Before I give my analysis on the Convention, let me just say that I spent an incredible 25 hours on the road in order to spend about 27 hours in Chicago. Never again.

I arrived in Chicago on Friday morning, where we promptly met with Jason, picked up the 450ish printed pictures, and ate at a Greek Restaurant. Jason, I should add, lives in a fabulous apartment far beyond what any grad student is deserving of, and he has a great DVD and book collection.

I met with Jason's wife soon after lunch and took the train into downtown Chicago. After avoiding the poor-bastard protestors from the Congress Plaza Hotel, we entered the Palace of our Dreams, the Chicago Hilton. Our eyes were immediately assaulted by thousands of people decked all-out in Cubbie garb, some of whom looked even crazier than your Aunt Martha. Oh, and we began handing out GROTA photoshops. For those of you visiting the site for the first time: welcome! I hope you enjoyed the pictures, and please tell your friends.

I got to meet pretty much everybody for the first time. Byron came in with a tripod slung over his shoulder, ready to shoot pictures like a madman. (Byron, I look forward to seeing them.) Rob showed up in his big blue Zambrano jersey, carrying a bag full of baseballs and photographs for autographs. Mike arrived with a friend in tow, and was awesome enough to give me a printed copy of the now-slightly-famous Tribune article in which Goat Riders (and myself) was mentioned.

We went our separate ways, getting together briefly to lose famously at Cubbie Bingo, before Jason, Leah, myself, and the Sloth all went out to dinner. It was a fun time that, for the Sloth, meant he wouldn't get home until after 2 in the morning, and despite our own short sleeping night due to the early following morning, I felt very well rested.

On Saturday, Jason, Leah, and I went to the Q&A with Hendry, Randy Bush, and Lou, where we bombarded the men with our finest questions. Well, Jason did. Al Yellon beat me to the punch on mine, so I concocted some other question about why Hendry didn't deal Pierre at the deadline. Jason's question is what famously spawned Hendry and Piniella's many quotes on Larry Rothschild, so good job Jason! Regretfully, the Sloth couldn't drag himself out of bed and back to the Convention in time (two hours is a long-ass commute, my friends), and both Byron and Mike were a little late to the party and did not get their questions asked. However, I did get Jim to sign my Lou as God photoshop, so that was cool.

At the next event, Piniella 101, we got to spend an hour asking Lou, Larry, and - theoretically speaking - the rest of the coaching staff our questions. I had planned on cutting out of this one early in order to get in line for Carlos, but regretfully Cub nuts had begun getting in line for the Big Moose probably since the previous evening, and I was told that there was no chance in hell that the mile-long line would progress through in time for Zambrano. So, we went back up for the full Piniella 101. Byron came up to bat first, and I'll let him write about that experience. I also got to ask a question, and although I'd wanted to ask Trammel what a bench coach's job is (because he was being ignored), I wound up asking Lou the question that Mike had planned on asking him at the earlier event.

Mike had wanted to know if Lou would pledge to never blame day games for Cub losses. I asked the question, and as Lou gave a bit of a long-winded round-about answer, I cut in and said "so you're saying you won't blame day games?" And he said he wouldn't. So, there you have it.

After the Q&A ended, I told Larry that my girlfriend loved him and got him to sign the Lou as God photoshop. He very kindly told me that my question was a good one, so that was nice. Then he asked if he could meet my girlfriend in private at a later date, and I pummeled him until the pink-tied big-ass security guy stepped in and kicked my ass. Okay, I made up the last part, except for about the pink-tied big-ass security guy. He was real, and he resembled a brick wall.

Anyway, I then headed back downstairs, and, after explaining to the kind security people that my young son was in line to get a Zambrano autograph and that I wanted to take his picture, they let me through so that I was about 15 feet from this website's hero. I snapped a quick picture and was able to persuade one of the security helpers to give him this image:

I had to tell them that no, I did not want it signed, but I wanted him to keep it. They saw it, thought it was hilarious, and decided they'd give it to him, only for a bulldog-type security lady to come over and emphatically tell me that no, he could not get it. She then saw it, and I explained it was a gift, and she shockingly broke down and let it through. I was still about 20 feet away when Carlos received it, and his reaction was one of laughter. He seemed genuinely amused by it, and I can only hope that he noticed the site's address in the corner and has come to see what we're all about.

If so: Welcome, sir. You rock.

Anyway, I also inadvertantly took a piss next to John McDonough. The Cubs President then went outside and began signing autographs. Trying to get a threefer, I pulled out Lou as God. McDonough took one look at the image and said that no, he would not sign it. He never explained why - it may have been because it was "contraband," or perhaps because of the Goat Riders logo, but I am shocked that a promotions guy like himself doesn't see the value of free advertising through websites like this one.

Mr. McDonough, should you ever read this, your organization is missing a huge opportunity by turning a blind eye to blogs like this one. We reach tens of thousands of people every month who may otherwise be disenchanted or disinterested in mainstream media, and at the risk of losing our so-called credibility, we'd love to work with you if only for the chance to improve our so-called credibility. So, think about it, sir.

After that, I got to experience the Boys of Zimmer - Les Lancaster, Ryne Sandberg, Dougie Dascenzo (who was completely hidden from view, and not just because he's a small dude), Dwight Smith, Jerome Walton, and yes, Mark Grace spent an hour recounting stories of yore. The highlight of the event: the crazy Cub fan who, against convention rules, asked Gracie for an autograph. Gracie refused, Sandberg accepted, then Gracie relented and the girl went flippin' bonkers. Her hands shaking like a leaf, she climbed up to the stage, kissed Grace on the cheek, whipped out her digital camera and snapped a photo, had him sign - apparently - her breast, and acted like the crazed lunatic that she was. I have to admit upon reflection that it was pretty hilarious.

After Boys of Zimmer, I had to go. The real world came a calling, and I began the long drive back home.

Let me just say this. The Convention is a very fun chance to meet with friends and hear Cub players and personel speak, but do not go for autographs! You won't get them. The lines are too long, the people are too crazy. But it was entirely worth attending, and I hope for the chance to do it again.

And hey, Carlos. EMail me. Let us interview you, sir. I promise we'd ask you some of the funniest questions you've ever had.