Wednesday, February 25, 2015

I Sure Hope I Regret This

I vividly remember the day when I found out that the Bulls won the NBA Draft Lottery. I was at a seemingly commonplace White Sox game in late May with a few friends from middle school, who became friends in high school, who have now laid claim to the obligatory “friends from home” category in my mid-20’s. The men that were with us, of course, were Bulls fans—the kids that grew up with MJ and lit Charles Barkley’s cardboard head on fire on a stick in our front lawn in 1993.

Then, though—in 2008—the Bulls were amidst a near decade of pure hopelessness. Since Jordan and Pippen left the United Center with their 6 rings in tow for the last time in ‘98, the Bulls drafted Elton Brand, who became an All-Star, but then quickly gave way to the Tyson Chandler/Eddy Curry experience, which ended in disaster. Then the Bulls opted for an experienced, bona fide college superstar, Duke’s Jay Williams , a sure-fire franchise cornerstone, whose career disintegrated after a high-speed motorcycle injury. In those in-between years of even, monotonous mediocrity the Bulls tried it all: the inexplicably ill-advised shots of the Ben Gordon and Jamal Crawford eras , the inordinate amount of minutes played by Chris Duhon during the Scott Skiles regime, and even the dumbfounding I-am-drinking-Hennessy-in-the-locker-room-and-applied-for-a-job-at-Circuit-City-during-the-season Ron Artest years, which, of course, in hidsight were greatly underappreciated in terms of their comedic value from an entertainment standpoint.

Then we found out that we were on the cusp of the seemingly implausible, a 1.7% chance to land a product that was as emblematic of Chicago-style basketball as Belushi was a "chizbogah". I remember when we received word of the news. Even the girl we were with—a casually passive Bulls fan at the very most—knew who Derrick Rose was. She was shocked. She was hopeful. She was excited for the Bulls. She was probably just drunk and it’s all we talked about, so she seemed a part of the conversation.

What is remembered with less acuity by most, however, is the Beasley or Rose debate that engulfed the month preceding the draft. Beasley, akin in age to Rose, dominated the college basketball landscape more consistently than Derrick. His college stats are remarkable—26.2 points per game, 12.4 rebounds per game, almost 1,000 points (866) in a single season. Despite glaring character flaws like the fact that he attended six high schools , he was what many scouts and analysts referred to as the “safe choice”. Yet, Derrick Rose fit Chicago like tailored yoga pants; his game bled virtue, but often revealed vice if you watched him long enough.

I won’t fortuitously recall the detailed analytics of the Rookie of the Year campaign rose put together as a 20 year old, or even him becoming the youngest MVP in the history of the NBA at 22. You all recall those moments that were a part of that journey. Whether your specific highlight was his emasculating trounce over Goran Dragic’s manhood, or his quick-shift crossover that left Andre Miller on his seat at the free-throw line, you know who he was. The Derrick Rose skip-bounce-hybrid-runback after an emphatic dunk was a thing—he defined the phrase, “a bounce in your step”. You remember the “poo face” he would give after a game-clinching pull-up shot in the waning moments of a sluggish game in Milwaukee, or Washington, or Indiana. You remember his untucked half-limp, half-swagger that he would walk back to the bench with, his jersey recently untucked.

When he would approach the rim with an untamed ferocity never seen from a point guard.

When he singlehandedly turned Stacey King into a soundboard because he couldn’t control his impulsions.

When he became Chicago Bulls basketball.

When he became Chicago.

I remember as vividly as that aforementioned White Sox game, though, the first time D. Rose went down. I remember being 7 or 8 beers deep in Ryan Loch’s 3 flat in Lakeview jokingly Tweeting that some gummy bears or Skittles would numb the pain and he’d be back the next night to continue their waltz through the Wizards. I remember the 2nd guessing of Thibodeau that followed later, the unavoidable 4-straight losses that came in consequence, and the prolonged death of Derrick Rose, the Basketball Player.

Of course, the next year, Rose—who was never the most well-spoken of superstars—danced around the question. I still think he knew then. He knew then what we know now. A kid who had never really been hurt before, hardly an ankle or a wrist tweak, anything other than soreness, was vulnerable to the most ill-fated phrase in professional sports, injury-prone. As fans, we boiled over the fake reports and breaking news excerpts that revealed Rose was coming back for the playoffs, and then for the Heat series, and then maybe the Finals, if they got there. It was like a sick joke that your parents play on you as a kid, that if you eat vegetables and do your homework that you can watch Pulp Fiction or Die Hard with your dad. It just never came.

And then it happened again, to the other knee, and instead of feeling badly for him we, out of desperation,were less remorseful and greedy. We didn’t know how he felt. We just knew the dumb shit his brother said and the YouTube videos that immortalized his return to take down the villainous LeBron.

Now, on February 25th 2015, as much as I regret to say it, I believe Derrick Rose is dead as a Bull. From the onset of the ride on May 20, 2008, that fateful moment when the Bulls won the draft lottery and even a baseball stadium was frothing with an appetite for a new dream, that dream has since been differed. The ticker-tape parade has ended, and success—always—is unavoidably diversified with the most palpable disappointment.

I once heard Derrick Rose mentioned as comparable to a Ferrari, the most lavish and exhilarating of foreign sports cars. One with a reputation unprecedented; so much flash that you have to keep it under a blanket in your garage. It flies past other cars on the highway at speeds that other unremarkable cars just simply can’t build up to. It can turn on a dime and barely make an audible noise when it shifts into full acceleration again, whizzing around like one of those fluorescent trails of light that was once a Windows screensaver. Then, after a few years of turning heads, dropping jaws, and impressing shallow women amused by surface-level-sports-car-romanticism, unavoidably, a tire deflates a few iotas and shifts the balance of the car disproportionately. And then maybe pops. The wheels are never like the original set, and you can’t run the breathtakingly comparable machine with a captivatingly exotic bucking horse as its logo with parts from a Dodge. It just doesn’t work like that. It never has. It never will.

Its appeal is gone. And, like a shell of itself it sits unused in your garage and only evokes intrigue from your neighbors about what it used to look like in all its speed and glory.

Next thing you know, it sells. Some nameless car gypsy, or the nearest vacant lot takes you up on a sheepish bid. Still, you always smile wryly when you imagine what you once had. How in those transitory moments when so many other things seemed wrong, he made them right.

Thanks, Derrick. I sure hope I regret this.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Forte Oz. to Freedom


The puzzle is finally complete. Sure, the picture on the cover (before the season starts) always alludes to the process of assembling an infinite amount of cardboard pieces in order being a splendid time; a picturesque landscape, a Frank Lloyd Wright mansion, or one of those transcendent, 3-D embodiments of American monuments that were far beyond my intelligence level.

Still, Forte has been signed and optimisim and excitement for the upcoming Chicago Bears season is at an all-time high. In the offseason, they have acquired arguably one of the most promising young wideouts in the game, Alshon Jeffery, while dually signing a proven veteran with a unique rapport with our signalcaller, Brandon Marshall. Whether these two miscreants can keep themselves on Sportscenter's top 10 rather than America's Most Wanted remains to be seen, but hey, who doesn't deserve a second chance (or in Marshall's case, an 8th chance)? What makes me weary, though, is Brandon Marshall being diagnosed with a BPD (borderline personality disorder) last year. I'm not entirely sure what a "borderline disorder" entails; should I consider myself a "borderline internet journalist"?; is Ja Rule a borderline actor?; are the Bears borderline contenders for the NFC North crown in 2012?

Last year, the Bears were one thumb away from a playoff birth, and when Jay Cutler severred that god-forsaken tendon in his thumb, the Bears season went up in smoke quicker than Andre Rison's mansion set aflame by Left Eye (R.I.P., No Scrubs). Dissimilarly, the Bears have mortgaged their home and bought the insurance this year as they have added competent backups at the two most influential offensive positions (QB: Jason Campbell, RB: Michael Bush).

That said, there is no way they can compete in the NFC North with Campbell and Bush leading the Monsters of the Midway. The Bears needed to pony-up and sign their tireless, multi-talented, workhorse halfback, and to their credit, they did. Forte just wanted a check with a couple extra commas after finishing in the top-10 in yards from scrimmage in 2011 (10th in total, 2nd in YFS per game). The Bears tried to scare him by signing Bush, and Forte flinched as much as Teddy KGB at the head table in Rounders>. As the pressure increased and crunch time neared, the Bears signed #22 to a 4 year, 32-million dollar deal.

After reading Bears beat reporter, Brad Biggs', contract breakdown, which I must admit was very hard for me to comprehend, it seems that both sides gave a little, took a little, and left the table with a deal that rendered both parties satisfied.

As much as drafting Jeffery and the signings of Marshall and Forte mean for GSH's tribe, the Bears will need offensive tackle
Gabe Carimi to have a healthy season on the right side for the Bears' offensive attack to be as efficacious as us fans would hope. Carimi, the former Wisconsin Badgers All-American is an athletic, nimbly-footed tackle who will without a doubt be a useful constituent in Forte getting out in the flat and doing what he does best. If you get hurt in your rookie year and return to prowess, it is amazing how people forget about your former ailment (see: Blake Griffin); but, if your injuries linger into your sophomore campaign, you'll be labeled as "susceptible to injury" faster than you can schedule a PT session at the Bears' residence in Lake Forest (see: Greg Oden).

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man is enduring some setbacks in his return as the Pirates and Rockies only combined for 9 runs last night in the Mile High City. Tonight, he looks for the Twins to take care of the Orioles tonight at (-108).

Pick of the Day: Orioles @ Twins- TWINS (-108)

Record:(64-55-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me.

Frost

Monday, July 16, 2012

Dumping Demp


Aside from producing some of the worst noise to ever ruminate through the radiowaves in the form of Sum 41, Avril Lavigne, and Nickelback, Canada has no major problems. No major World Wars or political strife, a relatively stable economy, the homeland rights to perhaps the most desirable man and woman on the planet, Emanuelle Chriqui and Ryan Gosling, and an affinity for all things denim. Sounds like Heaven on Earth. Here on the North Side, the Cubs are looking to rid themselves of the lone Canuck on their roster who has been a lone beacon amidst a blanket of atrocity for the Cubs this season, RHP Ryan Dempster.

This year, Dempster has gone 5-3 with a 1.86 ERA, a 1.022 WHIP and an average of 3 strikeouts per walk allowed. As his hairline continues to recede, he has grown increasingly capable for the Cubs and has provided them with an anchor on their pitching staff that keeps them in a ballgame every 5th day. On Saturday against the Diamondbacks, Dempster earned his career-best 5th straight W and continued his scoreless inning streak to 33 dating all the way back to May 30th.

With the Cubs nesting as definite sellers at the trade deadline, it is only smart that they are looking to shop Dempster, Garza, and Soriano--if anyone is dumb enough to take on his mega-deal--but Dempster will certainly be missed the most by the franchise and Cub fans alike. What makes the 6'2'', 215 lb., 14-year vet so unique is his consistency. As arguably the most reliable sacrifice bunting pitcher in the NL, Dempster has also pitched 200+ innings and reached the double-digit win plateau in each of the last 4 seasons.

The Cubs are most likely shopping for prospects in moving Demp and will ceratinly miss his laid-back attitude in grooming some of their younger talent. He was a guy who was never afraid to embrace the city. In fact, he lives on Waveland and Wayne Ave., just 4 blocks from Wrigley and was seemingly the type of guy you would see running the lakefront or blasting the latest Raconteurs CD at a local Clark St. watering hole until he had enough microbrews to forget how to grip a 2-seamer. He was awarded by the Sporting News Magazine as one of the "99 Good Guys in Professional Sports" becasue of his genuine nature coupled with his philanthropy. His optimism and positivity in such futile times will be missed perhaps even more than his bizarrely unique windup.

In all likelihood, he will be moved to an AL contender like New York, Detroit, or even across town to the Sox, but it is clear that in enjoying the best season in a career that can be marked by its longevity, Demp will be off the market quicker than a 2-bedroom in Boystown.

If the Cubs are able to move Dempster to the Motor City, they could potentially land Nick Castellanos, the Tigers top offensive prospect at the ripe age of 20 who could be a long-term solution at the hot corner for the Cubs.

Another possible destination, of course, is the Yankees. If NYC proves to be the new home for Ryan, the Cubs will most likely garner pitching prospects in return and will watch Demp pitch well into October as they vacation in the Florida Keys.

In the words of the Gin Blossoms, "anywhere you go, we'll follow you down" (note the Franklin batting gloves worn by the drummer). Thanks for a great tour of duty on the North Side and only the best in the future. If only the Blue Jays were relevant they could make a play on their homeland hero.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man likes the OVER in the Pirates/Rockies game at Coors Field tonight set at 10.5.

Pick of the Day: Pirates @ Rockies- Combined Runs 10.5- OVER

Record: (64-54-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me.

Frost

Friday, July 13, 2012

Dream Scheme


Just when we thought Kobe had it figured out. He had learned to deflect every Jordan comparison and simulatneously revelled in LeBron's villainous reputation. Sprite had finally been suppressed as Sierra Mist monopolized the "uncola" market, and people had over time began to comparmentalize the phrase "rapist" behind "one of the best ever" in their own hippocampus. That may have been unfair. What happened in Colorado Springs that fateful summer in 2003 is all a bit hazy--to us, to Kobe, to the 19-year-old accuser--all seemingly because Rachel Nichols covered the story and nobody could stand to watch the coverage.

I'm sure pro athletes get asked a lot of questions by media outlets, and of course, some are more menaingful and relevant than the rest. Still, part of these athletes' jobs is to not make themselves sound like Michael Kidd-Gilchrist on Draft Night (fast-forward to 2:30); that's why they hire publicists, right? Apparently, Kobe, a seasoned veteran of the professional sports world in his own right, had either forgotten about the far-reaching effect of each soundbite he produces or had done a copious amount of LSD before he said: "I think our Dream Team could beat the Dream Team," which prompted swift responses from Jordan and Larry, who were considerably offended by Kobe's call out. Calling out Jordan is like taking a girl out on a first date to get chicken wings: it's a death wish that ends up slopppily with no success.

Kobe's comments couldn't have come at a worse time. In the wake of NBATV's spectacular documentary narrated by none other than Eddie Burns, formerly of The Brothers McMullen, the Dream Team proved to be one of the most dominant teams ever put together...in anything. Yes, more so than a 20-year old Danny Almonte throwing darts passed 5th graders; more so than Wilt "The Stilt" dropping a cool triple digits on his oppnonent and then proceeding to sleep with the same infinite amount of women after the game. The Dream Team had 11 Hall of Famers and a cast member from Six Feet Under (Christian Laettner). They won their contests by an average of nearly 44 points a game, and it didn't matter who started. Jordan was the only player to start every game for the gold medalist squad of the 1992 Barcelona Games. Imagine: Magic, Stockton, Barkley, Pippen, Ewing, Malone, Bird, The Admiral, Clyde, and Mullin. As the then Cuban coach so aptly put it after a 79-point loss to the Red, White and Blue, "You can't cover the sun with your finger."

Kobe's rationale in speaking his mind was that he thought the Dream Team was "old", and at the tail end of their careers. In reality, after watching last night's Olympic tune-up against the Dominican Republic, I would rather have any of the 12 Dream Teamers today--including Christian Laettner, Jordan in an atrocious outfit, Magic with a deadly African-borne virus, Patrick Ewing out of a Snickers commercial, or Scottie off the cast of Basketball Wives--over James Harden throwing up airbanks like a high-school sophomore trying to earn his keep in a Saturday morning JV game. The current Olympic team went 13-33 from behind the 3 point line. The most telling, and subsequently most pathetic part about that stat is that they shot 33 3-pointers against a smaller, weaker, Division-2 caliber Dominican Republic squad.

That's all I had to see of this year's team to side with Jordan over Kobe in this squabble, but let's run through some matchups just to see how lopsided this competition would be.

Matchups-

The Easy Ones

Magic/Lebron- both oversized ball-handlers who make the NBA floor look like a 7 foot Brunswick pool table. In a perfect world, we would get to see such a great matchup.

Jordan/Kobe (or Carmelo)- As good as Jordan was, Kobe is pretty good in international competition himself. They have similar playing styles and I feel like some great trash talk would ensue here between 2 of the 5 best players ever.

Pippen/Durant (or Carmelo)- I feel Pip would start here simply to guard Durant. Durant is, of course, a surplus shooter and would get his points, but Pip would make him work to get over half-corut without the ball. This, in my opinion, would be the most exciting matchup to watch. The still-developing scoring wonderkin vs. arguably the longest, most athletic, ugliest player of an NBA generation.

Where Things Get Dicey

If the '12 Olympians start Chris Paul, would the Dream Team start Stockton? If so, I really don't see a problem there. Again, Hall of Famer who is the NBA all-time leader in assists and steals. I'll take my chances.

What will the '12 Olympians do with 40 minutes (Olympic regulation length) of Barkley and Malone, two of the strongest, most brute forces in NBA history? Kevin Love? As Jerry would say when George wants to be his latex salesman, "I don't think so."

As if Barkley and Malone weren't already too much in the post, throw in the Admiral and Patrick Chewing--two 7-foot shotblockers who also had great success finishing around the rim. As good as Anthony Davis will be in a half-decade, not even Ramon Rivas' unibrow can save you here, young grasshopper.

Bench

I already mentioned Harden's ineptitude. The fact that he's being mentioned in the same breath as the talent on either roster perplexes me. Same goes for Andre Igulodoga. He hasn't even made an NBA All-Star Team yet. He did recieve votes for the 2010-2011 All NBA Defensive Team, though.

Wait, the Dream Team has a combined 17 NBA Defensive Player of the Year Awards. Boom, roasted.

The fact of the matter is that this game will never happen unless we're cloning NBA Hall of Famers like Dolly the Sheep circa 2020. Still, as 50 Cent says, "You shouldn't throw stones if you live in a glass house," and one thing I would never want to do is rattle the cage of these animals. You'll never make it out alive.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man likes the Rays over the Red Sox at home in the juicebox at (-101). Stay tuned for a special Monday blog as Ryan "Little League" Lindo (@RyanCLindo) venture to Wrigley to watch the Cubs' dispicable roster take on the Arizona Diamondbacks with 2 players to be named later. Should be an interesting journal.

Pick of the Day: Red Sox @ Rays (-101)- RAYS

Record: (64-53-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me.

Frost

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Return of The Mac


Just when you thought Demetri McCamey would fade into irrelevance like the New Radicals and Arsenio Hall, he has again proven hard to shake (no pun intended to his defensive prowess). The former All-Big 10 point guard for the University of Illinois has recently signed a summer league contract with his hometown team, the Chicago Bulls.

Now, a summer league contract is about as guaranteed double-down blackjack at Rivers. But, it is an opportunity, and that is exactly what McCamey deserves. After signing an overseas contract due to the lockout's restrictions on undrafted rookies, McCamey put up stellar numbers in a league that nobody wihtout a pencil-mustache and an affinity for kebabs cares about. Nonethelss, it seems that Meechi--as he is affectionately referred to--has moved on from Mersin Büyükşehir Belediyesi S.K. (God bless the copy/paste feature) of the Turkish basketball league, where he shared the spotlight with other former recognizable American names such as Illinois' own former prodigal son of their dream season in 2005, Dee Brown.

What is intriguing, and quite honestly, beneficial for McCamey is his ability to fit into the NBA protype point guard. Of course, smaller guards like Chris Paul, Steve Nash, Brandon Jennings, and Tony Parker break that mold with their quickness and ability to permeate through perimeter traps and around erosion-footed bigs like the Lopez brothers. That said, McCamey is listed at 6'3'', 200 lbs--a size comparable to guards like Eric Gordon, Deron Williams, and everyone's favorite Uncle Drew, Kyrie Irving.

Mac will most likely be backing up Marquis Teague at the point and will also be spelling Jimmy Butler in the backcourt for the Summer League squad. What bodes well for the former St. Joe's Charger is his willingness to improve. While in Champaign-Urbana, McCamey flourished in an offensive system set forth by Bruce Weber that was conceivably drawn up on a napkin at a local Chili's. In his early years in the Orange and Blue, his frustration with both his teammates and the system was noticeable on his face and through his play; he was turnover-prone and at times took ill-advised shots trying to keep the Chief in games that were slipping faster than Sanka Coffee on his first taste of ice in Cool Runnings.

With the luxury of playing experience as an underclassman, McCamey flourished in his Junior and Senior seasons. When it was clear that Weber was living on a different planet than the 5 he had set forth on the floor, McCamey corralled the group with a pastoral grace and proceeded to lead the Big 10 in assists at 7 dimes a tilt, shattering Deron Williams' record set in 2005 (with a far superior supporting cast) and falling just 20 helpers shy of Matteen Cleaves' Big 10 record set, again, with a Final 4 caliber bunch.

You can only help but pull for the Bellwood native as he ventures into the wide world of underwatched, untelevised basketball. In speaking on behalf of Illini alums, the Orange Krush, and a slew of Asian students who occupy the Grainger Engineering Library on the campus of U of I, let's hope D-Mac joins Gene Pingatore, Isiah Thomas, Evan Turner, and the Hoop Dreams boys as St. Joe's living legacies.

As for Pick of the Day, The Pulse Man is still on hiatus with the MLB returning to regular play tomorrow afternoon.

Now I'm done. Rack me.

Frost

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Date of the Union


Today, not neccessarily July 11th, but rather the day after the MLB All-Star game is unique to any other day on the 12 month calendar in the sports world. You can almost hear Jim Nantz in his Master's voice articulating, "...a tradition unlike any other" as the camera scrolls across Augusta National to the tune of a light, harmonic piano. It's exclusivity from the rest of the calendar originates because it marks the only day each year in which no professional sports are taking place. Across America, you'll see strange things--grown men watching two-hour, "The Guys Tell All" reunion specials of The Bachelorette, sushi restaurants filled to capacity, and the ticket line for Magic Mike winding out the corner of the theater.

With no professional sports on the horizon for 24 hours, it seemingly marks the perfect day to address the state of all of Chicago's beloved sports teams. In typical Chicago Sports Noise fashion, I have decided to do so in a less than normal, but hardly original way. Thus, we will take a look at all things Chicago through the lens of a male in a budding relationship with a female. Seeing how as I have little to no experience in this field and haven't been a part of a functional relationship in some time, these comparisons may be muddled, irrelevant, confusing, but should serve as nonetheless entertaining. In a roundabout sort of way, this is an implicit attempt to remove myself from any remnant of a female following that once existed. For all intensive purposes, let's refer to the male in the case of the following situations as "Chico".

Chicago Bulls- Chico finds himself with his longtime girlfriend on the physical intimacy shelf (I came up with that term myself) with mononucleosis. Their past has been spectacular; Chico's girlfriend, in this case, Rosaline, can bring home the bacon and fry it in the pan. She cleans up nice, but can still cut it in the sweats and also lets Chico have the freedom to roll with the fellas every now and then. There's no way Chico is leaving Rosaline, but what the hell is he going to do for the next few months while she's on the PUP (physically unable to perform) list? If he tries to bring her out too early her spleen is susceptible to a rupture, but if he tastes too much of the outside world, he just might lose The One. If Chico were a smart man, he might have to indulge himself in a few girls nights. Not reruns of 27 Dresses on CW, but rather things like casual dinner dates with her friends, afternoon matinees, walks, things like that. Nurture the relationship, Chico. Before you know it, she'll be back to full-operation.

Chicago Blackhawks- Chico finds himself in a tough spot here. He's not where he used to be with the females (first round playoff loss)--a bit of a cold streak if you will. Years back he was can't miss. Hitting on girls in bars, ATM vestibules, El Stops. The guy was a real-life Jerry Seinfeld. Now, he finds himself readily single, but with a risque option on the table. Chico's rival from across town in high school recently split up with his girlfriend (Goalie Roberto Luongo), and she is canoodling around town like she's in a bad episode of Bad Girls Club. Chico knows he could close this, but what expense will this leave him with? He knows the chick is expensive and doesn't know if his billfold can handle the late nights click-clacking through the ritz of River North in her high-fashion pumps (Luongo will need a big deal to sign with the Hawks). If he gets her, sure it'll be great for a night, a weekend, or perhaps a month, and it will eat at his rival like when Costner closes Rene Russo over Don Johnson at the close of Tin Cup, but is the juice worth the squeeze? Metaphorically, of course.

Chicago White Sox- Make or break territory, Chico. Tough sledding. Chico's on date #3 with Whitney, a girl who he out-kicked his coverage to land in the first place, but he admits he has been on point in rounds 1 and 2 (first half of the season). Free-flowing convo, picking up tabs, playful, flirty humor--he's been an all-star. But, that conversational wall is lurking on the horizon and nobody can ever tell how far it is ahead of Chico's line of sight. Sure, he's got confidence, but will it last? What will he do in heeding the unforgivable awkward silence? From personal experience, this is exactly where the fold occurs. Can Chico make it, or will Whitney's ex (the Tigers) and his starch-washed Oxford shirts from J. Crew prove to be too much to handle. Only time will tell, Chico. You always miss 100% of the shots you don't take.

Chicago Cubs- This is all a trust game, Chico (Cubs with Epstein). Let her go on that vacation to the Virgin Islands. She's either going to cheat on you (another slew of horrible contracts for the Cubs and he moves back to Boston), or your patience with her will become fruitful in the long run. You invested in her and now you're pot-committed. I know it's hard to hang out with all these losers currently (the Cubs' atrocious lineup). Just wait and see what the fruits of your labor look like in a few years.

Chicago Bears- You got a hot babe, Chico. But, the fact of the matter is, your best friend's is hotter (Green Bay Packers). You tried to go slumming a little bit and prove that you guys are bigger party animals (pick up convicts like Brandon Marshall and Alshon Jeffrey), but your best friend's girl (insert Rick Springfield joke here) has been bringing the heat for years now. Also, your girl needs to get in the gym and tighten up that body (sign Forte NOW), or you're going to get passed up like you're standing still. All you can do is hope their relationship hits some rough patches and gets stale while you two look for the nearest karaoke bar to cover "I Got You, Babe" like Sonny and Cher.

Illinois Basketball/Illinois Football- In both cases, Chico is embarking on blind dates (new coaches). Although the show on UPN Power 50 would suggest otherwise, these hardly work out. Plus, the way these potential dates were described to you by the matchmaker were less than ideal (two Simpleton coaches from mid-majors in Ohio). Maybe you can catch a flash in the pan and find the spark, but it's a rainy night and you have a book of matches with about 3 to spare. Good luck.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man took the favorite and was bit last by the NL staff that conglomerated for a shutout of a vicious AL All-Star lineup. Since there are no games today, he has the day off. He deserves it.

Now I'm done. Rack Me.

Frost

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Fun in the Dunn


One Year--365 days, a handful of full-moons, one day in which you receive an abundance of Facebook congratulations from people whom you no longer associate with, and a world of difference. Think about it, a year ago today we had previously thought that John Travolta only couldn't keep his hands to himself around Olivia Newton John, Cee-Lo Green was Gnarls Barkley, and for all we knew, YOLO was the Yugoslavian-Ottoman Liberty Organization from the Cold War Era.

Things change. Similarly, the expectations for this year's Chicago White Sox were much lower for this year's campaign than they were the year before, and with good reason. Adam Dunn was coming off his worst year as a professional, Alex Rios was barely functional--at bat or in the field--and the Sox consequently hit .252 as a team. This year, however, Sox fans were leery of the Tigers who went out and signed Prince Fielder to add to an already dangerous lineup and a pitching staff that has perhaps the single most dominant pitcher in baseball, Justin Verlander. Not to mention, after a year that featured more Spanish obscenities than a back kitchen at Rosati's pizza, the Sox finally let go of Ozzie Guillen, who then proceeded to demonstrate his unyielding support for one of the most brash and irrational creatures in the modern world. Makes sense.

Instead, they hired Robin Ventura, who can be seen as responsible for the lower expectations for the Men in Black headed into 2012. He was a first-time manager with no in-game experience, but Kenny and Jerry trusted that Rockin' Robin knew baseball; specifically, how it is meant to be played on 35th and Shields.

The Sox impressive first half and consequent division lead has been catalyzed by a variety of hosts--youthful energy from utility men (De Aza and Viciedo), a remarkable young left-hander (Sale), a stellar resurgence from a veteran who was seemingly out of his prime (Peavy), and a couple of household-named mainstays returning to the form they once had in the limelight of their careers (Konerko and Pierzynski). Although all of the contributions of the aforementioned players have been profoundly important in garnering the frist-half AL Central division crown, none of them have been as impressive as what I like to refer to as "The Renaissance of the Donkey". No, it is not a facet of the Chinese Zodiac Calendar, but rather the reawakening of Adam Dunn.

Adam Dunn has proven over the course of time to have one of the most unique skill sets in Major League Baseball; a heftily built outfielder/DH who can miss a pitch by 4 feet and then proceed to hit the following pitch 400 feet into the right field mezzanine. He leads American League hitters in strikeouts by an astounding 24 K's over Carlos Pena. However, he also sits in the top 5 in Walks (1st), Home Runs (3rd), and RBI's (5th). It's hard to imagine that array of statistics to be done in any other sport. That's like Durant winning the scoring title along with the rebounding crown, getting to the charity stripe more so than anyone else in the league, but simultaneously leading the league in turnovers. In my eyes, that's harder to imagine than why Kate left Tom. You know, besides the whole 5'2'' inch Scientologist that is 12 years her senior idea.

What is most impressive about Dunn's resurgence, though, is how he has done so in the face of a full-year of media scrutiny. Truth be told, Dunn was torn apart last year from Comcast Sports Net to The Score, and with good reason. He hit .159 with 11 homers in 2011. Still 159 points higher and 11 more homers than Jordan "JYD" Brodbeck hit in his Junior campaign for the Lake Zurich Bears, but nonetheless career worsts for the Donkey.

Chicago--much like New York, Boston, and Philadelphia--has the unique ability to ruin careers with the suffocation that their fans can allocate on the players who perform in their city. So, what perhaps is most impressive about Dunn is his ability to rise from rags to riches and return to All-Star form like Tony Danza in the Garbage-Picking, Field Goal-Kicking Philadelphia Phenomenon.

In similar fashion, the Sox have revitalized Kevin Youkilis' season and he is proving his mettle in the Sox lineup and producing timely hits and RBI's to an already solid rotation of run producers. Say what you want about Kenny Williams, but anytime you can get what Jonah Hill referred to as "The Greek God of Walks" in Moneyball who looks like he's fresh off the set of American Chopper all in exchange for Zach Stewart, Brett Lillibridge, and Brett Lillibridge's ears, you are doing something right.

Therefore, in adulation and admiration for the so-far, so-good 2012 White Sox, here's a toast to you. Your season has already produced an unrivaled amount of excitement from Hawk Harrelson as he inches towards becoming an octogenarian, but perhaps this season we can even hope for some from Ed Farmer as well. May Konerko and Dunn continue to inspire as the rest of us perspire in this wet, hot, American Summer in the City of Broad Shoulders.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man is thrilled to be back on duty betting with his heart as he feels the American League will take the Mid-Summer Classic tonight in Kansas City. Addionally, he likes Cutis Granderson to amass more hits and runs than Dan Uggla, who is the All-Star Game's resident goat after his 3 error performance some years back. People don't forget, Dan.

Pick of the Day: American League vs. National League-- AMERICAN (-143)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Monday, July 9, 2012

Don't Leave Me Teague Tied



Much like Arnold Schwarzenegger, women's leggings, and His Airness himself, Chicago Sports Noise is making a temporary comeback. The summer months have rendered me feeble and television-spent. Simply put, there are not enough episodes of the Real World: St. Thomas to service a full-day,and as much as I love getting my DDoD (Daily dose of Scott Disick) and his unflappable head of Pantene Pro-V infused flow, the free agent market of the NBA has me too pent up with confusion and amelioration to let it go unvoiced.

Coming off of what can be classified as one of the most disheartening seasons in recent memory for the Chicago Bulls, they now find themselves searching to temporarily piece together a roster that will be void of the face of their franchise. When the indestructible D. Rose succumbed to a non-contact knee injury (don't watch the link; you'll hate me) in the waning moments of a seemingly sure-fire victory, Chicago residents from the North Shore to the South Loop breathed a collective a gasp of anxiety. And, as the subsequent losses only proved how the non-potent Bulls would wilt against the Sixers like a Rose devoid of water (no pun intended), the news of Rose's prolonged absence had Bulls fans thinking only one question for the free agent summer of 2012: What will this team look like in 2013?


Considering the disposition of NBA players has shifted from a competitive breeding ground as it was during the Bush and Clinton administrations of the early 90's to a friendship-laden, AAU-like, "let me just be with my friends" infantile mindset that it has become under Bush and Obama's campaigns (ironic, eh?), the Bulls find themselves with some serious catching up to do (or Keeping Up to do, if you work for E!).

Steve Nash, the most sought after member of the free agent class of 2012, has clearly expressed that his favorite book of all time is The Color Purple and will be shifting shades and moving to Hollywood to play with another player who already dominates the ball. It's hard to even fathom what Kobe, Pau, and Nash will look like in purple and gold, but it might render something comparable to Crosby, Stills, and Nash on a healthy amount of hallucinogenics: all messed up with nowhere to go.

With Brooklyn proving as "trendy" as tortoise-rimmed Ray-Bans and rolled up denim, and with Houston offering ludicrous contracts to role players like their some bizarro version of the LA Clippers, Gar Forman is nesting the Bulls just where they need to be.

With the selection of Marquis Teague with their late-first round pick in last week's draft, the Bulls clearly went with the "best available" route like a late-night Lincoln Park single at Beaumonts. If this trend continues, it would render them letting Houston have Omer Asik for a preposterous amount of money for 6 points and 9 boards a game (rough estimate for 2013). The Bulls would most likely then go after Nazr Mohammed or Jordan Hill, who are both very capable of backing up our pony-tailed Parisian, Joakim Noah, at the 5 spot.

With the signing of the ol' Captain, Kirk Hinrich, the Bulls brought back a fan favorite who sold more tank tops to teenage white girls than Express and Forever 21 combined (the Pulse Man has one as well). In due time, fans at the Madhouse will be donning rec specs like bad-visioned teenagers with a resounding love for athletics. This signing leaves the Bulls with an immediate solution to Rose's absence if CJ Watson ventures outside of the 312 for increased cash flow, which is very plausible considering there are now 7 or 8 really relevant teams in the NBA due to the game's biggest superstars conglomerating like "Bros 4 Life"; seriously, get these guys some wooden paddles and a copy of the Greek Alphabet. Way to go, Lebron.

The Bulls will still need some work, though, and my favorite options left in the free agent pool for Chicago, regardless of whether they are pursuing them or not are: Jeff Green, Lou Williams, and JJ Hickson. You have no idea how hard it was for me to not include Delonte West on that list, but I just don't think that there are enough doughnut shops in Deerfield to keep this man happy.

As an NBA fan, I'm anxious to see how the next few weeks shape up in free agency and who ends up where. As a Bulls fan, I genuinely trust Gar Forman; albeit with the worst first name in professional sports.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man will return to duty tomorrow. He cannot operate on 24 hours notice. If you are wondering about his general well-being, let it be known to the world that he has a borderline girlfriend. If that's not enough information, please stay tuned and keep reading.


Now I'm done. Rack me.

Frost

*sorry for operating under this new, fairly ghetto URL. www.chicagosportsnoise.com was sold to an internet wholesaler who currently uses it to move sporting goods. It is in no way, shape, or form associated with this website.*

Friday, May 20, 2011

Hitch Route


In the day and age when people are either staying up or waking up to catch some live nuptials in HD, it is only fitting that the Bears' high-profile QB is walking the plank that leads only to disgruntled monogamy. After being the fall guy for the Bears playoff loss in 2010, he can now rest assured that he is the rebound guy in the post-Justin Bobby era therefore acquiring his "sloppy seconds" (anyone who uses this phrase officially sucks, including me).

To be honest, I wish there were a live telecast of the heartfelt vows between Jay and Kristin. I mean, if Jay can't get amp'd on the sidelines rooting for his team to take the NFC title, how do you think he'll react in uttering "in sickness and in health." My prediction: comatose stoicism in it's purest form.

Think about the bride's side of the guest list at this ceremony--Audrina, LO, Stephen Colletti and the all-too infamous Stacey The Bartender (her title has become a proper noun, hence the capitalization). If I'm Greg Olsen, I am not staggering to my hotel alone under any circumstances.

Essentially, this is going to be a glorified Senior Prom. Amidst all of the swirling rumors in People magazine about potential +1's and recent breast augmentation procedures, the fact that Jay Cutler is tying himself down to one of the most abrasive, catty women in reality television history is somehow disguised.

Believe it or not, I am not certified to predict the success of relationships like a 22-year old version of the effervescent Maury Povich, but aren't these two a match made in proverbial hell? A discreetly chubby, punk QB who is about as welcoming and personable as a jail cell wall marrying a Laguna Beach-bred, quarrelsome socialite whose career and job description can be encapsulated into one word--starlet.

Can anyone else see Kristin ripping a dozen Newport menthols on the daily once her and Jay begin to disagree over what color to paint their bonus room? It's inevitable. When you combine two stubborn people in marriage it usually ends in two things: fire and powder, and ultimately divorce, so I guess three.

Monday, April 18, 2011

A 'Star' is Born


Normally, when a 21 year-old stencils his name in urine on his neighbor's vinyl siding and is cited by the local police, people write it off as kids being "too young to know any better." Similarly, when you've recently turned 21, classifying you as the youngest player in the Majors and you're hitting .418 through the season's first three weeks, I guess you're also "too young to know any better."

As much as the Cubs' starting pitching this season has been as infuriating as an octogenarian breaking your cruise control on the Kennedy, Castro has been absolutely incredible. In the Cubs' recent trip to Colorado, a state conducive to hitting and "coexisting", Castro flourished by amassing 7 hits in the series' final two games.

In fact, the fresh-faced infielder who was born in 1990 already has six 3-hit games on the young season. In case you're not a Cubs historian, that's the most in the first fifteen games of the year since Clarence Birdseye's advent of a process for frozen food in 1925. That's right, the last time someone was making as much music as Castro in the batters box through the first three weeks, George Gershwin was writing 'Rhapsody in Blue'.

Ever since Quade inserted the north side's newest 'Star' into the lead-off spot, he has accepted the invitation graciously by going 18-32 with 8 runs, 2 doubles and 2 triples. I could sit here and spew stats at you until you're Cubbie blue in the face, but that is besides the point. The fact of the matter is, #13 is the April MVP of the National League (like anybody cares). Even more impressively, Castro has a knack for providing clutch hits and seeing-eye singles in pivotal moments of the game. It's not like Sammy Sosa cranking moonshots when the Cubs are either up by a touchdown or down by a decade on the stadium scoreboard. As of this season, he has been impervious to pressure and it has rewarded him by placing his name amongst the top 5 in the NL in runs.

The fact that he was barely recognizable in Wrigleyville last season is now a thing of the past. Now, Starlin is going to have to fend off more hangers-on with his boyish jive-talk than Tahj Mowry after Smart Guy blew up.

By no means am I predicting that Castro will continue his dominance into a .400 season or an MVP campaign, but when the player on your team with boatloads of potential is making the most out of his opportunities, it is refreshing. And for a Cub fan, it's unusual.

As for Pick of the Day, The Pulse Man likes the Pacers and the near dozen-point cushion they are being allotted in the Madhouse. By no means are either of us rooting for Psycho T, but a cover wouldn't be the end of the world.

Pick of the Day: Pacers (+11) @ Bulls- PACERS

Record:(64-52-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Thorn in Our Side


How many top ten singles did Natalie Imbruglia produce? How many movies has Brett Favre scored a cameo in? How many songs by The Fugees can you sing by heart? If you haven't found the commonality in these questions just yet, this might make it a bit easier for you: how many pitches does Matt Thornton have?

You guessed it, one. What's ironic about the Sox closer having only one pitch is that when he comes in, Ozzie and Co. have rarely been able to say that their team has demonstrated the other usage of the hononymic word (won) based on what the scoreboard reads after he leaves.

Truth be told, Three Dog Night may have said it best, "One is the loneliest number that you'll ever see." Take for example, #37 in black. Where has the old reliable number 1 dangling below Pierzynski's junk gotten him? Well, for starters (no pun intended to relievers), Thornton blew his 3rd save of 2011 Wednesday afternoon and left Sox fans scratching their heads and frantically calling 670 The Score for psychoanalytic analysis on their commute home.

As far as loneliness goes, there isn't a soul around to comfort Thornton on his isolated island over the left field wall at U.S. Cellular Field. One...two...three strikes. You're out, out of a job that is.

With all of these theatricals unfolding on the South Side, no man in baseball is more content than the blonde-bearded blimp in Boston. Not only did the White Sox choose to let go of Big Bobby Jenks, who looked the part of the quintessential closer more than anyone, but he was also the subject of Oney Guillen's harassment on Twitter. Bad karma, Oney. Bad karma indeed.

As I mentioned before, what is strangely ironic about the Sox's switch in late-game relief is that they have shifted from a guy who fit the closer's role to a T to a guy who looks as out of place as Sinaedo Connor at the Vatican.

Thornton, from what I can tell in interviews seems to posses a level-headed and mild-mannered demeanor, which is far from the stereotype of your everyday closer. Normally, we see a pitcher on the mound in the 9th who's acting like he's four rows back and forty beers deep at a Godsmack concert.

And, perhaps most importantly, Thornton doesn't rock a trace of facial hair. No goatee, no broom mustache, no pencil-thin chinstrap, nothing! How does he expect to close games successfully when his facial follicle repertoire can't even prove he has graduated from adolescence.

However uncharacteristic he may be on the bump, the fact remains--he has one pitch. According to baseball-reference.com, Thorny throws gas over 90% of the time. I don't care how fast it's moving or where you can put it, big league hitters are going to figure something out. In time, hopefully the Sox can too.

As for Pick of the Day, The Pulse Man's pick was postponed last night as he looked to make it 2 straight wins. For tonight, The Pulse Man likes former-Cub, Ted Lilly and the LA Dodgers to take down the defending World Series Champs in the city by the bay.

Pick of the Day: Dodgers (Lilly) @ Giants (Sanchez)- DODGERS (+134)

Record:(64-51-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Forgetting Sean Marshall


Just in case you don't follow me on Twitter (@FrostyAustin), which I do not blame you for considering you are already reading this--following me on a social network may drive you to insanity 140 characters at a time--you missed out on this tweet brigade inspired by Sean Marshall's 7th inning heroics last night.

@FrostyAustin: Sean "The Adonis" Marshall, fresh off a 50/50 Svedka/Riptide Rush mixer in the pen, steps into the 1 run ballgame.

approximately 1 minute later...

@FrostyAustin: Sean "The Adonis" Marshall should be able to pitch in one of those trendy button-downs from J. Crew that are seemingly made of tissue paper.

3 minutes later...

@FrostyAustin: Sean "The Adonis" Marshall does it again. Someone get him a cigarette and an 85 lb. model to take back to the batting cage.

As you can see, "The Adonis", which is defined in Greek Mythology as a handsome youth loved by both Aphrodite and Persephone (in this case myself and Quade), has made coming in and closing the door on a prospective opponent's run look all too nonchalant. The 6'7'', 220 lb. southpaw consistently breaks loose from the restrictions of the pen and all of the mustache growing and insinuating scuttlebutt that goes on down there only to enter a baseball game set awry by the Cubs' fatigued starter.

Perhaps it's his 12-6 deuce, pinpoint slider or consistent fastball that I find to be therapeutic in watching Marshall pitch, but Sean has solidified himself as one of the most trusted names in royal-blue pinstripes.

In 2010, #45 pitched 74.2 innings as a back-end reliever and managed to rack up 90 K's compared to a meager 58 hits; all while holding his ERA below 2.65 and striking out 10.8 batters per 9. If not for Carlos Marmol's superhuman season in '10 in which it seemed like he was hurling frozen peas at hitters, Marshall's name would have drawn some serious recognition.

If you thought that was his year, wait until you hear what 2011 had in store for the city's favorite stoic strikeout artist. His alma mater, Virginia Commonwealth, reached the Final Four, and his career-long aspiration to become a starting pitcher might conceivably come true (that is, if it were up to me). Trust me, no pitcher wants to settle for being a 7th inning specialist. That's like majoring in Art History so you can give tours of the Kindergarten art classroom down the street from the Institute.

Prior to this post, I have expressed concern with the Cubs having a 5 man, all right-handed rotation. Then, when Randy Wells suffered an injury in the season's opening week, a rotation spot opened up. So what do the Cubs to? Start Casey Coleman, who went on to garner a 7.20 ERA after his first start. I'd rather have Derrick Coleman, Gary Coleman, or a Coleman cooler on the mound rather than this geek. What the Cubs don't realize is what they need is right in front of them.

It's like Omar Epps having to get down with Gabrielle Union (Shawnee Easton) and Tyra Banks (Kyra Kessler) in Love and Basketball before he realizes that he should be playing 1-on-1 with Sanaa Lathan to determine his matrimony.

The Cubs are in desperate need of a lefty starter and they're taking out a singles ad in the Trib that reads "Wanted: wholesome, smart woman" when they have a Natalie Portman-Anne Hathaway crossbreed in their culdesac. Sure, he's great in his current role, but you can't steal 2nd and keep your foot on 1st. "He is Marshall".

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man got the nod last night as the Cubs held on in Space City. For tonight, the Pulse Man likes the Mets over the Rockies in the Big Apple.

Pick of the Day: Rockies (Rogers) @ Mets (Niese)- METS (-109)

Record:(64-51-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Monday, April 11, 2011

Playoffs in the C-H-I


The Hawks are in. The Bulls are in. Regardless of the fact that they may have done so in the most contradictory of styles, they're both ready to embark on their 'second season'. The Bulls, in one corner, clinched the highly-regarded #1 spot on Friday night after the week that was.

To get there, they knocked off two of the Eastern Conference's top teams--the Magic and the Celtics--albeit without the NBA equivalent of John Coffee from Green Mile, Magic C Dwight Howard, it was still impressive. The Bulls have looked, for the most part, pristine. Specifically Derrick Rose, who casually dropped 39 points against Chicago's likely second round opponent and gave Omer Asik bragging rights from Istanbul to Ankara over the Magic's Hedo Turkoglu.

On the other side of the proverbial coin, the Blackhawks skated into the playoffs (no pun intended) by "the skin of their yellow country teeth." In fact, the only reason there will be any 'playoff Hawky' (shoutout @Not_RyanCLind) in the city of Chicago is because of the NHL's Minnesota team debarring of the Dallas Stars for stealing their franchise in 1993.

I guess you could say that these two Chicago sports mainstays have taken different paths this year, but in many ways still have the same aspirations. Like, for example, the starlet who once paraded around the Times Square TRL set with Carson Daly, Brittney Spears, and America's new teenage leading lady, Miss Miley Cyrus.

Much like Derrick Rose, Miley has mystified scores of men at a very young age. I mean, if we prosecuted the entire contingency of adults who have fantasized about the formerly 17-year old Miley "moving her hips like yeaa" in the "Party in the U.S.A" video, Joliet (where the jail is) might suddenly amass a higher population than Second City.

Similarly, D.Rose is about to hang the MVP trophy on his mantle at the tender age of 22--no small feat. But, like Miley, if too much pressure is thrust on Derrick too early, he might succumb to hitting some salvia as the Bulls' championship hopes sink like a silver coin. (Remember: he did have that "gang sign" picture controversy when he first entered the league, so neither are immune to the paparazzi.)

In the Blackhawks' case, their season has been as capricious as a post-Circus Brittney Spears (Circus is an album, she wasn't actually an acting member of the circus). For instance, she hit rock-bottom and went blade to scalp on her dome; an instance that can be seen as comparable to the defending Stanley Cup champions being out of the playoff picture for a decent amount of the year.

Then, she somehow resurfaced with the help of someone else (Hawks getting in by way of the Stars collapse) and went on to produce an unintelligible, inauthentic, computer-generated product that started with monologues like, "It's Brittney, b*%#@" that never lived up to her original masterful productions.

I don't watch near enough hockey to throw odds on the Blackhawks playoff chances, but when you can't get up to beat your rival in a must-win with your back against the wall, I'll send my money somewhere else.

As for the Bulls, like I said earlier, if the right circumstances fall into place, it all could happen according to plan. But, we all saw what that Billy Ray parenting/divorce/bad haircut fiasco did to a young vixen like Miley. If things go awry, the Bulls could resemble more of Jonah Hill's version of Cyrus than Miley's.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man likes Dempster to get off the shnide and out of the dumpster in Houston against the Astros tonight. I wouldn't say it's a must-win for the Cubs cannuck, but it's damn close.

Pick of the Day: Cubs @ Astros- CUBS (-129)

Record:(63-51-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

For Richmond or For Poorer


Picture a city nestled in the northeast corner of Illinois. A place where you can--if you have a good arm--throw a stone in one direction and hit a Wisconsinite, and into Lake Michigan if you sling it the opposite way. A place where unemployment and poverty are high and the quality of life is low. A place that's referred to as "the county seat" of Lake County more because it renders the imagination to envision an actual toilet rather than because of its administrative purposes. Ladies and gentleman, Waukegan, Illinois.

Recently, one of Waukegan's only recognizable inhabitants, Illinois guard Jereme Richmond, decided to forgo his final 3 years of college and enter the NBA draft. Besides the point that Jereme could have become a part of the vast minority in his hometown had he earned his collegiate diploma from U of I, he has disappointed many in his most recent decision to abandon the Illini.

Upon the announcement of his controversial decision, Richmond presumptively received ill-will in a variety of forms. In fact, @JRichmond22 was bombarded with so much negative energy that he responded with this tweet:

"Thanks to my haters and motivators. If I so happen to fail, I want my doubters to know my failure is greater than your biggest success"

Ok, so was this a mature, thoughtful and appropriate response? Hell no, it's Jereme Richmond. Apparently he hasn't hired a publicist yet. This is the same guy that caused more high school drama than Randy Moss and A.I. combined and was suspended for Illinois' trip to the dance for "violating team rules" (which I heard was exchanging blows with Brandon Paul).

As Destiny's Child said with the title of their sophomore album, "The Writing is on the Wall".

Richmond's freshman year in Champaign was a far cry from what he thought it would be. When you commit when you're 14, you expect to start when you arrive on campus--a scenario that was simply never the case.

It was glaringly obvious that Richmond wasn't happy with Weber, his teammates, or the collective female crop in Champaign who have a mean ACT score of 29 (about 12 points too high to go home with Jereme).

Still, I feel for the Central Suburban South product. After living in Waukegan and then Urbana-Champaign, I sure hope Jereme doesn't end up somewhere like Toronto with those cheese-eating surrender monkeys (shout out Mike in Indy) dressed head-to-toe in denim like J.T. and Brittney at the 2001 AMA's.

We all know Jereme is no lottery pick, but I think he has NBA athleticism and an amount of potential that will cause a team to roll the dice on the 19 year-old. Sure, he's got baggage. And, when I say baggage I don't mean a tote bag or one of those abominable AAU drawstring backpacks. I'm talking about an assortment of Samsonites stuffed to the brim like a Glencoe housewife prepping for a trip to the Florida Keys.

Then again, who doesn't have baggage in the NBA? I see Richmond as a Matt Barnes-like chippy, under your skin type defender/role player. Although Richmond is young, and judging by his actions at Illinois incontrovertibly dumb, as each detestable tattoo pops onto his body like a pubescent whitehead, he will earn his stripes in the Association.

Someone has to take his side, right? Waukegan's proud of you Jereme--they have no other choice--Ray Bradbury and Fahrenheit 451 are becoming a little outdated for continuous celebration.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man was doomed by the Butler Bulldogs and their sub-20% shooting percentage in the national title game. For his next bet, the Pulse Man likes the UNDER (8.5) in the White Sox/Rays tilt tomorrow night at the Cell.

Pick of the Day: Rays @ White Sox, total runs-8.5-UNDER

Record:(62-51-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Monday, April 4, 2011

Spittin' His Game


In case you have failed to notice, Alfonso Soriano spits more than any other human on the planet Earth. Honestly, he's like a stable llama on Mucinex--it's disgusting. Watch for it, you'll undoubtedly lose your appetite. But for the first time in a long time, Alfonso Soriano is starting to spit his game in between the chalk lines at Wrigley rather than littering the dugout floor with his own saliva.

Through the first four games of the young season, our $136 million man has actually been relatively productive, particularly Monday afternoon in the matinee tilt against Arizona. Soriano had not one, but two timely hits in the span of a single game, which eclipses his total set for the entire month of April in 2010. He has become, if nothing else, the most feared 7 hitter in the National League.

If you think that I'm sitting in Alf's corner breezing him with one of those oriental hand fans, that's simply not the case. I'll admit, 'the hop' is stupid. He's a horrible fielder, he's prone to the strikeout, and he still speaks that incomprehensible Spanglish jibberish after 13 years in the MLB.

But if we've learned anything about #12 during his career with the Cubs it's that the more he is relied upon, the more he lets you down. High expectations weigh him down like he's doggy-paddling holding 50 lb. dumbbells. Take for example 2006, Soriano's last year with the Nationals. With their only aspiration for that season being to not be as poor of a franchise as the Washington Wizards, Soriano flourished. He hit .277, cranked 46 out of that supposed "pitcher's ballpark" in D.C. and snagged 46 bases, all while mindlessly voicing his personal preference to play the infield.

Since that successful season in the nation's capital, Soriano's totals have dropped considerably every year and he hasn't once stole 20 bases as a member of the Cubs. He's swiftly plummeted from prohibitive All-Star to yearly "fall guy".

Do I think that paying your 7th hitter that you often replace late in games for defensive purposes $17 million is a good idea? Not necessarily, but I think that Soriano can certainly benefit from it. Cub fans have become so disgruntled with bad contracts and underachieving free-agents on a yearly basis that voicing their displeasure with Soriano at this point has become a waste of breath.

On Monday, his two clutch hits, including his 2nd home run propelled the Cubs back to the .500 mark. If he can continue to outproduce Skip Schumaker, the Cardinals' 7th hitter and consummate league dork, the pressure should remain off Soriano's slump-susceptible shoulders. If not, this was all just me spitting into the wind.

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Eating Is Cheating


As a Cub fan, there isn't much to be hopeful for after watching the North Siders drop their season opener, their home opener, and their opening series of the season all to the lowly Pittsburgh Pirates.

If you're anything like me, you were watching the Cubs and pondering a few critical questions that arose in your mind. For instance, what nationality is Darwin Barney? Is he the kind of guy who fills in the Asian/Pacific Islander bubble during standardized testing questionnaires? I couldn't even make a guess as to what is actual ethnicity is, but regardless, the question remains, why the hell is he in the game?

After I got over this brief episode of Barney Darwinism, not to be confused with the laissez-faire capitalism movement that helped spawn Social Darwinism, I came to the conclusion that the Cubs and Sox have a plethora of toothpick-framed youngsters filling out their lineup cards.

Since my optimism level with the 2011 Cubs is already pretty low, I figured it might be necessary to draw on the humor card early on to help keep Cub nation's collective sanity in check. So, this is me channeling my inner Bon Iver (shout out Matt DeMars) and giving some "Skinny Love" where credit is due.

Darwin Barney- 5'10'', 179 lbs. I know 2nd baseman aren't typically built like The Big Show, but our little purple dinosaur manning the right side of our double-play combo is small even amongst the fraternity of National League 2nd baseman.

Granted, he's 5 foot 10, Asian (I think), and rocks meticulously tousled hair underneath his lid, so you have to give him the nod as the league's most unassuming Major Leaguer. Still, if he continues to get starts for the Cubs and goes on to never reach the outfield with a batted baseball until mid-July, we'll all know why.

Starlin Castro- 6'1'', 187 lbs. Honestly, I think 187 is a stretch for Starlin, who on opening day was dubbed as the youngest player in the bigs. He recently turned 21, so he'll be looking to add some beer weight and play 3rd base on a park district softball league team in no time.

All joking aside though, the Cubs are going to rely on their Castro more so than Cuba does theirs, because as the lead-off man he'll be responsible for taking pitches, working counts, and slapping singles all while trying to get his GED online from learn4good.com.

Andrew Cashner- 6'7'', 200 lbs. If you can't recall any people who fit the Andrew Cashner body frame, do this: think of all the members you can on your high school's cross country team, then think of who was the tallest and looked the skinniest in those Asics high rise shorts. There you have it. Over 6 foot 5 and under 2 bills is borderline malnourishment.

If Cashner wasn't straight out of a Celtic 3-piece band, he would be being sponsored for a $1 a day on one of those adopt-a-child commercials that pull at your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

Although he hasn't made his first official start in 2011 just yet, I caught a glimpse of Cash during the national anthem today and was convinced that I had seen him chain-smoking Parliaments outside Mystic Celt on Southport in olive green corduroys with a 29 inch waistline. Let's hope he can deal.

Alexei Ramirez- 6'2'', 175 lbs. The Cuban Missile is about as thick as thistle, and even that might be a tad generous. Although he's still very young, he looks as though he's been eating nothing but rationed cornmeal since he was old enough to chew.

Somehow, someway, he's been able to muster some serious pop in his bat and is also notorious for having a cannon of an arm from the deep hole (unintentional correlation with the whole Cuban Missile thing). I've always liked Alexei, but as Frank Costello says to a young Billy Costigan in The Departed, "EAT SOMETHING!"

Omar Vizquel- 5'9'', 155 lbs. The veteran leader of the "Thin Mitts" is our favorite 43 year-old infielder, Omar Enrique Vizquel. As Jack "the Body" Groot so eloquently laid out in a guest blog late last season, Omar looks like he should be pushing a mop and bucket in a gray onesie with a sewn on patch that reads "Omar" above his left breast at your local high school.

Instead, he has done nothing but make every play at every position he has been asked to play. Tipping the scales at 155 lbs, Omar would probably be a weight-class below most pregnant women, and for succeeding at that stature, I have nothing but respect for him.

There you have it. In a time period where skinny jeans are in style, and Calista Flockhart, Mischa Barton and Nicole Richie have all managed to receive a substantial amount of fame, I guess "thin is in". Let the big dogs eat.

As for Pick of the Day, Brittney Griner let the Pulse Man down and reassured us all that you can never trust a woman over 6'6''. For tomorrow night's national title game, the Pulse Man likes the largest lead of the game to be UNDER 13.5, which I agree is a ludicrous line.

Pick of the Day: Butler vs. UCONN, largest lead of the game-13.5- UNDER

Record:(62-50-0)

Lastly, upon visiting some college friends this weekend in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, we managed to create the inaugural Chicago Sports Noise podcast. As soon as we figure out how to post it, you'll be able to hear it. God bless whoever sits through it.

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Silva Lining


I had previously thought that Cubs manager, Mike Quade, didn't possess a "mean streak". I'm not talking like a Chris Brown/Mel Gibson anti-Semitic streak. Hell, I'm not even talking about the visible anger shown by the young, African-American couple in the State Farm commercial. I literally thought the "Q-Ball" didn't release his tension on water-coolers or overweight Hispanic starters, but Carlos Silva trashed Quade's staff and got shipped out of town faster than a Jansport knapsack full of hate mail.

With Silva gone, the Cubs have now freed themselves of all remnants of the Milton Bradley fiasco. In hindsight, if the Rangers sent the carcass of the Maine born American game pioneer who died in 1911 in their trade to the Cubs instead of the volatile, hot-tempered outfielder who would go on to hit .257 with 12 homers and proceed to blame the city, it would've worked out much better.

Then, as if Bradley's presence didn't already hamper the team like rheumatoid arthritis in 2009, they swapped him for a supposed baseball reincarnation of Gabriel Iglesias in 2010. Like Toby Keith says, "freedom don't come free."

At first, Silva was great. He was the "silver lining" to the Cubs' horrendous first half. Little did we know his cholesterol levels were at the same height as Ethan Suplee (pre-weight loss) and he could only muster 11.2 innings of work after the All-Star Break (with 11.12 ERA and a .426 OBA).

So when Andrew Cashner out-pitched Silva in Spring Training, you knew there would be tension between Riggins and the Silva Fox.

"Sometimes you just have to cut a man loose" Gary Bertier, Remember the Titans

In walks 6'6'', 200 lb. Andrew Cashner. First of all, do you have any idea how skinny that is? It's going to be all knees and elbows flying towards the plate when #48 toes the rubber. At least it will make us forget having to stare at Silva's frame for 3+ hours in the summer sun sweating like Adam Richman from Man vs. Food.

Still, even though Cashner is right-handed (Cubs still have 5 RHP starters) and has a grungy ginger beard that resembles Sheamus from the WWE, I'd rather have him out there than Silva.

It's always a different approach for a pitcher when he's in it from Opening Day. So enjoy your first 4 days off in the bullpen, sign some autographs and never use plastic in the 312. Straight Cash-ner, homie.

As for Pick of the Day, the Pulse Man came through in Women's tournament play last night as the Stanford Cardinal rolled over Gonzaga and covered the 9 point spread. For tonight, the Pulse Man will stick to his guns and his boy, Brittney Griner, to scoot by Texas A&M by more than 2 points.

Pick of the Day: Baylor (-2) vs. Texas A&M- BAYLOR

Record:(62-49-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost

Monday, March 28, 2011

Playing it Off


With yet another impressive weekend in which the Bulls swept through their competition, it might be time to start looking ahead. The "MVP" serenades during D. Rose's free-throw routine have began to enter into the redundancy period for me after I saw Comcast air a middle-aged woman in a low-cut tank top with seemingly the same Basketball acumen as my 2nd grade school teacher mouthing the words to the popular chant during the Milwaukee telecast.

The swooning from analysts has become all too commonplace as the Bulls are a virtual lock to close out the season as the Eastern Conference's #1 seed. Not that I'm jumping to any conclusions prematurely, but the Bulls have 10 games left and still have the T-Wolves, Pistons, Raptors, Cavs and Nets ahead on their schedule (worst case scenario: 6-4).

With a two game lead on the C's for superiority in all things basketball East of the Rockies, it's safe to say the Bulls have their hand in the glove. Then again, we are in Chicago--albeit a long ways away from Wrigley field and the goat sacrificing that goes on up there--we are still conditioned to expect the worst.

So without any further deliberation, let's get to the matter at hand (I'm a few credits short in my aspirations to become Atticus Finch). Who will the Bulls play in the opening round? Historically, the top seed has had no problem winning these incommensurate match-ups, but we don't want the Bulls droning through a 10-day tango either. Here is a comprehensive list of the possible opponents Chicago might see in the opening round.

Sixers - (-16.5 GB, 1-1 vs. CHI) The Sixers are certainly an interesting and intriguing bunch. Since the Bulls played them in the playoffs last during the 1990-1991 season, Philly has adopted a new logo, reverted back to the original logo, drafted Iverson, worshiped Iverson and then traded Iverson. It's funny to think that the Bulls now have a Turkish center and the former face of Philly's franchise is playing in a second-tier Turkish league. Also during this time, the Garbage Picking, Field Goal Kicking, Philadelphia Phenomenon was released starring Tony Danza. Strange days indeed.

Not to mention, Doug Collins coached the Bulls during the initial Jordan years of the late 1980's and was canned just in time to watch the Zen Master rattle off 6 titles in Chicago. If you're Doug, that's like getting divorced by your wife, having her marry a quasi-Buddhist monk with a Scottrade account, earning enough money through said account to use their rolled up singles as Q-tips and rolling papers, and then invest their equitable assets into forming the most lucrative dynasty the NBA has ever seen. Sounds like you missed out, Doug.

But the 2011 Sixers have been marked by their potential. Elton Brand and Andrea Iguodala have been around the block in the heart of blue-collar "Rocky Country", but the added youth of Jrue Holiday, Jodie Meeks, Thaddeus Young and Evan Turner have labeled the Sixers as overachievers this season and have kept Doug Collins name in the Coach of the Year debate. Can they beat the Bulls? No, but Doug Collins has enough X's and O's up his sleeve from broadcasting 54,329 games on TNT over the past 5 years to push it to a 5 or 6 game set--exactly what can trip the Bulls up in the future.

Knicks-(-18.5 GB, 2-0 vs. CHI) New team, new style, same bad blood between the Bulls and Knicks. Xavier McDaniel and Anthony Mason might be face up in the sun in Boca Raton after 4 back surgeries each, but I assure you that if the Bulls play the Knicks in round 1, there will be some hard fouls issued similar to the ones of old.

What scares me about the Knicks is what scares everybody about the Knicks--they can score on anyone. Carmelo and Amare can fill it up against the best team defenders in the world, and have proven that to some extent during their brief partnership together in the Big Apple. The Bulls have showed the capability to win without scoring in the triple digits this season, which is a testament to how far they have come as a team on the defensive end.

But, they have also shown that if Rose goes ice-cold like the scene from Cool Runnings where Sanka (Doug E. Doug) gets stuck in the Ice Cream truck, they can go an extended period of time without scoring. Now I would hesitate to call Carmelo and Amare tough-nosed, blue collar guys, but I think Toney Douglas, Chauncey Billups and Landry Fields provide them with that "chip on your shoulder" mentality that the Knicks always held near and dear during the John Starks era.

I wouldn't feel comfortable seeing the Knicks in round 1 because of their potential to follow through with the unfathomable. Realistically though, I don't think they have a chance to make a deep run this year judging by their lack of interest in defense, and they have an assistant coach named Dan D'Antoni--that can't help. Still, they're 2-0 versus the Bulls already this season so what do I know?

Pacers- (-22 GB, 1-3 vs. CHI) It is no secret that Indiana is the most Caucasian-laden team in the NBA, and believe it or not, that includes Utah. Jeff Foster, Mike Dunleavy (currently injured), Josh McRoberts and Tyler Hansbrough all see time for the Indiana 'Race'-ers. Throw some unathleticism in the middle in the form 7'2'' center, Roy Hibbert, and you have a possible Eastern Conference 8 seed.

The Pacers really haven't made much noise since Larry Legend stepped down from Head Coach and appointed someone that he never really liked, and people trusted less than an ex-girlfriend with an assortment of dirty texts at her disposal. Since then though, the Pacers have been winning the "right" way, and presumably the "white" way based on the talent pool they move through Conseco Fieldhouse every home game.

In fact, the Pacers knocked off the Bulls last Friday in an overtime thriller that saw the Bulls as a lethargic, shot-missing bunch carried much of the way by their MVP point guard. Knowing that Rose almost willed the Bulls to victory on a night when the rest of their team shot an equivalent percentage to a young student on a spelling pretest doesn't bode well for Indiana basketball fans. Go Butler, maybe the Pacers can lure Brad Stevens to the league, or else I think he's destined for a PLAYGIRL cover.

Bobcats/Bucks- (-23 GB/-24 GB, 2-2 vs. CHI, 0-4 vs. CHI) Lastly, the two teams on the outside looking in on the 2011 NBA Playoffs are the Charlotte Bobcats and the Milwaukee Bucks. As a proud owner of a Charlotte Hornets quarter-zip Starter jacket, I'm ashamed to say that the Bobcats actually exist...not that anyone has noticed. They are consistently making mindless trades in order to get them out of the red and their most recognizable face is in upper management. Nothing in Charlotte is necessarily peachy.

They did beat the Bulls twice earlier in the year, but that was when they still held the rights to Gerald Wallace, a guy who always gave the Bulls problems. Now, you can conceivably argue that Stephen Jackson is their best player (seriously, look at their roster). I feel that their only reason for existence is for Michael Jordan to use the Bobcats as a forum in finally succeeding in helping the world understand what he once saw in Kwame Brown, and therefore I would love to see them in round 1.

As for the Bucks, we saw them fold up like paper in fire again in Milwaukee this weekend and had no answer when the Bulls flipped the switch (lot of cliches there, I apologize). The Bucks are 0-4 against the Bulls this year and don't pose much of a threat with their current roster. However, if they can somehow get healthy for the road ahead (except for Michael Redd, he'll never play a full season again), they could instill a little fear in their opponents to go along with their Christmas color scheme. God bless whoever they have in merchandise sales.

With all of that being said, the Bulls still have games against the Celtics and Magic to use as a measuring stick heading into their second season. But, if all goes according to plan, one of these teams could have a date with D.Rose in the conference quarters...buyer beware.

As for Pick of the Day, it's been a while since the Pulse Man has bet, but as always he is anxious to get his money out and lay on the table. For tonight, the Pulse Man advocates for the Stanford women giving 9 points to the Gonzaga Lady Bulldogs in West region play of the Women's NCAA Tourney. He's an equal opportunity employer, and a ladies man, so get off of his back.

Pick of the Day: Stanford (-9) vs. Gonzaga- STANFORD

Record:(61-49-0)

Now I'm done. Rack me

Frost