Well, My Apartment Isn't There...Because I Drank It

"From the brightest star
Comes the blackest hole
You had so much to offer
Why did you offer your soul?
I was there for you baby
When you needed my help
Would you deny for others
What you demand for yourself?

Cool down mama, cool off
Cool down mama, cool off
You speak of signs and wonders
I need something other
I would believe if I was able
But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table."
-U2, "Crumbs from Your Table"


There's a good reminder in those lyrics about keeping your cool. And that's more a reminder for myself than anyone else, but more to the point I am aghast that Bono and/or The Edge would put the words "cool down mama, cool off" in a song released after the 1970s. They should be ashamed, but I bet they're not. Why? Because they have a boatload of Grammys to keep them warm at night. You go, U2. By the way, something occurred to me once when I was sending a text message: do you think it's possible they named the band after the polite conversational wish? I mean, do you think they were always talking on the phone, and people were saying, "Have a nice day" or "I love you" and they were always responding with the words "You, too" and decided to name a band after them? If so, I would have done the impossible and found a reason this band is infinitely cooler.

What else? Let's see, my classes are in that early-semester malaise period before midterms when I realize how lazy I've been and get kicked in the ass on the way to finals. So...all good there, I guess. I'm unusually excited about the fact that I have 5 free hours today within which I plan to buy some comics and lounge around reading them. I mean, what am I, twelve? Ah, twelve. I long for those simpler days. The grass was always lime green and the sun was always shining when I was twelve. Of course, I spent most of that year in a chemically-induced coma, so take my perceptions with a grain of salt. Only kidding. But no, really.

I thought I would just take a minute since I finally have a chance to organize my thoughts and comment on the Frank Thomas situation. First of all, let me establish that Frank Thomas is my favorite baseball player. You may throw garbage at your monitor now. Done? Okay, good. He and Hawk Harrelson did more than any other people alive to get me into baseball when I was a geeky kid looking for something constructive to be interested in, and that forged a bond that is awful hard to break. Now, for those not in the know, Frank has spent the last 15 years as part of the Chicago White Sox. During that time he has amassed a series of historically impressive numbers, won two American League MVP awards and been widely considered the best overall hitter of his generation. Sadly he only won two division titles during that span, and the Sox failed miserably both times he was in the playoffs. The most tragic thing is that he and the Sox's best season during his career was probably 1994, when they were the best team in the AL and seemed destined for a World Series date with the Expos (how weird would that have been?) before a labor strike halted the season without a playoffs. Now I don't purport to be an expert on all the many happenings involved, so I'll just say that Frank was almost known more for causing off the field problems than for his great statistics during his time with the Sox. Though I fell in love with him as a ten-year-old begging for a baseball hero who could only see a gentle giant demeanor and a crushingly effective batting stroke, I apparently missed the whole picture. Frank was known to be surly, cocky and selfish with both management and the media, all of which were facts I ignored when I began to become old enough to understand the ugly side of sports. Just the same, Frank became my favorite player after the 1993 West Division championship season, and I have always had tunnel vision in regards to him since. He's my guy, I don't question him, that's it and that's all. Whatever sins he may have committed with his mouth were worth the joys of watching him use a bat as far as I was concerned. Which is why I wanted so badly for Frank to return to full health over the past couple of years so he could attain the one statistical goal he needs to ensure a place in the Hall of Fame: 500 career home runs. And why I was so disappointed when the Sox finally got over the hump and won a championship while an injured Frank rode the bench.

Frank's last chapter in Chicago ended badly. Long story short, Frank said he was healthy enough to play in the World Series, the team told him to sit it out and let him throw out the first pitch, the Sox ended up winning and then didn't offer Frank a chance to come back with the team. The Big Hurt apparently is, or at least was enough to offer some bitter words upon signing with his new team, the Oakland A's. Even though I've seen this day coming for quite a while, I wish Frank hadn't gone out on such a low note. Even though I've known for about 3 or 4 years that he and the Sox were probably better off apart, a part of me wished that Frank could have a storybook ending to his career and never have to leave the South Side. He was very close. A few less games missed to injury, and Frank could have had it all. Hell, he got damn close to 500 homers, and he did get to participate in the victory parade. But seeing footage of him on that podium now is even more bittersweet than on the day of the celebration. So as perhaps the last fan who loved Frank Thomas almost as much as the White Sox themselves, what do I do now? I'll tell you. I will root against the Oakland A's with every fibre of my being. Even when they're not playing against the Sox, their very presence as a team on the west coast with strong pitching is a thorn in the Pale Hose's side. I will not hope for their success just because their organization houses my favorite player. I will, however, circle those dates on the calendar when Chicago plays the Athletics, because it will give me a chance to glimpse my hero and my team in the same place once again. It will transport me back to my carefree younger days when baseball was new in my eyes and Big Frank was a smiling slugger; a kind heart with a mean bat. And on those days, I will secretly hope against hope that he sticks around long enough to hit 500, and punches his ticket to the Hall. And even if his bitterness causes him to wear an Oakland hat when he is inducted, I will not let that bitterness infect me. Because what Frank gave me as a fan needing a baseball hero I can never truly repay. I know only that the least I can do is support him in the twilight of a great career. My admiration for him isn't over, it's just changed a little. And that's what true devotion is about.

Sharon Stone stars in The Hits and The Dead (those hits are awful Quick, you know):

-My congratulations go out to two pillars of the vaunted Canadian pro wrestling tradition. Last Sunday, Christian Cage (known just as Christian in WWE) won the top title in TNA, the NWA World Heavyweight Championship. I've never been a huge fan of Christian's, but even I have had to acknowledge that in the last 2 years, he had shown every necessary quality to be a main event player and WWE would not stop pushing him down. He took a very big chance bucking his big WWE contract and going to TNA, but he got what he wanted out of the deal. Now only time will tell if the move was worth it or not, but I have to believe that if TNA is ever going to emerge as a contender to WWE's rule over sports entertainment, guys with the talent and the, ahem, charisma of Christian will be the ones to lead it there.

-I also congratulate Bret Hart on his being announced as the first inductee in this year's WWE Hall of Fame class. Though the honor is a bit of a work and may be dragged through the mud by Vince McMahon before it's all over, it is certainly well-deserved and I hope Bret can enjoy the kind of tribute that Hulk Hogan got last year. Sure, his premature exit from the business may have helped grow his legend a bit, but he still has a huge following and no one can deny that he is one of the greatest ever. God speed, Bret, I'll see you in Chicago.

Lata, bitches!

~Jakeman