When Spring comes, send me a card. Once again, the fickle fancy of God teases me. 70 degrees, then 30. Chicago.
Jim's been telling me about the drudgery of his Metra job. He's keeping things low key, but this is partly to do with his new girlfriend, Lisa, who won't tolerate his usual routine. That means he remains sober of body and mind, and stops hitting on attractive commuters. All the same, he's bored.
He's a Sox fan, so we go at it. My world is about the Cubs. Can't take away their World Series and our lack of one. Makes it hard to win a baseball argument when my team loses. The jazz about having a better stadium is pointless, especially as I can't afford to see a game live anyway. I catch them on TV. WGN.
Jim's a die-hard fan. He'll never attack a base coach like those morons did a few years back, but he will give them them a few pointers.
I gotta say, I miss Harry Caray. I miss Steve Stone too, but Harry, in his prime, could really call a game. As far as enthusiasm goes, Ron Santo has picked up where Harry left off, only without the booze.
More tiring blather about Conrad Black. The prosecutor, as you can see, considers him a common street criminal.
Media tycoon's trial delayed after juror fails to appear in Chicago
Black akin to street criminal: prosecutor Irish Examiner
Black Stole $60 Million From Hollinger, US Claims (Update4) Bloomberg