By Thomas Chambers
Do we love our four seasons in Chicago?
When you can’t live in Palm Springs, that’s what you say.
We’re in the middle of the baseball season, which will soon turn into a race. What am I here? George Carlin? The football season is right around the corner. And our Blackhawks are already preparing for their season.
Tangent: Not to step on the Beachwood baseball turf of Marty or Roger, but why do the MLB morons not have the Cubs and Sox play an odd number of games so as to allow bragger’s rights? Screw Padres at Red Sox. But when it come to Cubs-Sox or Yankees-Mets, have they no meaning? And don’t get me started on the umpiring.
Simply put, it’s always Thoroughbred horse racing season, 364 every year, with cleansing on Christmas Day.
But you’d miss out if you didn’t know or feel the rhythms, nuances, sine and cosign of the waves of racing. And right now, we are on the very top of a supremely tasty one, a Banzai pipe, East and West. Hang on. It’s Duke Kahanamoku time.
Posted on July 30, 2016