Windy city blues, indeed.
When I moved to Chicago in 1966, you could say I was primed to become a Cubs fan. I was used to losing. I was working at 70th and Damen; I should have been a Sox fan. They had won the World Series in recent memory, but that would have been simple, rooting for winners*.
I hunkered down. I let my hopes soar in ’69, only to die. I lived, I died, I lived, I died. I had the chance to watch Fergie Jenkins and Billy Williams and Ron Santo. I loved the Penguin with his funny pigeon-toed run around the bases. VI Warshawski’s reporter friend, Murray Ryerson, is described in his first appearance as looking like Rick Sutcliffe.
...Now, it’s over.
Joe Ricketts, you’ve done for me what 45 years of losing never could. You’ve broken my addiction.
I know Major League Owners are all in the one percent. Maybe most or all of them agree with you, that we 99 percenters don’t deserve to use our tax dollars to weave a safety net in Social Security and health care for ourselves. But it gives chutzpah a new definition to back a campaign against the President because you hate even the small safety net we have, and then to ask us for $300 million to rebuild Wrigley.
I’m gone, I’m done, I’m throwing away my Cubs caps and warm-up jacket, I’m staying away from Wrigley. You don’t get one more thin dime from me, Joe Ricketts. I’m supporting my own adult children who’ve been out of work for two years in this economy; you take care of yours.
Posted: June 19, 2012 at 08:10 AM | 58 comment(s)
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