of the grass, the rust brown of the dirt and the red brick peeking through the not-yet-flowering ivy, I got that feeling that "Field of Dreams" spends two hours trying to describe.  It's a feeling you can only get when you enter a major league park - and it's got to be the right major league park, like Wrigley, the Old Yankee Stadium, or Dodgers Stadium.  I still expect to feel the way I did that day every time I go to the ballpark, and when I do, it's great, when I don't, for the briefest of moments, it's absolutely soul crushing.  But that day, in that park, I felt it.

As the game got started, I realized our seats were prime right fielder shit talking territory, and I did not hold back.  Even at 10, I could hurl quite the string of insults at an opposing player.  Heckling the closest opposing fielder to my seats has always been one of my favorite ballpark pastimes and that day, I was called up from the minors and earned my big-leagues trash-talking stripes.  The poor guy never knew what hit him.  I think he even started tearing up in the bottom of the 7th.  It would stand as my proudest heckling moment for fifteen years until a myself and a group of intoxicated friends antagonized the green knight at Medieval Times so badly that he actually broke character to argue with us ("I just made fun of that kid so hard he puked!")

The Cubs won 4-3, I ate like 6 hot dogs, a sundae and two things of peanuts and I learned how to play pass the cup.  More importantly, I was one of the guys.  No moms, no sisters, just my dad and his buddies, drinking beer, gambling, telling off color jokes and enjoying Opening Day at the single greatest place on earth to enjoy a ballgame.  I had been to a few Cubs games at this point, but I'm pretty sure this was the first win I was present for.

This was before the days of W flags and "Go Cubs Go" but cruising home on Lake Shore Drive with the windows open and the music cranked up just a little too loud was all the victory celebration the Old Man and I needed.  I've seen some amazing shit in my life and been a part of some incredible sporting events, but Opening Day 1995 was the perfect day.  It was a day I'll never forget as long as I live.  The kind of day Wrigley Field was built for.  It's a day I'll tell my son about before his first Opening Day.  That day and days like it are the reason they should never tear Wrigley down and the reason I'll fucking cry if they ever do.  Thanks for that day, Dad.

-Wild

Resident College Football Expert Jimmy "The Greek" March Gives Us His Prediction For A Key Big 10 Matchup

The Michigan State Spartans are ranked 5th in the BCS poll yet they’re a touchdown underdog when they visit the #18 Iowa Hawkeyes this weekend.  This year’s cardiac kids don’t have a superstar on offense; they don’t always look flashy in getting the job done.  In fact, they’ve looked down right ugly at times (see most of the Illinois and Northwestern games).

However, at 8-0, the Spartans are decidedly in the driver’s seat in the Big Ten at this point in the season.  With Kirk Cousins at the helm, the Michigan State offense is averaging just under 450 yards and 34.5 points per game.  The Spartan defense, for its part, has only given up 17.9 points per game, good for 18th in the country.  With kicker Dan Conroy hitting 13 of 14 field goals on the season, Mark D’Antonio’s squad sure looks the part of a well-rounded, high-powered Big Ten Champion.

Why then, are the Spartans an underdog to a two-loss Iowa team?

State is on the road, sure, but home-field advantage typically gives three points.

That still leaves MSU a three-and-a-half point ‘dog.

With three potentially game-breaking running backs (Baker, Bell, Caper), four legitimate wideouts (Dell, Cunningham, Martin, Nichol), and two tight ends that are a mismatch waiting to happen (Gantt, Linthicum) all at the disposal of a quarterback completing two-thirds of his passes on the season, why are the Spartans the upset-special pick of the week for columnists and analysts all over the country?

First, the Michigan State Spartans have most definitely been this year’s version of the cardiac kids.  The headline-grabbing overtime fake field goal to beat the struggling Fighting Irish; the same one that sent Coach D’Antonio to the hospital with a heart attack was only the beginning.

While that win propelled the Spartans into the top-25, there have been a couple other close calls along the way that have allowed them to keep climbing.  The score in Michigan State’s 26-6 win against Illinois two weeks ago belies the fact that Sparty struggled, and for about three quarters, this looked like a Big Ten bottom feeder fight.

Last weekend in Evanston, Michigan State was trailing Northwestern 17-0 late in the second quarter.  Sparty clawed back again and put in the game winner on a 9-yard B.J. Cunningham touchdown catch with 2:00 remaining.

Second, despite the fact that the Iowa Hawkeyes have two-losses, Ricky Stanzi has seemingly put it together as a third year starter at quarterback.  With 16 touchdowns to only 2 interceptions on the season, Stanzi, who’s sometimes questionable decision-making was often Iowa’s Achilles’ heel in the ’08 and ’09 campaigns, has made the Iowa Hawkeyes multi-dimensional on offense.  With receivers Derrell Johnson-Koulianos and Marvin McNutt both averaging over 16 yards per catch, and running back Adam Robinson stacking up 737 yards and 9 touchdowns through seven games, this years Hawkeye offense is no joke.

On the other side of the ball, the Hawkeyes have put together another stout defensive unit, allowing only 15.7 points per game on the season.

Above all, the Hawkeyes have a bad taste leftover from last week’s last minute, 31-30 loss to Wisconsin.  Wanting to take it out on someone, anyone, Michigan State is definitely walking into a trap game.

Despite the oddsmakers, the experts, and Michigan State’s own inconsistent play, the Spartans have what it takes to run the table in the Big Ten this season.  With an impressive showing against Wisconsin, beating the Badgers by 10, and putting together the blueprint for shutting down Michigan’s Denard Robinson in a 34-17 beat down in Ann Arbor, this year’s Michigan State squad has shown that they know how to get the job done.

Prediction: Michigan State 31, Iowa 27

-Jim March

Jozy Altidore is one of the most exciting athletes I’ve ever seen play. It was like watching Jordan or Gretzky or every Brazilian player ever.  He just fucks motherfuckers up. Fakes bitches out of their jock straps and appears as if from nowhere to break up passes. Although HefNasty’s man-crush Landon Donovan didn’t play. Altidore’s sheer athleticism, skill and speed, along with the stellar play of both goaltenders provided one hell of a lot of excitement.

Soccer is perhaps the greatest test of human endurance outside of the Ironman. A soccer pitch is huge. Just massive. Around 15 yards longer and about 10 yards wider than an American football field, there’s barely enough grass in most football stadiums to contain a pitch. More importantly, these guys run. And run. And run. Then run some more – for ninety goddamn minutes. No turnovers. No huddles. No stopping the clock when the ball goes out of bounds. Just straight running. To give you some idea of how impressive this is, an NBA game is 48 minutes long – a little longer than ONE HALF of a soccer match when you factor in stoppage time. And there’s no hanging on your shorts and sucking wind during free-throws, no substitutions, no 20 second timeouts. Just fucking running – oh and trying to push a 6 foot 200 pound guy off the ball all goddamn night. Holy shit. These guys are athletes. Too bad no one in this country notices.

But it’s not so much about what happens on the pitch. The experience of going to a FIFA game is out of this world. You get this awesome sense of absolute fanaticism (The good kind. Not the creepy, “Cameron Crazies” kind), lawlessness, and pure joy of the game with a dash of anarchy and a heaping dose of national pride thrown in.

The best way to describe the anarchy in the arena would be the following: “Dear NFL, You are a bunch of fucking pussies. – Always, FIFA”. “Alcohol free section”? Fuck you! “No smoking in the concourse/bathrooms”? Blow me! “No fighting”? What? Nobody died right? Oh, and you know at NFL games, how they pour the beer out of the can into a cup and if you get a bottle of water, they keep the cap so you can’t use it as a projectile? Not FIFA, baby! “Here’s a full, unopened, 16 oz Budweiser. We trust you to drink it and not hurl it at someone as a result of the previous 6 you just drank. Thanks!” Oh, and even if the hooligan in the row above you mercifully opens and begins to drink his beer, just wait until his team scores a goal, because you’re most likely getting a shower. Security guards in every aisle? Not bloody likely. Those poor bastards had their hands full containing the fights up in the concourse. George Steinbrenner would shit a brick if he saw such lawlessness at a sporting event. Perhaps my favorite dangerous/illegal activity of the night took place during the Polish National Anthem. As the song reached its crescendo, fans lit off 2 Roman Candles (!) one releasing white smoke, the other, red, creating a perfect amateur pyrotechnic Polish flag. This made the arena smell like gunpowder for the majority of the first half. Fun stuff.

This is how sports were meant to be watched! Stupid American legal system. Beyond the delightfully unapologetic hooliganism**, what truly completes the fan experience is the competitive cheering. From the time the lineups were announced, the (woefully outnumbered) American fans attempted to drown out chants of “POLSKA! (Clap, clap clap) POLSKA! (clap, clap, clap)” with the old standby “USA! USA!” And when the US scored its two goals (each time to take the lead), Soldier Field was rocked with “USA!” Chants that could be rivaled only by a Christine O’Donnell rally or a Toby Keith concert. My sense of national pride was at an all-time high***. But the Poles (who had draped most of the surfaces in Soldier Field with various red and white banners, representing various regions and cities of Poland) struck back loudly with a cheer I won’t even attempt to spell or pronounce that we were told translates to “Never give up!” (I wanted to amend it to “Never give up, unless Germany invades, then give up and call America,” but it’s kind of a long-winded translation). These people DO NOT FUCK AROUND about soccer. As the masses chanted “Never Give Up!” in their native tongue, the looks on their faces were more impassioned than any Cheesehead, Masshole, RaiderNation member or booing Philly fan has ever looked or will ever look. It’s more than just a game to these people. I turned around to see looks that can only be described as sheer desperation combined with an intense sense of pride on the faces of the women sitting behind us. It brought to mind the scene in Casablanca in which Victor Laslo orders the band at Rick’s to play La Marseillaise, culminating in a tearful Madeleine LeBeau crying out “Viva La France!” The desperation and national pride of a young refugee hearing her home country’s anthem after nearly sleeping with the enemy almost equaled the passion on the faces of Poland's fans as they implored their beloved footballers to “Never give up!” and it gave me chills.

A few things to keep in mind when attending your first FIFA match:

Don’t expect to sit for anything resembling an extended period of time. We stood for the majority of the first half, finally grabbing some bench around the 13:00 mark – for about 15 seconds until Altidore scored off a pass from midfielder Jermaine Jones – who was making his international debut. The goal would kick off another intense cheer battle – and sitting would be kept to a minimum. It was as if the fiercely competitive fans were sending a message to each other “We’re not tired and neither is our squad!” Every other opportunity to ride the pine that came along would be interrupted almost as quickly as the first by a steal, a corner, a free kick, a hard slide tackle (incidentally, the stereotypes are true. Footballers flop. More than a few times, a guy would lie in a fetal position until the ref came over and administered the appropriate punishment, at which point, he’s spring to his feet and get back in position.) or an odd-man rush. There’s no “down in front” or “wait for the whistle” etiquette. There’s only leaving it all out there for your squad. Showing loyalty to one’s country, one’s squad is all that matters.

Just go with it. Things like “personal space” aren’t really at the top of anyone’s list. There’s this mentality that we’re all in this together and if we can see a good match and make it out alive, it’s all good. Seating isn’t really enforced. There are massive crowds in the aisles and concourses. You’ll probably have beer spilled on you, you’ll probably have to contend with the smell of some guy’s unfiltered Camel and another’s sleeveless, unshowered, deodorant-free pits. It’s not like a normal American pro sporting event. It’s not about “ensuring everyone has a fun and safe experience” or whatever the Christ they announce at MLB games. It’s not about “respecting each fan’s rights to blah blah blah…”. The experience is the insanity, the lawlessness, the anarchy. Take the jostles, jolts, spilled beer and occasional slight to you or your country in stride and don’t start shit unless you’re prepared to go the distance. And truth be told, if you don’t fuck with anyone, you’ll probably be ok. Just sit back and take it all in.

Participate. Have a few beers, loosen up and cheer your balls off. Unlike most American sports, vocally supporting your team throughout the game isn’t considered poor sportsmanship. Fans of opposing teams practically dare each other to cheer louder and most fans successfully walk the perilous line between good-natured fanaticism and violent over-aggression. This is aided in part by the group mentality. At an American sporting event, a boisterous, drunken fan is noticeable due the relative subdued nature of others in the arena. Additionally, this dynamic causes one on one, usually threatening shit-talking ie: “hey you fuck! I don’t like your stupid hat! [the star player from your team] is a faggot! Go back to [the town the opposing team hails from]!” These scenarios inevitably end badly. I only saw one instance of this type of singled out, verbal hostility at the soccer match. It was a drunken American sporting a Poland jersey in line for the men’s room. This dude would literally talk shit to anyone who walked by (including some poor bastard in Chelsea Blue who he blindsided with “Fuck you and fuck Chelsea”). Pretty sure this dude got the shit beat out of him. Hopefully, right? For some reason, this guy’s actions and words seemed more disturbing than even the few physical fights I witnessed. But the great thing about the group mentality of a soccer crowd is that it allows fans to sidestep the potentially awkward one on one confrontation. It’s all of us versus all of you. As I stood shoulder to shoulder with Americans chanting USA! USA! And Poles chanting POLSAK! POLSKA! I noticed half smirks as I made eye contact with opposing fans as if we were saying to each other “I get it. Bring it on!”

*side note on the tie: at the end of the game, the Americans, who came to see a US win, were understandably bummed. The Poland fans however, seemed ecstatic to have avoided an L.

**side note on hooliganism: if you want to fully understand the term “ugly American” look no further than international soccer. While fans in other countries have a far worse reputation when it comes to over the top cheering and violence, it stems from a different place. Most of the fights I saw were clearly started by mouthy Americans (it was a friendly for chrissakes) and the event was clearly just an excuse for most of these guys to get drunk and start a fight, later chalking it up to “hey, it’s soccer.” The Polish fans, while no less rowdy or violent, were motivated by more than knocking a few back and having a good time. It was clear they truly lived and died with this team to a degree that even the most die hard American fans would have difficulty comprehending.

***HefNasty and my dad had both joked during the weeks leading up to the game that I should sport the Polska Reds as a tribute to my heritage. I considered it until I had to watch a week of smug European journalist hurling asinine queries at America’s golf heroes during the Ryder Cup. Following the heartbreaking American defeat, I decided there was no fucking way I could support anything but the Red, White and Blue and thanks to HefNasty’s ever-growing wardrobe of US Soccer gear, I got to cheer my ass off in style.

-Wild

There are no words...

You know what’s awesome? Music. And boobs, of course. But I’m gonna go ahead and talk about music in this post. Pop music, folk music, even classical (as long as it’s got some feeling) is, without a doubt, the fucking shit.  I don’t know how I’d get through the day without it. Most of my days involve less than three hours of meetings, conference calls and actual human interaction. The rest is filled with research and writing – awesome, but at times boring. The answer? Pandora, iTunes, last.fm and the plethora of other places you can go in this glorious digital age to access literally any piece of music ever made.

Music, more than any other art form or form of expression is universal. You show me someone who says they’ve never been moved by a piece of music, I’ll show you a fucking liar. Everyone can relate to the songs we hear, it’s why we sing along in the car, it’s why no matter where we go, one of the three or four things we pretty much always have on us is a music player of some kind.

About a week ago I was having a shitty day – just broke, bored, whatever you have to be for a few days to really get bummed – I was there. So I’m leaving work late and I get in my shitty car, ready to sit in a bunch of LA(suckmycock)traffic on my way home to my shitty apartment. Sounds awesome right? Then all of a sudden – bam: THREE LITTLE BIRDS comes on the radio. Instant fucking smile baby! You know why? Because Bob’s right. Every little thing is gonna be alright.

Nothing about my situation had changed. I was still sitting there, late at night, broke, bored, in my shitty car, stuck in traffic on my way back to my shitty apartment and that was fucking great. Why? Because if Bob Marley could be so damn positive about everything, why couldn’t I? As the Nappy Roots told us: “Another day above ground and that’s a reason to pray.” See? More answers in music!

Music can sympathize (or empathize?) with us (don’t lie, you have a mixtape that includes FAIRYTALE OF NEW YORK, FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES,  and the entire first side of 808s AND HEARTBREAK). It can rationalize the way we’re feeling. Head pounding with that hangover? Uncle Johnny’ll take care of that with a portrait of SUNDAY MORNING COMING DOWN. Music gives us a glimpse of what’s possible. Whether we’re envisioning a vacation in PARADISE CITY or a roadtrip featuring ME AND BOBBY McGEE, anything can happen as long as you’ve got some good tunes. Perhaps most importantly, while music accomplishes all these (and a number of other) things, it makes us feel great. We connect with strangers because of a shared experience or feeling evoked by a piece of music. We see the world differently through music and as long as music is played, reinvented and shared, it’s something we’ll all have in common.

I watched a replay of last year’s Hall of Fame Show on HBO last night and as acts like Metallica and Lou Reed took to the same stage as Paul Simon, Sam Cooke and Buddy Guy, it occurred to me that we get too wrapped up in what kinds of fans we are. Whether you get down to death metal, pop, classic rock, hip hop, bluegrass, Motown, or anything in between, it all stems from the same melting pot of ideas, sounds and influences. The show closes with what I consider to be one of the greatest rock and roll songs ever written: Jackie Wilson’s HIGHER AND HIGHER. I defy anyone to listen to that song and not smile from ear to fucking ear. The same can be said for Stevie Wonder’s FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE and just about anything Darlene Love belts out. The moral of the 4 hour epic is that you can’t put labels or restraints on music – it’s rock and roll. Deal with it.

Music enhances everything we do, without us even noticing. It affects our moods, helps us celebrate, helps us forget. One minute, you’re running around stressed out by this or that – and the next, you’re William Miller, being put at ease by a groupie singing Elton John on a tour bus somewhere in Kansas. Think about it – is Forrest Gump as compelling without its 3 decade spanning soundtrack? Are Hawks games as intense without the blaring of GNR and The Dropkick Murphys between the whistles? No. And your life would be dull and bland without the constant bombardment of sound, sex, love and emotion that is rock and roll. So whether your iPod is sporting The Boss, The Pogues, The Beatles or The Killers this month, don’t forget to take the time to celebrate and appreciate the great gift that is rock and roll.

I could go on for days about my favorite acts and bands that changed my life, but that could take years, and cost thousands of lives. I’m so musically schizophrenic that any attempt to break down why I like the music I like would be an exercise in futility. What I do know, without a doubt is how music makes me feel. Rock and Roll kicks us in the dick and reminds us we’re alive. It reminds us we’re not alone and it reminds us that life is short so we might as well rock while we can. In lieu of trying to break down my musical tastes, below is a list of my top 5 moments in live rock. Not top 5 shows or favorite bands, or even songs, but moments in time when rock and roll slapped me in the face and went “Life is good!”

5. Summer, 2000, The New World Music Theater, Tinley Park, IL: The Who, including John Entwistle (who would pass away just two years later) played BABA O'REILLEY. It trumped even my wildest expectations. Pure energy. Pure rock and roll. Pure magic.

4: Spring, 2004, Eagles Ballroom @ The Rave, Milwaukee, WI: OAR, joined by Robert Randolph and the Family Band (who by the way, stole the show from the headlining Maryland band with a set that included I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU CAME TO DO, I NEED MORE LOVE, BILLIE JEAN and PURPLE HAZE) performed their now famous rendition of Led Zeppelin’s FOOL IN THE RAIN. This rock classic lends itself perfectly to the jam band sound and Randolph’s absolute shredding of the slide guitar was showcased beautifully. This has become commonplace at OAR shows, but I’d never heard anything like it at the time.  In fact, I'd never heard Robert Randolph except through the tiny computer speakers in Sean_Hef's room.  Hearing him play that laptop for the first time I felt the way people must've felt when Hendrix took the stage at Woodstock and Altamont.

3: June 12th, 2004, Bonnaroo, Manchester, TN: The Dead played THE WEIGHT. Most of this weekend is “hazy” but hearing Weir and Lesh rock out such an iconic song with Warren Haynes filling in for Jerry stands out as the most memorable part of a weekend filled with great music and great moments.

2: September 25th, 2002, United Center, Chicago, IL: Sean_Hef and I went to see Bruce Springsteen and the E. Street Band and The Boss closed the show with BORN TO RUN and LAND OF HOPE AND DREAMS. Life doesn’t get much better when you’re 17.

1: November 30th, 2001, Chicago Theater, Chicago, IL: Coldplay closes the show with a cover of HERE COMES THE SUN in tribute to George Harrison, who had passed away the day before. I don’t think I fully understood the significance of this until later. It was pretty clear at the time that the band was on the rise, but nobody knew they’d be another U2 and I don’t think I could yet comprehend George’s importance as both a member of the Beatles and as a solo artist (although he was always my favorite Beatle). But I knew it was special and important and I knew it would be an experience I’d never forget.

Reading through this list, it occurs to me that all of these moments (along with countless others) took place before my 20th birthday. Mick said he’d rather be dead than sing SATISFACTION at 50. He’s 66. He’s still singing it. You’re never too old for rock and roll because ROCK AND ROLL NEVER FORGETS.

Hef – If you’re reading this, DO YOUR BEST JAGGER!

RIP Malcolm MacLaren

Got a killer rock story?  Sound off in the comments.

-Wild

UPDATE: Everything that guys said is bullshit.  Thank you.

As Tiger Woods gears up to return to competitive golf, and in the wake of the most open, uncontrolled and public forum he has spoken to the media in since his car accident, it seems we may see a new, more mature Tiger at Amen Corner on Thursday.  I didn't drink the Kool-aid after that half baked "apology" in February and I laughed off his first two interviews, but as he threw himself on the mercy of the press corps, it was clear that something about Tiger Woods is different.

So all it took was the biggest scandal in sports in the last ten years for Tiger Woods to actually enjoy the game of golf. Today’s press conference, I thought was extremely telling of the tortured existence of a misunderstood hero. The whole Tiger Woods phenomenon began with the best of intentions.

A military man who lived his life by discipline recognized serious raw talent in a young man and did everything in his power – including instilling strict, military values in him to help him become the greatest golfer the world has ever seen. Earl Woods could handle the regimented, disciplined lifestyle he set up for himself – balancing discipline with success, family and just a few vices. A military hero and Vietnam veteran, Earl was just wired differently than his son who spent most of his young life on California's golf courses.

There’s no debating that Earl and Tiger had a great relationship or that he loved his son. He wanted what was best for Tiger, but perhaps Earl’s greatest sin was sucking the joy out of a game that most of us use as an escape. Golf, instead of being a fun, relaxing thing, became a pressure packed, disciplined, joyless endeavor. Tiger looked at a golf the way a stock broker looks at a trading floor, the way an M&A manager looks at a boardroom, or how a lawyer looks at a courtroom. For the first time today, we saw a Tiger Woods who looks at a golf course the way the rest of us do, the way Arnold Palmer did – as a place to enjoy playing a game.

Today, for the first time, we saw Tiger as an adult, speaking about his emotions, choosing to answer the way he wanted and saying what he wanted to say, rather than as the arrested development pre-teen who only knew his job was to stay focused on golf and win. What’s different about Tiger? He’s been de-programmed.

The very personality traits that made him believe he could stick it wherever he wanted were the same ones that made him kurt with the media, impatient and ungrateful with fans and blinded to anything but winning – winning at golf, winning at chasing skirt. We saw his guard down, we saw him realize that no matter how much you have, you can still lose everything and that if he doesn’t play his cards right with those whose opinions matter in the sport (media, fans, sponsors) he will do just that.

Yet, as the press conference went on and questions about Ambien, PED’s and his family and private life became more and more prying, we began to see Tiger back in his old, aloof form – flashes of aloofness peppered in between what I believe to be genuine humility, embarrassment and a sense of calm and satisfaction that a guy who has been striving to be the best from the time he was 6 has never felt in his life.

It remains to be seen which side will win out (the supposed “aloofness” could have just been a grown-ass man handling his shit, having the balls to tell someone, even a reporter “you just crossed a line”). For the most part though, Tiger’s answers were well thought out, but not staged, the questions were respectful, but not pre-secreened.

Tiger classily side stepped the opportunity to lash out at fellow players who took shots at him while he was away, saying he was surprised by how graciously his peers had welcomed him back to the sport. This is kind of a big deal – this would be like if tomorrow AIG was just back on the finance scene, fully bankrolled and ready to tear other I-Banks and insurance companies a new one and Aon, Goldman’s and Chase were just like “What up! Welcome back AIG!”

Not to get all Jimmy Nantz about it here, but if what Tiger said is true about the field welcoming back their single biggest threat with open arms, it really does speak volumes about the bond between PGA golfers and the overall level of class that exists in the sport. Honestly, if that’s me (especially if I'm a contender to win majors) and the one guy who has the ability to fuck my entire existence just announced that he’s coming back with a full head of steam for the sport’s single most prestigious tournament, I’m going on an old Tiger inspired rant (GODDAMN MOTHA FUCKIN PRICK!). But it’s nice that all those guys get along though.

Tiger’s smiles, his honesty, his acknowledgement of the fans and (supposed) willingness to interact with fans during practice rounds all point to the potential that this is the best thing that could have happened to Tiger Woods. Every man should be allowed to enjoy his life as it’s happening to him.

At the end of the day, Tiger accomplished more than most people ever will, so if it takes a tragedy like this to get him to appreciate his fans, treasure his kids, value his wife and enjoy his time on earth, maybe it really was the best thing for him. Whether this is good for golf however, remains to be seen.

I would submit that the best thing for golf (the ratings, the apparel, the ad dollars) and for the old Tiger (just win, make the money, pass Jack) would be continued solitude and misery for Tiger. Could you imagine if he had skipped rehab, said “Fuck it,” given Elin $100 million and packed her divorced ass off to Sweden with the kids? His entire life would have been pussy, money and winning – and boy would he have won. No distractions. No commitments. The ultimate outlet for stress. He would have been a one-man wrecking crew with nothing to lose. But the Buddhist, re-habbed Tiger seems to get the point that you can’t take it with you – that all the money, jackets, trophies and fine pieces of trim don’t mean dick if you don’t leave behind a legacy, if you can’t help people – and as Earl now famously tired to tell him – if you can’t help yourself.

I’m a Mickelson fan*, but I’ve always hoped to see Tiger break every record there is – he’s exciting to watch and any time you have the opportunity to witness history, you hope to. I’m still pulling for Tiger on the course, especially in majors (as long as breaks one off for Lefty every year or two) but somewhat surprisingly; I’m pulling for him in life now. I’m not saying he needs to fix his marriage or be father of the year. I just hope he can find and keep some peace.

He needs to decide who he wants to be like. He could be like his buddy Michael Jordan, who most decidedly said “fuck it” and proceeded to live the type of lifestyle that Tiger was headed towards (and MJ seems, for the most part to enjoy it). Or he could be like his hero Jack Nicklaus, who made his fair share of mistakes, but lived his life honestly and enjoyed things other than golf.

It seems like either choice would be great, except when you stop to think what motivated Michael versus Jack. Jack Nicklaus loved golfing and he was good at it – so that made sense for him. Michael, on the other hand had to win. He didn’t just love ball, he wasn’t just a gifted player – he had to win. He had to win to silence any critic he had ever encountered, any player who had ever talked trash or taken him to the hole in a pick-up game.

I’m not passing judgment on which way of winning is better, but I will say that Jack seems to be enjoying his life a lot more than MJ. When Jack talks, you don’t get the impression that he has anything to prove, while Michael was still trying to silence the haters even as he was being inducted into the Hall of Fame. Hopefully this whole experience will remind Tiger that he’s got nothing to prove on the course, that he has a place in history with the Hogans, Nelsons, Nicklauses and Palmers of the game. Hopefully the sense of calm, gratitude and humility we saw streaks of today will replace the brash, aloof, focused intensity we bemoaned so much before he ever ran over that hydrant.

Good luck at Augusta Tiger – and fuck everyone in the blogosphere who wants to kick you while you’re down.

*When I was 12 or 13, I was in a two or three day a week golf camp at the local muni. One of the perks of being a camper was a trip to a practice round of the Western Open at Cog Hill. I filled a Burner Bubble hat with autographs that day, including greats like Ernie Els and Billy Mayfair. I even shot the shit for a minute with Payne Stewart while he broke me off with his John Hancock.

Fun was had all around – until I approached Tiger between holes. Whereas every other player in the field had happily signed autographs and chilled with fans between holes, Tiger cut through the masses like Moses through the Red Sea, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, black Nike cap pulled over low over his brow, not acknowledging a single person – during a practice round with his old man and Ernie Banks. It was then that I decided Tiger would never be my favorite golfer.

Having said that, I wish him no ill will and hope that maybe the silver ling here is that if Tiger really has changed his attitude, maybe some 12 year old kid won’t get his heart shit on at Augusta this week when he approaches his hero for a signature.

-Wild

As pitchers and catchers report and I buy tickets for my annual pilgrimage to Mesa, AZ, it’s hard to escape the feeling that this year could be ours. With the young, revitalized Hawks on top of the division, one has to wonder if it’s time for Chicago to end another drought. As the trade deadline looms in the NBA, we are offered a glimmer of hope towards a Bulls playoff run. Throughout all the trials and tribulations, ups and downs, living and dying with our teams, expecting nothing less than perfection, coping with disappointment and finally rejoicing when a team does it, rooting for Chicago teams is a truly unique experience…

“I hear that Cali never rains and New York’s all the Way”. I’ll let Pac keep cali and Hov can stay in that Empire State of Mind. Give me an Old Style, a hot dog with everything and 10 great songs from one great year. Give me 75 MPH on lakeshore drive…speeding towards The Drake and the Hancock with the water to your left, taking an “s” curve to reveal Navy Pier in all its shimmering glory. Give me wide open express lanes on the Kennedy barreling towards the greatest skyline on earth, emerging from Hubbard’s Cave in the middle of a glass and steel canopy that is the West Loop.

You can have your Coliseum, your Garden, your palatial new Stadium. Give me bricks and ivy, the Madhouse on Madison and a stadium that’s a living monument. Give me the Irish an hour away on I-80 and the Golden Eagles and hour north on 94.

Keep your models, actresses and PoweR Girls. Give me a chick who can drink me under the table, wake up in time Sunday NFL Countdown and really get what I mean when I say “I hate the fucking Packers”.(Holy shit! You’re wearing an Urlacher jersey and you made chili? What’s your name, soul-mate?)

Skip the ultra-lounges, nightclubs, bars with lines and doormen. I’ll take a Lakeview pub, a Jeff Park dive or a backyard. Give me a grill, a pong table (yes, it’s called “beer pong”) and a game of bags*.

I’ve seen most of the “coast” and a lot of the Atlantic Seaboard. I’d rather cruise the bizarre corridor of the Illinois Tollroad from Chicago to Milwaukee featuring such gems as a gold plated pyramid, that “study natural law house”, Apple Holler, The Brat Stop, Mars Cheese Castle and culminates in our neighbor to the north – which is only good for eating yourself into a coma or drinking yourself to death (also not a bad place to catch a ballgame).

When it comes to sports, don’t even fuck with us. This is a city with a sports following so rabid that fights break out between fans of baseball teams that play in the same town. If pitchers and catchers haven’t reported yet, we don’t even waste time on our divisional rivals (but since we’re on the subject, FUCK the Cardinals.) Sports figures and fans can be made or broken in Chicago. Won the Superbowl in ’85? Take my first born! Snatched up 6 rings in the 90’s? You should run for Mayor! Try to catch a foul ball? Pay attention asshole! Bam! Death threats! Beat the Packers this week? You’re a future Hall of Famer! Lose to the Vikes next week? Bench that asshole! Being a Chicago sports fan goes beyond loving our teams, idolizing our heroes and vilifying the failures, it’s about hating (with a vengeance) our rivals. “Get the fuck out of here with that Donald Driver jersey! And look at this asshole! A Favre Vikings jersey!?!?! Do I really have to explain to you all the things wrong with that!?!”

Chicago sports is all encompassing. It covers every major sport, starting on the high school level and reaching all the way up through college to the pros and for every team we love, there’s even more teams we hate. It starts with where you went to high school. If you were blessed enough to come up in the Chicago Catholic League, then all suburban leagues are a joke and the Chicago Public League is a glorified basketball conference. Rivalries run deep in the CCL/GCAC and loyalties are not split. From basketball and baseball to hockey, wrestling, football even volleyball and soccer you won’t find too many fans of the Loyola Ramblers and the Mount Carmel Caravan or The Providence Celtics and Joliet Catholic Hilltoppers. Nobody in the history of Chicago has ever rooted for Regina and Resurrection or Loyola and Mother MacAuley. Whether it’s football, basketball or girls’ soccer, communities live and die with their high school teams.

When it comes to collegiate athletics, the Chicagoland area is a hotbed of competition. To the South, you’ve got The Chief, to the east, The Irish, to the north, The Golden Eagles and to the west, The Wolfpack. You’ve got the Wildcats on the North Shore and the Ramblers and Blue Demons on the North Side with the Flames representing the South Side. Everyone in Chicago has their own allegiances and they stick by their team through good and bad. In Chicago it’s not who you root for or how you root, but that you root.

Chicago’s five major professional sports teams are the proud owners of a combined 23 titles as well as some of the longest title droughts in sports. Luckily, they also have some of the world’s most dedicated, bloodthirsty and absolutely insane fans. Fans who singlehandedly demolished disco in the 70’s, Superbowl Shuffled in the 80’s, rioted in the 90’s and who every year, without fail believe that this could be the year – for all of our teams, whether they last won it all in 2005, 1998, 1985, 1961 or 1908. It’s not about what happened last year, last month, last week, last game or last inning. In Chicago, we live in the now, we expect the miraculous, even the impossible. We know greatness, we know winning and we expect nothing less from our athletes.

Chicago has no casual fans. There’s no room for divided loyalties. We raise our sons and daughters not just to love the Bears, but to hate the Packers and the Vikings (more especially, any quarterback who’s played for both). It’s not enough just to love the Cubs. You must loathe the Sox and the Cards. The Knicks haven’t been relevant in 15 years? Yeah, well Ewing was still an asshole! And don’t even get me started in the mother fucking Pistons. Speaking of Detroit, Hawks fans of all ages will tell you that the most important fact you can know about hockey (more important than the Hawks all-time leading scorer, more important than any stat) is that DETROIT SUCKS!

So let me root, root, root for the home team – and only the home team. Let me down an a Hamms (or a Goose Island if we’re being fancy). Turn up “Saturday in the Park” and break me off a slice of Lou’s deep dish, toss me a fresh Cubbie Blue New Era cap, because there’s no city on Earth I’d rather put on for than Sweet Home Chicago.

*Ever try to describe a game of “bags” to someone not from the Midwest? “So, what’s the point?” “What? You try to get the bags in the hole and the first team to 21 wins.” “Yeah, but when do you drink?” “The whole time.”

-Wild