Lincicome: If June has its swoon, what does August have to offer?
Hanging precariously onto a wild-card slot within baseball’s sorting system, the Cubs may not yet be dismissed entirely; whereas, of course, the White Sox were never included.
Lamenting the Cubs and bemoaning the White Sox, each of them original, all-natural, fiber-rich digestives, is a columnist’s gift, and gratitude is offered sincerely if redundantly.
I am mindful of a question I once asked Don Zimmer when things were going badly. “Does this seem like déjà vu all over again?” “Nah,” Zim said, “I’ve seen this before.”
The following items are alphabetic, hopefully giving some order to disorder.
August — Disputing the poet, April is not the cruelest month. August dashes hopes and kills dreams. It is too far from the start to be foolish and so close to the end to be fearful.
Benintendi — Often identified as the Sox left fielder but really a menu item on Royal Caribbean.
Counsell — The Cubs manager who has no answer to the question, “Why don’t you wear Groucho glasses?”
Dissension — Not enough of it. No one is griping about being traded or not being traded, (except for Andrew Vaughn from the Sox to the Brewers risking carpel tunnel from sending thank you notes).
Evolution — Soon the White Sox will walk upright and stop sucking their opposable thumbs.
Fans — Still arriving in time for the first pitch. Departing before the seventh-inning stretch.
Game time — More a warning than a welcome.
Hoyer — The newly extended Cub president who treats the trading deadline like a spaniel treats a fire hydrant.
Ivy — Visiting teams might gripe about the deceptive softness of the Wrigley outfield walls, risking breaks or bruises to test it, but we locals are reminded of Frank Lloyd Wright’s cautionary advice. “Doctors,” he said, “can bury their mistakes. Architects can only plant vines.”
Janson Junk — Or Lars Nootbar. Or the Savannah Banana. One of those guys.
K — The traditional scorebook symbol for strikeouts, though in sabermetrics it is more often represented by a grinning emoji.
La Russa — No, of course, none of this is Tony’s fault. It is just that we have laughed a lot less since he has left the South Side and we miss him.
Mascots — Clark the Cub is no match for Southpaw, although I’m guessing he gets more dates.
National — As in league. Not to be confused with American, as in where the Red Sox play.
Overtime — Not to be confused with extra innings, where each team gets a runner on second base with no outs, the worst idea since the Sox wore shorts. No, overtime in baseball is the eighth and ninth innings after beer sales have been cut off.
Press — Blame the media. We’re always nagging and second-guessing and asking hard questions like, “Is that a new hoodie?” or “Why did you pinch hit for PCA?” Or more important, “What’s the soup of the day?”
Question — Just asking but shouldn’t the Cubs’ Murderers Row of Kyle Tucker, Seiya Suzuki and Pete Crow-Armstrong, now be called the Little Orphans of the Storm?
Reinsdorf — As in Jerry. Will he sell? Will he stay? Does he really care?
Slogans — More appealing than “Better at the Ball Park” might be the slogan, “No Runner Left Behind,” or on second base, which is where most of them are left.
Training Camp — Football steals the spotlight, a diverting diversion from baseball. Preseason games are played just across town. Fans gather and care. Breathless updates on the courtship of the new coach and his slightly used quarterback matter.
Umpires — Now mostly decorative but with the nondigital function of looking at camera replays to see if they were right in the first place. Uses all the time saved by the pitch clock.
Victory — Always a possibility.
W — The traditional boast by Cubs fans that the Cubs have won today, hey, hey, whadda you say. Sung less frequently after Labor Day.
X — This is a virtual reality game that promises “an immersive way to experience baseball,” instead of actually playing catch or attending a T-ball game. Best feature is there is no beer cutoff.
Yankees — What every baseball team wants to be, minus the neighborhood.
Zero — Chances of a World Series game in Chicago.