It's that time of year again...

[vance_the_cubs_fan]

As it gets closer to opening day, my baseball fever keeps growing.

 

And I just love this quote by Annie Savoy in Bull Durham.

 

"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."

[C.C.]

As it gets closer to opening day, my baseball fever keeps growing.

 

And I just love this quote by Annie Savoy in Bull Durham.

 

"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."

 

Chills.....Good god I love this game...

[FergieJ31]

Well said Annie -- let's play ball!!

[sweetpeteman]

Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.

[Andy]

You guys need to stop, I keep having to remind myself it's a full 10 more days I have to wait.

[Derwood]

if i could find the monologue from "Take Me Out" online I'd post it.

[indifferent]

You guys need to stop, I keep having to remind myself it's a full 10 more days I have to wait.

 

So this is your foreplay?

[sweetpeteman]

Well, beat the drum and hold the phone - the sun came out today!

We're born again, there's new grass on the field.

A-roundin' third, and headed for home, it's a brown-eyed handsome man;

Anyone can understand the way I feel.

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Well, I spent some time in the Mudville Nine, watchin' it from the bench;

You know I took some lumps when the Mighty Casey struck out.

So Say Hey Willie, tell Ty Cobb and Joe DiMaggio;

Don't say "it ain't so", you know the time is now.

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Yeah! I got it, I got it!

 

Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;

You know I think it's time to give this game a ride.

Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all - a moment in the sun;

(pop) It's gone and you can tell that one goodbye!

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Yeah!

[Radar3454]

I always get a kick out of listening to Lee Elia's rant -

 

caution explicit content

 

http://my.break.com/Media/View.aspx?ContentID=167624 - audio

 

http://quote.webcircle.com/more/eliarant.txt - text

[NCCubFan]

I always get ready for the season by watching my baseball movie DVDs (Field of Dreams, A League of Their Own, Bull Durham, Eight Men Out, and Major League). I'll be starting this weekend.

[jiml60]

Well, beat the drum and hold the phone - the sun came out today!

We're born again, there's new grass on the field.

A-roundin' third, and headed for home, it's a brown-eyed handsome man;

Anyone can understand the way I feel.

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Well, I spent some time in the Mudville Nine, watchin' it from the bench;

You know I took some lumps when the Mighty Casey struck out.

So Say Hey Willie, tell Ty Cobb and Joe DiMaggio;

Don't say "it ain't so", you know the time is now.

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Yeah! I got it, I got it!

 

Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;

You know I think it's time to give this game a ride.

Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all - a moment in the sun;

(pop) It's gone and you can tell that one goodbye!

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

 

Yeah!

 

Man, I hate that song.

[MPrior]

if i could find the monologue from "Take Me Out" online I'd post it.

 

I'm sure I can't find it either, but that is a pretty awesome play.

[erik316wttn]

Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.

 

This literally gives me chills every time I see that part of the movie.

 

I may just pop in Field of Dreams one of these days.

[Outshined_One]

By the shore's of old Lake Michigan

Where the "hawk wind" blows so cold

An old Cub fan lay dying

In his midnight hour that tolled

Round his bed, his friends had all gathered

They knew his time was short

And on his head they put this bright blue cap

From his all-time favorite sport

He told them, "Its late and its getting dark in here"

And I know its time to go

But before I leave the line-up

Boys, there's just one thing I'd like to know

 

Do they still play the blues in Chicago

When baseball season rolls around?

When the snow melts away,

Do the Cubbies still play

In their ivy-covered burial ground?

When I was a boy they were my pride and joy

But now they only bring fatigue

To the home of the brave

The land of the free

And the doormat of the National League

 

Told his friends "You know the law of averages says:

Anything will happen that can"

That's what it says

"But the last time the Cubs won a National League pennant

Was the year we dropped the bomb on Japan"

The Cubs made me a criminal

Sent me down a wayward path

They stole my youth from me

(that's the truth)

I'd forsake my teachers

To go sit in the bleachers

In flagrant truancy

 

and then one thing led to another

and soon I'd discovered alcohol, gambling, dope

football, hockey, lacrosse, tennis

But what do you expect,

When you raise up a young boy's hopes

And then just crush 'em like so many paper beer cups.

 

Year after year after year

after year, after year, after year, after year, after year

'Til those hopes are just so much popcorn

for the pigeons beneath the 'L' tracks to eat

He said, "You know I'll never see Wrigley Field, anymore before my eternal rest

So if you have your pencils and your score cards ready,

and I'll read you my last request

He said, "Give me a double header funeral in Wrigley Field

On some sunny weekend day (no lights)

Have the organ play the "National Anthem"

and then a little 'na, na, na, na, hey hey, hey, Goodbye'

Make six bullpen pitchers, carry my coffin

and six ground keepers clear my path

Have the umpires bark me out at every base

In all their holy wrath

Its a beautiful day for a funeral, Hey Ernie lets play two!

Somebody go get Jack Brickhouse to come back,

and conduct just one more interview

Have the Cubbies run right out into the middle of the field,

Have Keith Moreland drop a routine fly

Give everybody two bags of peanuts and a frosty malt

And I'll be ready to die

 

Build a big fire on home plate out of your Louisville Sluggers baseball bats,

And toss my coffin in

Let my ashes blow in a beautiful snow

From the prevailing 30 mile an hour southwest wind

When my last remains go flying over the left-field wall

Will bid the bleacher bums ad?eu

And I will come to my final resting place, out on Waveland Avenue

 

The dying man's friends told him to cut it out

They said stop it that's an awful shame

He whispered, "Don't Cry, we'll meet by and by near the Heavenly Hall of Fame

He said, "I've got season's tickets to watch the Angels now,

So its just what I'm going to do

He said, "but you the living, you're stuck here with the Cubs,

So its me that feels sorry for you!"

 

And he said, "Ahh Play, play that lonesome losers tune,

That's the one I like the best"

And he closed his eyes, and slipped away

What we got is the Dying Cub Fan's Last Request

And here it is

 

Do they still play the blues in Chicago

When baseball season rolls around?

When the snow melts away,

Do the Cubbies still play

In their ivy-covered burial ground?

When I was a boy they were my pride and joy

But now they only bring fatigue

To the home of the brave

The land of the free

And the doormat of the National League

[Magnetic Curses]

reminds me of something i wrote just before the 2003 NLDS. add whatever you want to it now....

 

We are the Keepers of the Flame, the last true monks of baseball, occasionally setting ourselves on fire to protest the utter fallibility of fate and the so-called law of averages. What does fate know about averages? It’s been 95 years since we last beamed smiles down from the mountaintop as World Champions, what does the all-encompassing law of averages have to say about that? That’s 95 candles burning in the darkness, 95 long and frustrating years since the famed “Tinker to Evers to Chance” turned a double play in a championship season, 95 empty years since “Big Ed” Reulbach pitched 2 consecutive shutouts in a double header against Brooklyn.

 

We are the Guardians of the Great Brick Dragon, overgrown with ivy, sleeping her sleep, dreaming of forbidden treasure. Wrigley’s never seen a World Title, the North Siders began play there in 1916; the last field to see a Cub Championship was the far-from-hallowed West Side Grounds in that fateful year that has lived on in our nightmares, causing those cold-sweat snap-ups at 4 am: 1908.

 

Since that year, there have been others, all seasons of infamy, 4 digits that stand out, mocking us for all time. For my great-grandfather, it was 1910 and 1918; for my grandfather, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938, and 1945 (he may have been the luckiest member of our little timeline); for my father, only one stands out, that miraculously un-miraculous season, the summer that man first walked on the moon, those frightening characters that have become our Number of the Beast: 1969; for me, it’s simply been 1984, 1989, and 1998, all magical seasons in some way, all tarnished by unbearable memories of playoff collapses. Durham and Garvey, Will Clark, Lopez and Maddux, villains, all of them, demons of our religion. As dreadful as it is for a Boston fan to watch the “Mookie Ball” bound through the side-stepping legs of Bill Buckner (a former Cub) in game 6 of the 1986 series, that’s how painful it is for the Monks of Baseball to watch the “Durham Ball” shoot through the legs of the Golden Bull in game 5 of the 1984 NLCS, or to watch Garvey’s dramatic home run sail over the right-centerfield wall at the then-Jack Murphy Stadium (we‘ll never have to look at that wall again, brothers), it’s all relative, especially among famous losers.

 

This vacuum in time reminds us that we were all young once, watching the seasons pass as the earth turns, another fall at home, alone, another gray hair at the temple, another wrinkle, another candle aflame in the darkness. Billy Williams was young once, so was Mr. Cub, and unbelievably, Ron Santo was once a rookie, looking out at those flags atop the scoreboard in center, waiting for his chance to shine on a gusty October night, a chance that would never come. They’re all old men now, they can‘t help us, and Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance are all dead and gone. Sometimes if you look closely, you can almost hear Gabby’s Homer-in-the-Gloamin’, or watch Charlie Root taunting the Babe into pointing over yonder, or behold Ryno’s defiance of the rules that govern the earth one Saturday in June, 1984; but those have all come and gone and still no accursed trophy, no relief, no oasis. All those years since it’s been ours, oh brothers, it’s been so long. And now, we poke our collective heads above ground, and, much like apocalypse survivors would study the sky for nuclear winter, faces upturned, we are studying the sky for any sign of Billy Sianis’s famous curse, hoping it’s safe, hoping the time is now. We pop our caps on, and go blindly out into a world that doesn’t know us anymore, a fleeting world that worships success, a world without anchors or boulders or weights, a world of bandwagons and pop music. We hop on the El and head down to Wrigley, overgrown with her ivy and untended infield, we look up at the sign proclaiming Cubs vs. Braves in the NLDS, which must be a typo, they must mean the NLCS, there is no NLDS, is there? We ask the guy at the ticket window “how much for a ticket?” He laughs and points at the “Sold Out” sign, it seems that they’re in Atlanta tonight, do they even have a team? It’s a bit windy, the weather’s turning, so we take one more look at our brick Mistress and head back to the line, tugging our coats tighter around us as we go, holding our caps on our heads, it’s time to come home.

[erik316wttn]

And as long as we're posting lyrics...

 

The whiz kids had won it,

Bobby Thomson had done it,

And Yogi read the comics all the while.

Rock 'n roll was being born,

Marijuana, we would scorn,

So down on the corner,

The national past-time went on trial.

 

We're talkin' baseball!

Kluszewski, Campanella.

Talkin' baseball!

The Man and Bobby Feller.

The Scooter, the Barber, and the Newc,

They knew them all from Boston to Dubuque.

Especially Willie, Mickey, and the Duke.

 

And what I listened to today on my way to work..

 

Do they still play the blues in Chicago

When baseball season rolls around?

When the snow melts away, do the Cubbies still play

In their ivy-covered burial ground?

 

When I was a boy they were my pride and joy

But now they only bring fatigue

To the home of the brave, the land of the free

And the doormat of the National League

[goonys evil twin]

I went to the Knicks game last night with free work tickets. I took a friend who was a pseudo Knicks fan in high school, but doesn't care anymore. We basically sat there drinking beers and eating peanuts for two hours talking about how excited we were for the baseball season to start. At various times I'd look up and say something like, "They're down by 8 now, when did that happen?"

[Laura]

XM Channel 200 will be running a 4-day Opening Day celebration next week:

 

Play Ball!

March 30 - April 4 on XM 200 »

From baseball songs to baseball comedies, a four day channel dedicated to the timeless magic of Opening Day and all things baseball. Listen for songs and sketches like Right Field by Peter Paul & Mary, Centerfield by John Fogerty, The First Baseball Game by Nat King Cole, Who's On First comedy sketch by Abbott and Costello, and so much more. Play Ball!

[Dirt Dog Sparly]

From one of my good friends and Instructors in college.

 

" God is a big baseball fan. Yes he is. All you have to do is look in the bible. Right there when you open it to page one. Look, every time it will say, 'In the big inning'. What more proof do you need that baseball is the best sport out there?" :wink:

[rocket]

From one of my good friends and Instructors in college.

 

" God is a big baseball fan. Yes he is. All you have to do is look in the bible. Right there when you open it to page one. Look, every time it will say, 'In the big inning'. What more proof do you need that baseball is the best sport out there?" :wink:

 

maybe since god now obviously disapproves of smallball the joe morgans and ozzie guillens of the world will shut up.

[A New Era]

From one of my good friends and Instructors in college.

 

" God is a big baseball fan. Yes he is. All you have to do is look in the bible. Right there when you open it to page one. Look, every time it will say, 'In the big inning'. What more proof do you need that baseball is the best sport out there?" :wink:

 

OLD'D :lol: :wink: