Don't Even Tell Me You Told Me So
When I moved to Wrigleyville I didn't really care about baseball. Now I passionately hate it. The season goes on SO FUCKING LONG and so relentlessly,
many times a week for months and months and months.
Every time there's a home game I get yelled at, leered at, thrown peanuts at, for not being part of the mob. (OK, I exaggerate, the guy was throwing peanuts at everyone.) I walk home from work and drunken assholes say things like, "You look sad. Why are you so sad?" I stretch before jogging and hear, "Hey, what's wrong with your leg?" After six months of this bullshit I was ready to elbow some guy in the throat just for saying "Hey girl, what's happening" the other day. This doesn't even address the Cubs-related driving stupidity, Cubs-driving-stupidity-related homicide, and official officiousness chronicled previously in these pages.
Need I even mention that these incidents
always involve men, and
never happen to Colliculus?
Every time there's an away game, which is all the other days, my neighbor gets out his bullhorn and alternates between turning on a siren and stating, "GO CUBBIES."
Now that THAT's out of my system. . . the Trib had a front-page story about how the city's cracking down on truancy. The woman they picked as their poster parent is named Patricia Samar. Near the end, the story says:
Samar lives with Ronnie "Woo Woo" Wickers, best known as a prominent Cubs fan.