Hoekstra book gets All-Star treatment on MiLB.com!

MiLB.com, the official site of Minor League Baseball, calls Hoekstra's Cougars and Snappers and Loons, Oh My!, A Midwest League Field Guide an "irreverent travelogue" of league and its characters. Read the full article, Hoekstra takes the field in the Midwest, here!

Cubbie Blues Podcast

Cubbie Blues editor Donald Evans was interviewed by WGN 720 radio's Don Digilio on the eve of the Chicago Tribune Printers Row Lit Fest. Download and listen to the uncut MP3 podcast of that interview.

Sign the Petition!

Holy Cow! Can't Miss Press is a proud sponsor of The Common Fan Sings, a grassroots effort launched by Dave Cihla (co-creator of the Shawon-O-Meter) to let a regular Cubs fan sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch at Wrigley Field. Sign the petition to let Dave and other deserving Cubs fans carry on the tradition started by Harry Caray. Then view the video of Dave and some of his supporters singing "Happy Birthday" to Shawon at the Shawon-O-MeetUp at Murphy's Bleachers

A Millenium Eulogy of "O" Time

Cremate the Curse (4/5/09)
By Brian A. Bernardoni © 2009

Great success was expected from the Cubs of “O” time“
Oh three, oh-seven, oh-eight

Despite knowledge of hitting and pitching not so great -
Oh three, oh-seven, oh-eight

Certainly it would happen one of these times…
Oh three, oh-seven, oh-eight

The fields been redone, that's no excuse;
For one hundred years we still find new ways to lose
Oh three, oh-seven, oh-eight

We had Banks, we had Fergie – and for them it’s too late
Instead we get “In Dusty We Trusty” and “Lou the Irate”
Oh three, oh-seven, oh-eight

The crowds were all there in the Ivy covered shrine
Yet these teams we adored they failed us each time
Some teams were just average - not like Sandberg and Grace
They dazzled; then sputtered and took us to last place
This “abundance of talent” - my fist I do shake
Oh three oh seven oh eight

The teams that crushed us we commit to this urn;
The memories of fun; the money we burned
On headbands and t-shirts, on pennants and signs
Some people thank god McPhail did resign;
The hopes that were dashed while the Trib took our cash
Oh three oh seven oh eight

We mourn with much passion and think of great times
And lament the fine players who played within the vines
But blame is shared too - teams without the right stuff
Because of past owners who didn’t care quite enough
Maybe new owners will make the team strive
And bring us a championship while I’m still alive
They’ll make trades; and sign guys who will hit, bunt and steal
Men who throw hard; and play smart; with swagger and zeal
Oh three oh seven oh eight

But that’s not all we commit to the “Tomb of No Hustle”
It’s the teams led by Patterson, Foote, Sosa and Reuschel
So today we also bury and forget the old teams of my youth
Starting with the team PK gave us the year I earned my first tooth -

No more whining about the boys of nineteen sixty nine
Wrigley's old rafters hear that all of the time;
But let's never forget and give Santo something he lacks;
His name in bronze on a Cooperstown Plaque

And today we commit to the fires eighty four and eighty nine
God can't we win it just one of these times?

And in that urn belongs ninety eight;
That Wild Card team led in the playoffs by the weak hitting Scott Servais -

With so many Cub heartbreaking stories this is barely a mention
We’ll hear them all again at the annual Cub Convention

Alas this doggerel is all I can share to honor these teams
Oh three oh seven oh eight

"Don't back no losers"; I never did;
Look at the records - over 10,000 wins!
Oh three oh seven oh eight

But there were some good times as always in between
Oh three oh-seven oh eight

When Barrett knocked out AJ wasn’t that great?
Oh three oh seven oh eight

These go with the sideshows we bury now soon
Like the use of steroids, curses, and Steve Bartman too
“It’s Gonna Happen”; the October swoon
Send us to Opening Day thoughts often too soon.

With all of that - these Cubs; they still let us down
I wonder about Ronnie Woo Wickers the Cub unofficial chief clown
Would a Cub pennant silence the woo..
Or will more playoff losses bury him too?

And lest we forget that dammed Greek goat
And the south side fans who jibe and do nothing but gloat
Let's bury them too - enough is enough
Oh three oh seven oh eight

Oh, then there’s this which ends all our missions,
Its sportsdoms most quoted, time-tested and unwanted tradition
Its consumed all true Cub fans til their last dying day
No more “Wait til Next Year”; lets bury that phrase!

There’s no time for excuses, hoo-doo, curses or hex
No omens, no black cat, God rest poor Rod Beck
Oh three oh seven oh eight

Is this “way out of left field?”  Is it too much to ask?
Why do we sign players not up to the task?
Is the pressure too great; stigmata at hand?
Burning a hole in the glove of our grand master plan?

This talk of curses where did it begin?
God please just point me to the team’s original sin?
Alas - superstitions are silly, no basis in fact
Or with the Devil did Murphy make an irrevocable pact?

Why did I support these teams of the past?;
Knowing full well their win streaks won't last-
Was it Brickhouse or Caray that made me aware –
Was it Kingman or Dawson - heck I don't care ...
Sinatra’s song supported those “Cubbies” in a key verse –
Why can't Tom Dressen remove this damn curse?
Oh three oh seven oh eight

As in all things - my time is now short
For crimes against us - the Cubs can’t be acquitted in court –
The fans you're all here - don't we deserve it somehow –
Or will these crimes be added to the rap sheet of O’Leary’ dead cow?
Oh three oh seven oh eight

But the allure of a pennant and the scene of the crime
Like some sirens call; it gets me each time.
She knows I'm addicted and can't deny that white ball;
And knows I can’t rest til the Cubs win it all!

So on to Addison so on to Clark
“Let me here ya'” the 7th inning singers will bark
This is the year; and the sun it will shine
And all we can do is hope for a better two thousand and nine
And finally I end now in this millennium age
And ask that we bury the ashes under the bleachers batters cage
With Goodman and Grimm and unknown fans
From small town and big cities - across this great land
Who loved this great team with all its flaws
And know there’s a maker with a plan for us all

For Ernie, for Gabby, for Billy and Jack
For Harry, for Ryno, for Tinker, Evers and Chance

And so this is my hope for the end of debate
Over the sadness and malaise of Oh-three oh seven oh eight