Batman: You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. I can do those things because I’m not a hero, like Dent. I killed those people. That’s what I can be.
Lt. James Gordon: No, you can’t! You’re not!
Batman: I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be.

Be honest.

Did you really waste a gorgeous Sunday afternoon watching today’s galactic interleague Cubs vs Sox fiasco?

What a pity.

Stupid me, I was with the family this afternoon. Recently, I’ve learned it is not enough to simply write and hopefully induce a little provocative discussion. Name, rank and presumptive serial number is becoming a requirement around these parts. So here we go. If this bores you, simply skip to the next paragraph. After all, this is to appease nosy inquiring minds. The family (yes, I have one) enjoyed a little fun in the sun at the local water park. Weird new rule - no cameras or phones are allowed. That must be a great disappointment to those that wish to take pics of others and post them on the “gotcha” revealing websites.  Afterward, we had hamburgers over the grill and cherry ice cream for desert. So when the kids were bathed and put to sleep (usually an exercise of futility), I browsed the web for the score.

6-0 for the good guys. And if you have to ask who the good guys are, shame on you once again.

Evidently, the local press has temporarily bought into the Lou Piniella buddy embracing tear jerking coming together with Malignant Milty. How touching. I can only picture a sobbing Edward Norton’s head being crushed in the confines of Meat Loaf’s lactating man boobs. Quite the image, huh? So as quickly en vogue it was the rip apart the piece of sh*t (and admittedly, it was fun and continues to be so), the press (hello Phil Rogers) has a new knock down mental midget bobo doll to mangle.

Enter Baby Z. And he is clearly infected by Malignant Milty. No lab tests this time required.

Perhaps Dr. Lou has enough chemo left to start the intravenous drip into the big vein of the million dollar arm - two cent melon of a starting pitcher. 

The Cubs better have a great private insurance plan. All this cancer treatment has gotta be expensive. And how nice for the Malignant Twins to have immovable contracts. Cancer is a terrible pre-existent condition to have stapled onto the next team’s private insurance carrier’s application. Renders one practically uninsurable. Soriano in particular, must really feel relieved.

Evidently, Baby Z went ass hunting today with his fastball. Supposedly, that is a little safer than aiming for the head but derrieres may feel otherwise during tomorrow morning’s ritualistic visit to the procelain throne.  Word to the Wise: better check for a floating baseball prior to flushing. Otherwise, a phone call to the plumber will be in order.

Today’s game has all the markings and trappings of a Jay Mariotti column* to appear over at AWOL Nuthouse in the very near future. Hell, it might be up already. How could Jay resist? Baby Z melts down like a two year old sitting in a poop filled diaper, Ozzie with the usual quote of the day (and a dead accurate one at that), Lou facing a paradoxical situation with Z after the much ballyhooed fertilizer dump over Malignant Milty’s cranium and the best part of all........

Mark De Rosa is a St. Louis Cardinal.

Woo! Woo!

Hopefully, Jim Hendry cell phoned his cardiologist for a quick EKG study. Never can be too careful these days for fellas over 50 with ticking time bombs in their chests. Why did it have to be Billy and not Vince?

Now can anyone doubt that God truly hates the Chicago Cubs?

Jay’s keyboard is taking a pounding that only Vinyl Ben has previously endured. How sad.

Phil Rogers has already weighed in on Baby Z’s future with the Cubs. And apparently, this town’s WBC lovin’ baseball writer has seen enough of Z’s antics:

Proving that I did not attend Kellogg, Wharton or even the Acme School of Business, I offer this proposition for Jim Hendry: First thing Monday morning, put Zambrano on waivers. If anyone claims him and the $62.75 million left on his contract which runs through 2012, immediately trade him for whatever is being offered, from a bag of balls to a 32-year-old minor-leaguer.

Geez, what gives Phil? Did another Gatorade container meet its demise or something?

Somewhere out there, Malignant Milty (when not searching for another host body to infect) is screaming “Unfair!” And you know what? If Lou Piniella does not address this situation, the little $30 million tumor just might have a valid point.

If so, then the sh*t will really have hit the fan in the Cubs clubhouse. With or without Sox attendants of course.

What a colossal mess.

Has last season’s no hitting, home run swinging future 20 game winning heroic Wrigleyville pitcher now turned into villainous cancer? Could Baby Z now be more despised within the ranks of the Friendly Confines than the newest member of the hated Cardinals?

I guess there is still reason to tune into Len and Bob’s corporate friendly broadcasts to breakdown the remaining 90 games or so left in this season from hell.

But please, no baseball (like what we are witnessing this season) on days like today.  And I was led to believe that the CIA was under orders by Congress and the President to cease and desist all forms of extraneous torture?

Just watch. A baseball Czar will be appointed to protect Gatorade jugs from irate Cubs. Enough is enough and change must be mandated for Gatorade’s best interests.

But as for the rest of us? Perhaps it is time to flick off the tube and get a little fresh air. After all, who could honestly deny not needing about 95% more diet and exercise?

The weather is still tax free unlike our soon to be satellite and cable bills (isn’t it great that all television is digital now?).

Better to enjoy those little free moments with the family while one can.

Yes, change has come in many shapes and forms. However, one can always count on the Cubs for one fundamental constant in this grand universe.

Wait until next season. 

Addendum - I caved. And crawled over to the outer limits of cyberspace. Indeed Jay true to form pounded one out. But I did write this draft before checking. Nothing more damning then being called a fake or a fraud, hence this final wording. Hopefully my manhood remains intact. And if not, go to hell.