I only was able to make it downtown to the Hilton on Friday.  The festivities from the Hank White Fan Club, the sub-arctic conditions, and the prospect of spending a work-free Saturday indoors with the wife and 2-year old all conspired for my absence on Day 2.  But what was I going to miss?  A chance to stand in line for an hour behind a man wearing a license plate that says "BANKS1959" so I can utter my thoughtful question and get a bunch of canned, dragged out boilerplate answers?

I did that last year, and at what cost?  I have to confess, too, that I find all of the other aspects of the convention rather dull or weird or both.  Sorry for being the cantankerous misanthrope, I'm not into getting autographs and I've never been much of a memorabilia hawk.  Cubs Bingo?  C'mon.  Couldn't they have a trivia contest for fans?  That's the only way I'm going home with any schwag--by winning it because I can tell you, without hesitating, that Bump Wills began the season by going yard in 1982 against Mario Soto.  I'm not going to buy Benny Cadhaia's cleats  just because it fits my discretionary budget.

Not that there's anything wrong with people who do that sort of thing.  Last year, my childhood buddy Dave came in from Minnesota for the convention after his wife scored him a pass for his birthday.  We hung out, had a great time, and Dave scored himself some pretty swank shoes that Gary Matthews Sr. had worn in 2006 and Dave decided to wear them the next day, to the convention.  Dave admitted that they were "really comfortable", so he made that work for him, see.  I got no problem with that; just ain't my thing.

Besides, Kurt pays me in convention passage, so I've got to earn my keep.

So as I tried to also look up Byron, I figured what better way to pass the time and act like a real reporter and take notes on what the general manager and various players have to say, as hosted by WGN's Dave Kaplan.

First up was Jimbo.  While I couldn't dream that Hendry would be as straightforward and honest as he would be with a small, select group of individuals (although I was prepared to use my "first" card in a maximum of maybe possibly three cards before I would get escorted out, by shouting out some boo-age had anybody mentioned the name Mark Prior), Hendry's finally looking relaxed again.  I don't know if this SAM FULD thing he has--which apparently compels him, possibly involuntarily, to keep invoking SAM FULD four times in a single answer about the outfield-- is harmful, but he may want to get it checked out.

 (I should again point out that my "first of maybe three cards" card made me consider the repercussions of just belting out, as if someone had shoved a Cadilliac in my rectum, "SAM FULD!" after Hendry kept saying it.  However, I think had I shouted out "SAM FULD" that it would just cause everyone to stare at me so long as I stood in that room before I was politely asked to leave.  One must report, so I had to be practical and leave pursuit of such amusement alone.)

After Hendry, Mark Derosa came on along with Ted Lilly, sporting a slick-looking, "black leather" coat that was no doubt the skin of some recent victims, Kerm's favorite--Ryan Dempster--and Ryan Theriot.  Early on, Derosa seemed to atone for his ill-fated decision to do anything but leave his bat on his shoulder in a situation that extinguished what little hope remained for the Cubs, when he talked about having a team down, on the ropes, and then "doing something stupid like hitting into a double play".  Fuck that hurt.  But I'm okay now because Derosa's not being a douche about it by saying he doesn't remember it and it wasn't his fault they lost anyway et cetera. So now I can move on.  Good on Mark. 

Derosa's atonement also apparently included his being given lineup-making responsibilities.  He talked about how nice it will be to have "Lee, Ramirez and Soriano, three, four, and five" before he kind of caught himself, and just said "power" alot.  Oops.  Think maybe someone, whose first name happens to rhyme with "slew", asked DeRo his thoughts about him leading off?

DeRosa also talked about Bobby Cox being "dejected" often, I can't honestly say, I was getting so bored at this point, I was starting to nod off.

While Hendry had earlier been talking up SAM FULD, Ryan Theriot's teammates all seemed to do the same thing with Ryan.  What a great guy, he was solid player.  It was as if he was dying.  And Theriot.  He talked about the team "exerting so much energy" and implied they were tired at the end, I really really wanted to shout "Speak for yourself!" but figured better of it.  That's kind of mean on top of it being my only card.

Lilly talked about how he liked Lou and that's good, you know, because of those things Ted did to John Gibbons.  As a reminder, Lilly talked about his anger from his DeRosa-like idiocy in throwing Chris Young anything other than a fastball, and you know...it's just a litle scary when Lilly gets angry.  Lilly bonechillingly detailed his mood after he threw that pitch.  He literally said his anger was "back" at that moment Young swung.  I'm starting to think that losing that night in Phoenix wasn't the worst thing that could have happened for Cub fans in attendance.

The players had a chance to bust each other's balls, WGN-style.  Dempster dissed Theriot's illiteracy, wondering where he went to college, giving Theriot the WIDE-OPEN correct answer:  LSU.  National Champs.  All he had to say.  Dempster's Canadian, and so of course said that was bullshit.  Both teams kept playing four downs per series.  Nobody was counting the rogues!   Dempster didn't say anything like that, actually, because you know, he's really not that funny, but DeRosa started throwing some smack.  Amidst it all Lilly said nothing, but he was smiling, no doubt thinking about that dinner that was slowly stewing in his crock pot at home,  a "light but hearty dermal broth" on which he could hardly wait to sup.

Dempster was given the standard 16" softball of a question when Dave Kaplan asked him the feel-good tripe about "playing at Wrigley." Fuck that.  I hate that question.  Win a fucking World Series and then worry about the basking.

Anger rising, and realizing that I hadn't yet used any of my cards, I belted out:

JUST WIN IT. 

That's what I stood in place for an hour for?  "JUST WIN IT"?

Besides, being by the rear two doors, Dempster didn't  hear what was said specifically, but the 80% of the back third of the balroom did, and just laughed at the crazy guy standing by the doors.  Some may have clapped, I don't know, but I also didn't care.  I was just bummed Dempster didn't hear my one "question".

I had completely forgotten about my outburst minutes later when, during a commercial break, I went to an empty chair (the ballroom had been emptying as the show went on) and sat down and used my phone.  I was next to a fat dude in a red T-shirt. Thought it was a Cardinals fan for a second (he wasn't, as it turned out, but everything else fit). I found it harder to ignore him as he kept motioning toward me.  Finally he just came out and said,

"Hey!  You're Al Davis."

(completely stunned look)

 "You.  you shouting "Just win.  What'd it?  What'd he say? Just win"

Just win, ummmm.  Baby.

"Yeah.  Baby.  Just win, baby.  That's you.  Al Davis"

Commitment to Excellence.

"Yeah.  Commitment to Excellence.  Oh boy.  Raiders."

Anyway, as far as I'm concerned that's all any Cub should be thinking about when asked about  "playing in front of those great Wrigley fans."  You really like us, Ryan? Do us a favor, please, and just close the goddamn deal.  No more thinking about it, talking about it.  No more losing your cool so you can be the hero in front of us 38,000 jerkwads, Mark DeRosa, when Livian Hernandez wants to be cute and bait you into swinging at his worthless shite, instead of calmly taking the walk and letting the next guy do it.  

I hate that reporters always resort to asking that question about "playing at Wrigley" in the first place.

Good ole' Ronny Santo and his "old roommate" Glenn Beckert did a bit.  Really now.  These guys do know it's the third millenia, right?  It was like the worst vaudeville recreation of the worst vaudeville show from 1932.  I know, I know, the GNers love it.  The old-timers.  The mom and pops.  But seriously--can we just put Santo in the Hall before he dies?  I know why part of the reason some of these sick fucks in press boxes and veterans committees keep him out is because he wants it so bad--which is partly Santo's own fault--but let's be done with it.  Santo earlier said "I'm scared myself by how good I feel" and felt a chill go down my spine.  Anwyay, at that point, Ronnie Woo-Woo came barrelling down the front, Santo didn't know what to do, it was quite hilarious, but I had enough--it was hot in that room at seven, and that was before anybody with a microphone began talking, and now it was 8:45 and my first cold beer of the day was waiting for me at Kitty's.

Incidentally, this also happens to be my final post for Goatriders.  I'm going to be working on some other projects this year, some more behind-the-scenes stuff, and will likely try my own stuff out somewhere else down the road, if I get a chance.   Thanks for reading, if you did.

In the meantime, Go Cubs.