So the ‘crosstown classic’ starts today; the six annual games between the Chicago Cubs and the White Sox. Three games at each venue, today we start the series at Wrigley. In the general order of thing, this series results in one set of fans gaining bragging rights over the other set of fans.
Since the two sets generally loath each other with a passion–the Sox fans particularly hate us Cubs fans, since we tend to have all our teeth and in general experience less blindness as brought on by imbibing grain alcohol–the series is generally pretty lively.
This year, though, both teams suck. And I mean, SUCK. They both suck so bad that even by the standards of Chicago baseball they suck. So the whole ‘bragging rights’ thing carries more than a whiff of embarrassment about it. “Ha, my utterly awful team beat your utterly awful team! Take that!” I mean, I am completely serious when I say I could give a rat’s ass over who takes the series this year. Whatever. Hey, how about those Blackhawks?
Even better, this is the year the teams decided to ratchet up an already patently ridiculous and overblown publicity event by introducing a friggin’ trophy that the winning team, I guess, will get to display for a year as the mark of their dominance. Again, you’d think whichever team wins it this year would just tuck it away in the attic as soon as possible, and not haul it back out into sunlight until, hopefully, you could fob it off the next year on the other team, probably under the table at the seediest out of town bar you can think of.
But here’s where the comedy really kicks in: The name of this amazing artifact, sure to be *cough* hotly lusted after by both teams’ fanbases? The BP Cup. Yes, that BP. First of all, really, you couldn’t get an American company to sponsor a baseball-related trophy? Second, it’s BP!!!!!! I mean, right in the midst of the biggest corporate debacle one can think of. Yea gods!
My genuine and sincere condolences to the Ricketts family.
