IT'S NOT LIKE I WON'T BE WATCHING ANYWAY

At the pool party Friday night, I received a double dose of disturbing news. First, Jenna (bottom right) tells me that she is going with Joe to Wrigley Field in September. I think Joe may have already told me this excitedly on the phone a few weeks back. But when someone tells me he/she is going to see the Cubs and I'm not going, I get out-of-control jealous, crazy-boyfriend style. As if somehow that person doesn't deserve to go and should just hand over the tickets (that's for the game and the plane) to me. A little psycho, yes. But don't you have to be to cheer for the Cubs? 

Seriously, though, not having me come to Wrigley with you would be like Kenny Smith heading to Vegas for a wild weekend and not inviting Sir Charles to tag along. Or better yet, like taking a summer vacation traveling across Asia and not inviting Minkus. 

Not five seconds later, Gillie (left) piles it on: "Oh, yeah. I'm going to a game in September, too." Am I the only one not going to a Cubs game in September? I feel more left out than the uncoordinated kid who is always picked last on the playground. Gillie and Jenna must have taken the immortal words of Steve Goodman to heart: "Well this is the year, and the Cubs are real. So come on down to Wrigley Field." I'm too busy catching it all on WGN. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom wanted to rewatch last season of CSI: Miami. CBS started reshowing the season a few weeks ago, but the other day, the episode the network showed was from a previous season. "They (CBS) got it all out of fucking order."

I ask mom what those stand thingies in the middle of the mall are called about thirty minutes after asking her how many sandwiches she made for the party Friday. "How many sandwiches I made. Now this. What are you fucking writing about?" (Well, that line, for one.) Forty minutes later, I ask mom a question about butterflies. "What the fuck are you writing?"

FINGER-LOOKING GOOD

My friend Kaila loves her some of Tina's turkey sandwiches. She's slightly obsessed. This is our conversation when I called to invite her to Friday's pool party a couple weeks ago:

Me: Hey. I'm having a pool party on Friday the 15th. Are you available to attend?

Kaila: Will Tina be making sandwiches?

Me: More than likely.

Kaila: OK. I'll be there.

 Mom made 24 sandwiches for the party, aside from the snacks and hot dogs. By the time we hit the Gene Pool at 9:20, there was one sandwich left. I didn't eat any. Paul didn't eat any. I didn't pay attention to who ate how many. But I'm willing to bet Kaila had at least half. She treats those sandwiches like the sports desk treats any food that comes near the department. If Kaila ever gets sentenced to death, here's a conversation likely to take place:

Warden: Your sins are very grave. And now you must die. What would you like for your final meal? We can offer you just about anything.

Kaila: First, I'd like to say one last time that I am innocent. That was my castle. Not his. But since I am about to die, get me a dozen of those Tina turkey sandwiches and some hard liquor, so I can die in peace.

Warden: Just what in the world is a Tina turkey sandwich?

Kaila: Are you kidding me? OK. Make that two dozen Tina turkey sandwiches. This man apparently hasn't lived yet. 

WHAT'S IN A NICKNAME?

Some people are now calling Michael Phelps the Eighth Wonder of the World because he won an Olympic record eight gold medals in Beijing. Can we come up with something more original for him, please? That name is already taken. For like 25 years. 

Andre the Giant is (or is it was since he's dead?) the Eighth Wonder of the World. I don't think there is any disputing that. I'm reading Ric Flair's book right now, and he said one night in Charlotte, N.C., he saw Andre drink 106 beers. The man could kill his opponent if he wanted to with his bare hand. Phelps deserves some kind of cute nickname. But let's not repeat monikers. K?

I'm suggesting the Baltimore Butterfly. (In case you don't know: 1) He's from Baltimore. 2) He won the controversial seventh gold in the 100m butterfly. 3) He has the grace and beauty of a butterfly in the pool. 4) um, alliteration rules. 5) He had difficulty growing up with ADHD and getting picked on; that's when he was a caterpillar. When he grew up, he flourished, like a caterpillar into a butterfly.) Agreed? 

MY WEEKLY CUBS THOUGHTS

-- Big Z's past two starts: 10 1/3 innings, 14 earned runs. Am I worried? A little bit. He didn't win a game last August either. He just needs to settle down now.

-- Peter Gammons thinks Soto is a darkhorse MVP candidate. Unlikely but interesting. His numbers are solid, and he's helped the Cubs pitchers to a 3.78 ERA, second in the NL. 

-- The Cubs stranded 13 baserunners in Saturday's loss. Ouch. Didn't start off too well Sunday either.

-- Soriano thought he got one Wednesday. He didn't, and by watching it, he turned a double into a single. Brenly chastised him. I didn't mind it so much. He's hit enough homers to know what one feels like, and I kind of like when they do a little showboating. Now, if he does that shit in October, we gonna have problems. 

-- The sweep of the Braves was a mauling. Sorry, Chuck. 29 runs in two days. Yawzer.

-- The Cubs have won 9 of 10 on the road. That's got to make you feel good about October.

-- The Marlins color guy was right on the money Sunday. The Fish had a 2-0 lead in the sixth and first-and-third with no outs. Dempster struck out the next two. The color guy then says that if Florida lets Dempster off the hook here, all the momentum will switch to the Cubs dugout. Dempster got out of it, and the Cubs scored eight runs the next inning. That's dead-on-balls accurate.

-- MVP of the Week: A-Ram-Ram. Ramirez went 8-for-15 with a homer and eight RBIs, including a two-run double for a 4-2 lead Sunday. 

-- The bullpen has been really good lately. And not a growing concern as they were heading into the All-Star break. Marmol has been solid. Since coming off the DL, Wood has allowed three hits in five innings with no runs. 

-- The Riot just continues to get hits, finishing the week at .316. I don't have any stats to back this up, but to me, he gets a lot of hits with the bases empty and struggles with runners on. In the eight-run seventh Sunday, he came up with the score 2-2, no outs and second-and-third. He grounded out to the pitcher. 

PARTING SHOT

Some of us at work are discussing when we first came back after the storm. Max says he remembers when Liam and I returned.

Max (about Liam and me): "It was right after Thanksgiving. I was overwhelmed (to 

see them) at that point."

Aww, Max. You're choking me up here.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

The top 5 autographs I've got in person.

5) Jerry "the King" Lawler. September 1, 2003.

Paul and I stopped at the mall before heading over to the Cajundome for Raw and saw Lawler walking around with his flavor of the week. Coincidentally, I had been reading Lawler's autobiography on the drive, but I knew I didn't have the time to sprint back to the car to get him to sign it. So, I bought a small photo of the Seinfeld cast at a stand thingie in the middle of the mall and walked up to him. He signed: "To my pal, Gene! The King Jerry Lawler."

4) Joe Horn. Training camp 2001.

When I was a high school intern, we each were able to pick a reporter and travel around with him for a day. I picked the Saints beat writers. One was asking Joe a question about advancing in the playoffs. I had a pad with me all ready to take notes. Joe looks at me and asks if I want an autograph. I look at the writer, and he gives a little nod. Joe even signed it like I asked him to: "Joe 'Little Big' Horn 87." Also of note at that practice: Haslett is answering questions after the practice session and notices me standing there. He asks who I am, and I tell him. "Oh, nice to have you here. I hope you can fucking ask some better fucking questions than these motherfuckers."

3) Ric Flair. November 13, 2002.

I went to the Hornets-Timberwolves game. I sneak down to the lower bowl (in that first year, security was lazy). I notice Flair on press room giving an interview and watch where he goes when he returns to his seat. I walk up to him and start up a wrestling conversation. He gives an answer in character and signs my paper: "Best wishes, Ric Flair." Four months ago, I was in the house for his retirement match. These things always come full circle.

2) Shaquille O'Neal. June 27, 1996.

I went to Dale Brown's basketball camp that summer. For each age group, the camp gives a basketball autographed by Shaq to the top two performers. I won the dribble competition, the lay-up competition and played fairly well in the games to earn a piece of history.

1) Ozzie Smith. July 30, 1991.

My dad took three friends and me to Houston for an Astros-Cardinals series. My dad is a big Cardinals fan. We find the hotel the Cardinals are staying at and go in search of autographs. We're looking for the Wizard the whole time, and dad finally spots him walking toward his limo. He tracks him down and chats him up. Ozzie, who had a hand on the open door of his limo with his family inside, turns around and signs my dad's Cardinals hat and my baseball while saying some encouraging words to me. Ozzie is my favorite player of all-time, and that moment certainly didn't hurt his status.