Sometimes...

Sometimes I need to learn just to keep my big, fat trap shut.

In the tenth inning Saturday night, I decided to take a rare opportunity to gloat to a Sox fan friend of mine, even though his team had the best record in baseball and mine was down to .500 for the first time in a month.

"Hey, those White Sox castoffs are doing pretty well in the Cub bullpen this year."

It was a legitimate jab. Minus an ill-advised flip to first base, Scott Eyre and Bobby Howry have given the Cubs everything they could ask for and more this season. Pretty much right up until I said that.

By the time the words left my mouth, Rob Bowen's walkoff home run was on its way toward the stands, and the Padres were about to take a second straight extra-inning win while scoring a total of three runs. Man...

It's funny, that sort of thing just kind of happens to me. During the 2003 playoffs when the Cubs were five outs away from their first pennant in 58 years, I turned to the fella next to me at a local watering hole and told him, and may God strike me down if I'm lying, "It feels like a dream. I feel like I'm going to wake up any minute." "Shut up," he said, as well he should have. Not two minutes later, some poor schlub from the northern suburbs became a footnote in baseball history.

(Bottom line, of course, if Moises Alou doesn't wig out over a lousy foul ball, maybe things turn out differently. It's time we all give this poor guy a break for doing something you or I would have done too if given the opportunity. Except, of course, you or I would have made that catch and some innocent bystander wouldn't wind up with 98 thou and change.)

So for the record, if you ever happen to be taking in a game with ol' West Side Charlie and I start to say something ironic in a key situation, shut me the hell up.