I've seen a million faces... AND I ROCKED THEM ALL!!!

Along the same lines as my last posting, another fun story from my winter break that finally needs to be told...

Saturday night, January 17th. I was back in Chicago for my last hurrah before school started back up. JM and I hit the Bulls game earlier in the night, then met up with JK after the game and played some darts.

Many drinks and victorious dart games later, I told JM we needed to hit Louie's. Louie's is a special place for me. A karaoke bar nestled in the Wicker Park neighborhood, not a far walk from JM's place. I had overcome my nerves (alcohol usually helps) to sing to a packed Louie's twice before, singing Journey's Don't Stop Believin'. I had done quite well. I had my fellow patrons singing with me, and some cheering whenever I threw in the occasional White Sox reference. But this night was going to be different. I had made up my mind that Journey was not to be sung.

But I kept JM and JK in the dark. I didn't tell them what I was going to sing. We arrived at the bar, I put my name and song in, and paitiently waited my turn. Little did anyone know that I had been practicing this particular song on Rock Band and Guitar Hero in the days leading up. I was ready. I wasn't even nervous. I was anxious and excitied more than anything.

There were maybe 4 or 5 people ahead of me. They all sang songs that were either boring or unknown by the majority of the crowd. I could feel the energy of the bar waning. I was being set up for the kill. Perfect timing.

They called my name. And like MJ in Game 6 of the '98 Finals, I swiped the ball from Karl Malone and made my slow trot to center stage. My moment was here. I may have been doubted by some... but just like MJ, I knew I was going to blow the roof off the place. I was supremely confident and ready for my moment.

The opening bars of Bon Jovi's Livin' On A Prayer started. And the crowd instantly awoke. I already had them on my side.

To say I rocked the place would be an understatement. I held that microphone like I was born to do this. I didn't just sing, I played to the crowd. I let them sing portions of the chorus by holding the mic out to random people. I walked through the bar to make sure everyone was into it. And they were. I didn't once look at the TV screen for words. I knew them like the back of my hand, like that familiar taste of kissing a long lost love.

The crowd was mine. They sang and danced along. Before the song was half over, I had random girls grabbing me in different directions to sing along with me. I simply didn't have the time to walk up to all of them, so they took matters into their own hands...

The song ended. The crowd was euphoric. They cheered for me like I've never been cheered for before. And all along, I had my two best buddies, brothers to me, along for the ride.

I know I'm boasting. In reality, rock star lead singer is not in my future. I don't have the pipes or stage presence for it. And to be honest, I probably sang off key, and the only reason I rocked the crowd was because I played a familiar song and they were just as drunk as I was.

But for a brief time, I was Mick Jagger, David Lee Roth, and Robert Plant all rolled into one. For 4 minutes and 9 seconds, Louie's changed their name to Erik's.

My religious experience with Jim Thome

I know I've been slacking big time with the blog lately. One posting in almost two whole months? I have excuses. School was kicking my ass in December. I recently joined facebook. I moved into a new house. I got wrapped up in the resurrection of my beloved Blackhawks. I put my ps3 online (big mistake). School started back up. The White Sox aren't playing right now. And I kind of got wrapped up chasing girls I have no business chasing.

But my two readers would have none of this.

I have a few topics to blog about, but for now, I'll treat you to my morning spent with Jim Thome.

January 13, another slow and boring morning at Dick's Sporting Goods. I was in the backstock trying to look busy. A girl that worked at the front noticed a familiar face walk in, and knowing how I kind of like the Sox, immediately called me.

Tonia: "Erik! Where are you??? You will not believe who is shopping for shoes right now!"
Me: "I'm in the backstock... Who's out there?"
Tonia: "Jim Thome!"
Me: "Yeah right."
Tonia: "Look for yourself!"

So I walk out on the floor. And standing 5 feet from me is Jim Freaking Thome.

Me: "Holy shit!!! Jim Thome!!!"
Jim: "Hey there! What's up, buddy?"

And then HE holds out his hand to shake mine. I was stunned.

Jim: "What's your name?"
Me: "Er...Erik."
Jim: "Good to meet you, Erik!"
Me: "Mr. Thome... I'm a huge White Sox fan... Huge fan of you too..."
Jim: "Awesome!"

He then proceeded to ask me a few questions about a particular brand of shoes, stating how he was negotiating an endorsement deal with said shoe company. He wanted to try them out prior to signing the deal. So he bought five pairs for himself and his family. He was talking about the shoes, the potential deal, what he was up to in Peoria... and my mind wasn't registering that I was talking to Jim Thome. It was blank. I just stood there and listened. There were so many things I wanted to ask him. But within a few minutes he was getting ready to leave. My hands were sweating, I was shaking, my voice was cracking. So I had to stop and ask just one more question.

I thought about my greatest memory of last season, in the divisional playoff game against the Twins. With the score 0-0, both pitchers absolutely locked in, and the tension beyond words. Then, in the 7th inning he launched a moon shot that still hasn't landed. A moment that launched me out of my seat.

I asked him about that moment, and what it felt like. He told me that it was beyond description. How his heart was pounding so hard and he barely felt his feet running around the bases. How cool the blacked-out crowd looked. And how he'll never forget it because it launched the Sox into the playoffs.

Not wanting to take up anymore of his time, I nervously asked for an autograph, wished him luck in the upcoming season, and HE shook my hand once more and thanked me.

And just like that he was gone.

I couldn't get myself back to work. I was absolutely stunned about what had just transpired. I had just had a one-on-one conversation with one of my favorite baseball players, who also just happens to play for my favorite team. I had heard stories about how he's the nicest guy in baseball, how he's never let stardom or money get to his head, how he's so approachable and down to earth. And I experienced it first hand. He was happy to meet a fan, he took the time to talk to me, and happily obliged for an autograph. I've met other Sox players before, but not like this. This was beyond words. To meet him at my job, where he acted just like every other customer I've ever helped.

I've always liked Jim Thome. Not so much when he was an Indian and he routinely killed the Sox. But when he went to the Phillies, I began to appreciate him. And when the Sox got him, I was ecstatic. But now... he's quite possibly one of my favorite players EVER.

Have fun with that one, Braves fans!!!

This has without question been one of the worst weeks of my life. Final week of classes, and all of my professors are dropping the hammer on me. The first three days of this week have been nothing short of chaotic. Preparing for a test Thursday morning, writing a 10-page paper and presentation of said paper Thursday night. Another presentation Friday morning, followed by turning in a notebook of 50+ assignments Friday afternoon (only 36 more to go!). And it's not like I can sleep or recover this weekend. I have to work for the man Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Under normal circumstances, I would drink away my stress. But I don't have time to deal with hangovers this week. And I should probably have a clear mind or something so I can focus on skool. So I'm stuck dipping massive amounts of Skoal, taking Fallout 3 breaks, and occasionally rubbing one out. And now this. The exit of my least favorite Sox player, Sackless Vazquez.

I will forever remember Sackless's Sox career being one of unmet goals, one of countless frustrations. I will never forget the angst, the stress, and countless drinks he made me down at the tail end of September, when his Sox career officially went off the rails. He was called out by Oz to man up, and Sackless chose not to.

He imploded against the Yankees, Twins, Indians, and Rays in his final four games, four games that just happened to increase in importance. We needed him, and he let us down. Oh, he teased us. Did he ever. He could strike out just about anyone, and look like Johan Santana in the process. But then one batter later he would morph into Jamie Navarro and give up crushing hits.

I will also remember his casual indifference to his end-of-the-year suck job. How he didn't know why he sucked, he just did.

Whatever. Good Riddance. And Good Riddance to Boner Logan, the "rumored" second player in the trade. Boner also liked to tease us. He'd start out great, and take a sub-2.00 ERA into May. He would look like a solid bullpen pitcher. And then he would suddenly remember that he actually sucked, and would revert to his sub-6.00 ERA. This is just my opinion, but if your boss makes you cry, it's probably a good thing to move along.

Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out guys...

Time to buy a Wilson Betemit jersey!!!

Nick Swisher, we hardly knew ye.

The Dirty Thirty era has ended after one up and down season. It started bad, got better, and ended worse than it began. It wasn't entirely his fault, but he nonetheless failed in his first and only season on the South Side.

I was excited last year when the Sox brought him in. While he was in Oakland, I was witness to many a game when Swisher beat the Sox with clutch hitting and an annoying, gamer attitude. So when they brought him in, I was on board.

The only thing he really brought was that annoying attitude. He did provide some solid power numbers, and was the most patient hitter the Sox had. But his batting average was atrocious. And his defense in centerfield was even worse.

Things got better when PK went to the DL for awhile. Playing in his natural 1st base job, Swish improved his hitting, and his defense was solid. But when PK came back, Swish went back to the outfield, where his Sox career died. He was shuffled in and out of the lineup, playing multiple positions, and just never seemed to get comfortable. By the time September rolled around, he was a bench player and barely played in the playoffs.

Maybe he tried too hard. Maybe he wanted to make such a good impression that he pressed too much. And maybe as the season went on, he couldn't get the slump out of his head. Who knows. But the bottom line was he had no place on the '09 Sox. 1st base is PK's. Thome is the DH. Dye (for now) and CQ are the corner outfielders. And he wasn't going back to CF.

Truth be told, I would rather they kept Swish and traded PK. Swish is younger, cheaper, and a better defensive 1st baseman. But PK has an almost full no-trade clause. So that wasn't happening.

I also felt Swish tried too hard to promote his blue-collar, grinder attitude. He tried to seem like the grinder type, the one that plays hard and gets clutch hits and does the little things to win games. He didn't really do much of any. So in the end, he just seemed like another vaguely douchey guy. And really, a team can't have a lot of those guys on it's roster. AJ has that distinction locked down anyway.

But at the same time, I feel the need to rip on Kenny a little bit here. Wilson freaking Betemit? Seriously??? That's the best you can do??? He traded an everyday player for a middling utility infielder. I don't get it. I know a couple young pitchers were also received, but as the saying goes, prospects are always suspects until they prove otherwise.

The offseason is still young. I'm hoping Kenny does better than this...

All I ever wanted... all I ever needed...

Is here... in my arms...

Please forgive me for breaking out the Depeche Mode, but a very special part of my life has returned to me.

For those unfamiliar with the story, here goes. At the end of September, I returned home to Chicago for a pair of Sox-Indians games. After the Saturday night game, in which the Sox had lost their second straight against the Tribe, I set out for a night on the city with my best friends. Because I was furious at the Sox for losing both games, I refused to wear my Sox hat out. Instead, I grabbed one of the few hats I had stashed in my closet at home, and pulled out an old LA Dodger cap.

I'm not a Dodger fan, and this had nothing to do with the fact the Cubs were very likely to face the Dodgers in the playoffs. I have briefly discussed my baseball hat fetish in a previous post, and several members of my collection are of teams I have no rooting interest in. I just liked how the hat looked when I bought it. For some reason, this only realtes to baseball, as I refuse to have any football team hat other than the Bears, refuse to have any basketball hat other than the Bulls, and cannot wear any hockey hat other than my beloved Hawks. But baseball? For some reason I have no problem sporting a Mariners, Pirates, Marlins, or in this case, Dodgers hat. I guess the reason is the history of baseball team logos is richer and deeper than in any other sport.

So back to the story. I had caught some serious grief from JM about wearing it, and he was relentless throughout the night. Several bars and many drinks later, we were cabbing it to the last bar destination of the night. I made a joke that involved JM, and without any hesitation, he grabbed the Dodger hat off my head, and threw it out the moving cab.

JK just laughed. JM felt immediate remorse. I felt nothing. The hat meant nothing to me, as it could have easily been replaced. But JM felt really guilty. He apologized profusely the following day, and offered to buy me another. I refused. It wasn't necessary, and truth be told, I wanted to guilt trip him for eternity.

No such luck. JM bought me not just a replacement Dodger hat, but also a Phillies, Brewers, and White Sox hat. This was done under the agreement that I could no longer guilt trip him.

So now my teasured ballcap collection has increased by four. I'm happy to have the Dodger cap back as it does look really cool. The LA Dodger logo is timeless, one of the most recognizable in all of sports. And the Dodger blue just pops off the hat. Really, a beautiful hat.

But you know what? The hat is too clean, looks too new, and doesn't fit quite as nicely as the old one did, wherever it may be...

Words are very unecessary... they can only do harm...

A new man, a new hope, a new tomorrow

A memorable, historic night. One we'll be telling our grandkids about. In a country built by slavery, a country not far removed from the horrific civil-rights era of the 60's, a country that for so long (and still to this day) has looked down upon minorities, a black man has been elected as the 44th President of the United States.

I remember in junior high, sitting in history class and reading about Martin Luther King, Jr. While I certainly appreciated how far blacks had come, I never expected this day to come. None of us did. I casted my vote this morning after waiting in line for close to an hour. But it was well worth it. I would have waited a week to cast my vote for Mr. Obama. This is a man of hope, a man of change, a man that will lead us into the promised land.

I understand that there will be bumps in the road. He's not going to correct things overnight. This country is beyond screwed up, with economic turmoil, wars, and the constant threat of terrorism. The whole world is in an era of chaos, where gas and food prices are through the roof and everyone has job uncertainty. Nobody has seen so much tension and anxiety with the way things are going.

But I believe he can lead us out of this mess. He has the vision, the work ethic, and the determination to get it done. We as a country have shown that we are not one of wealthy, old white men. We are a country of hope, tolerance, and change. It will take time, yes. But it will happen.

Trust me, we'll be building statues and naming high schools after him. I am standing with him. We can get out of this mess.

Yes we can.

Well, if you insist...

A funny thing happened to me this weekend while visiting home. I had THREE people tell me my blog needs to be updated. You know what that means? The SDMBTA Nation has grown to 4 people now!!!

I was perfectly content with giving the blog a rest after the Sox season came to an end, and then apply the defibrillator to it come Spring Training. I honestly didn't think I would have anything really interesting to say until then (not that I ever do). But lately there have been a number of things that have come about that I could write about.

I could write about my substitute Chicago teams. How the Bears do not resemble the Bears, with a competent QB and a shitty defense. How the Bulls are going to suck this year, yet why I'm going to be naming my firstborn son Derrick Rose Anderson. How the Blackhawks have been equally frustrating and exciting in the early stages of their season.

I could write on how I might be the only person outside of Philadelphia NOT rooting for Tampa. And trust me, it has nothing to do with the Rays beating the Sox. Simply put, their stadium and fans suck and they don't deserve a baseball team.

I could write about this past weekend, and how thoroughly disappointed I am in myself for not putting JK in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. How several weeks ago, while blind drunk I got my ass kicked on the dartboard (I'm not good at many things, but this is one of them). And how this past Friday night, I redeemed myself by whipping out the 45 jersey and dropped 55 points on the previous victor. Or why steak fijitas are a bad idea after a rousing night of drinking. Or why booze and catching cell phones off a second story balcony don't mix (the Razr literally exploded, but my new phone is cooler anyway).

I could write a long overdue homage to Paul Newman, one of my all-time favorite actors and the main star of two movies in my top 5.

I could write about some promising developments in the female department (one of them is a tall brunette). How I have a sick fetish for ballcaps and my collection has now grown to 27, but is missing a certain LA Dodger cap. Or how my Skoal addiction is getting out of control.

I could write about how this semester is thoroughly kicking my ass, and making me poor in the process. Why buying new PS3 games during said semester is a very bad idea. Or why GH World Tour (T-minus 4 days!!!) might be my ultimate downfall.

I could write about my new house I'm moving into in January, and how it might be the coolest house ever built. On second thought, that deserves it's own post, and will be done closer to move-in day.

So there are a lot of things I could post about. But I'll pass on all that for now. Frank TV is on!!!