Already missing Lou Piniella

"It's a good day to remember, and also, it's a good day to forget." -- Lou Piniella

I think every Cubs fan has shared that sentiment more than a handful of times on any given day during any given season, so to hear it from an emotional, albeit laughing, Lou Piniella as he gave his final press conference today after Chicago's 16-5 loss to Atlanta, felt sadly appropriate.

What doesn't feel appropriate is the way Piniella is leaving after spending a half-century in baseball, and as abruptly as his spectacular career ended today, I didn't want Lou to pass into history without saying a few words ... OK, more than a few.

It's been a rough year for Piniella. Watching the offseason's high expectations fizzle into a team that hasn't been above .500 all season is tough enough. But his good friend, George Steinbrenner, passed away, he's had to take a leave from the Cubs to attend his uncle's funeral just a few weeks ago, and another to be with his 90-year-old mother, whose health is failing.

It's to be with his mother that Piniella has chosen to step down today, rather than at the end of the season as he announced last month, and to keep from being a distraction to the Cubs.

"Rather than continue to go home and come back, it's not fair to the team and it's not fair to the players," he said. "The best thing is to step down and go home and take care of my mother."

On the surface, today felt good, it felt right. After all, it was a beautiful, high-sky summer day at Wrigley Field, perfect for a swan song -- "I noticed things around the park I hadn't noticed before," said Piniella. "I wasn't daydreaming, but I was very cognizant of the things around here."

And there was Braves manager Bobby Cox in the opposing dugout. He's retiring after this season and a legendary career, too. Cox has 2,485 wins in 29 years as a manager, while Piniella finished with 1,835 wins in 23. So it was a classic scene when both iconic skippers brought out the lineup cards before the game, an event that was already set up to honor Cox's final game at Wrigley, but became twice as nostalgic after Piniella's pregame announcement.

And there were the fans, cheering the scene between Piniella and Cox that caused the Cubs skipper to momentarily break down as he doffed his cap to the crowd. There was the ovation the crowd gave Piniella after he made a pitching change in the seventh inning. And there was Piniella's final press conference -- "This is the final final," he said -- during which he broke down with genuine emotion, but interjected classic Sweet Lou humor along with the passion that had defined his career and now fittingly closed it.

But underneath it all, things felt unsettling. Cox is riding a wave of success and will likely be headed to the postseason in his final year before retirement, all the while enjoying a memorable farewell tour that has been full of tributes, honors and well-wishes at every stop. Even here, at Wrigley, the right-field Miller Lite billboard paid tribute to Cox with a “BRAVO BOBBY! CHEERS TO 29 YEARS!” shout out.

But where is Lou's farewell tour? Where are the tributes and accolades for one of baseball's most memorable characters and a skipper who won three Manager of the Year Awards, a pennant and a World Series title? Most recently, as Cubs.com's Carrie Muskat has noted nicely, he's the first Cubs manager in a century to lead the team to consecutive postseason appearances -- helping to "raise the bar here for the entire organization," as general manager Jim Hendry said -- and has been in uniform since his first season as a player in 1962.

I certainly have nothing against Cox, because he deserves this sendoff, this feeling of closure. But Lou does, too, and it's hard to be stuck with the memory of his final exit from a baseball field being a quick tip of the cap to Cox, and then subtly disappearing into the tunnel to the clubhouse after an ignominious defeat.

I guess I've always had a soft spot for Piniella. After all, we go way back. Mom and Dad like to tell me I sat right behind Lou in right field during the 1976 World Series at Riverfront Stadium -- I was five months from being born, but still. And we loved him here in Ohio, when he led the Reds to their World Series title in 1990.

So when he came to manage the Cubs, I remember thinking how fitting that was, and what a perfect sendoff this could be for the guy -- leading this team to its first World Series title in, we all know how long. That was the way I felt Piniella would and should go out, drenched in champagne and doffing his cap to the crowd as the toast of Chicago and the baseball world with a big Lou grin, not tears.

Instead, it was a more fitting Cubs-like send off ... You see, Piniella's final season also began with a 16-5 loss to the Braves. To bookend his final chapter with this ugly symmetry, not being able to leave on his own terms and going through an emotionally tough time in his personal life is not the way any baseball fan would have liked to see him walk off into the sunset.

So having felt a little gloomy all day, I'm going to feel sad about this for a while. And I think baseball will as well, because the game needs the old-school guys like Piniella, like Cox, who bring us a glimpse and a feel for a different era, keeping us connected to the game's rich past.

I hope he stays involved with baseball in some capacity, I'd like to see him in the broadcast booth again. But soon I'm going to start looking forward to the day when he takes, what I believe to be, his rightful place in Cooperstown.

He'll deliver his induction speech in classic Sweet Lou style. It will be genuine, it will be passionate, it will be funny and, as Terence Mann says, it will remind us of all that once was good, and it could be again.

Review: We Believe

It's been a miserable season for the Chicago Cubs, and it was a struggle to put in "We Believe" at this point of the season. But as it played out, I thought what better time to renew the optimism?

Directed by John Scheinfeld, the documentary surrounds the 2008 Cubs as they play in their 100th season without having won a World Series.

I love how the film starts, with the neighborhoods of Chicago waking up, intercut with shots of Wrigley Field in the morning -- newspaper deliverymen, a lone jogger along Lake Michigan, restaurants preparing breakfast and people commuting to work -- and then it all coming together for Opening Day. Metaphors galore!

The film isn't a single-layered story about the Cubs and their overemotional fans. Scheinfeld weaves together a rich history of the city of Chicago, the Cubs' history, the 2008 season, stories of fans and capsules of players, creating the backdrop for the unique setting in which the Cubs play.

In doing so, there are moments where some of the stories about Chicago and the Cubs are rehashed versions that we already know, and sometimes it feels as if the film is all over the place, trying to cram all the story angles in. But, for me, it's the heart of the movie that prevails here.

I hope people who are not fans of the team don't see this film as simply a marketing ploy or a Chamber of Commerce video for the city, because that's not the case. Scheinfeld said he did not set out to do a film about the Cubs, but about the relationship between a city and its team, which I think any fan of baseball can relate to.

There are a handful of Cubs greats that share their insight, but since it isn't a history of the Cubs, not every notable figure is featured, like Harry Caray for instance -- although Ryan Dempster's strong impression of Harry saying, "How can he be Puerto Rican and lose the ball in the sun, I just don't get it!" is hysterical.

But while Scheinfeld utilizes this global notion of a fan base identifying with its team, this film obviously has a distinct Chicago flavor. As celebrities, city officials, members of the team and the average fan discuss the Cubs and their long history, there are scenes and reflections of taking the train to Wrigley, waiting in line on the streets in a cold rain for the gates to open on Opening Day, skipping school/work to go to the game, and feeling 1930's Chicago by walking the neighborhood around the park that fully capture the feeling of living there -- and, for me, provide quite a dose of nostalgia.

There were some pretty big moments in that National League-best 97-win season the Cubs had, and I remember feeling that they had to be destined to do it that year.

Wrigley rejoices after the May 2008 comeback against the Rockies.

The film touches on Carlos Zambrano's no-hitter, the seven players they sent to the All-Star Game and, one I can personally relate to, the incredible late-game comeback the Cubs made against the Rockies in May. Down 9-1 early, they scored six runs in the seventh inning, capped by Mark DeRosa's go-ahead home run that won it. I was at that game with a group of friends, including my pal Burke (check out his film blog here), who was visiting Wrigley for the first time. After the sheer mania died down and people finally started for the exits after lingering to celebrate, I looked at him and said, "Well, that's the best I could do for your first Cubs game ..."

That game, that season was yet another representation of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows that Cubs fans seemingly go through on a yearly basis, and this documentary captures this feeling. One minute they seem destined to finally do it, and the next minute they are systematically swept in the NLDS for a second consecutive year.

But in the face of that, the film closes on that perpetual note of loyalty and optimism -- with the perfection of Bruce Springsteen's "Land of Hope and Dreams" playing in the background -- as Cubs fans (again) renew their hope for the future, mirroring the sense of a new dawn that this film opened with.

Past meets present: Chris Sabo returns

Weekend photo gallery

Let me make one thing crystal clear here before we go any further. I am a Cubs fan -- for better or for worse, mostly worse -- lest you get the wrong idea from all the Reds data that has been posted as this blog has started out.

Marty Brennaman prepares to introduce Chris Sabo and Pedro Borbon

THAT BEING SAID, it's been cool to be back in Reds country where I grew up, and I have to admit it's good to see them playing so well -- since the Cubs apparently aren't going to challenge them. And I really got a kick out of this past weekend, during which the organization celebrated the 1990 World Series title.

Starting with Randy Myers and Norm Charlton -- two-thirds of the Nasty Boys -- along with Chris Sabo spending an entertaining few minutes during the series-opening television broadcast, to Sabo's Reds Hall of Fame induction, it's been a nostalgic weekend of reminiscing.

We went to the Reds-Rockies game on a stormy Saturday night to claim our coveted Sabo bobbleheads -- make no mistake, this promotion was marked on our calendar for weeks -- and watch as he, along with Pedro Borbon, were inducted. It was great to see "Spuds" again after all these years (even though he beat out Mark Grace for Rookie of the Year in 1988 -- we don't hold grudges here), his family and the buzz he created throughout the packed Great American Ball Park.

And his Sabo-esque speech certainly did not disappoint. The video I have from the game seems to be a bit large to run here, but MLB.com encapsulated the ceremony. I'll see about uploading the entire video later. Meantime, you'll have to settle for a brief clip of Sabo's ceremonial first pitch -- an "I don't want to be out here any longer than I absolutely have to" toss:

But capping the night was a brush with fate. Aaron was a huge Sabo fan growing up -- I was a big Paul O'Neill guy, and with the two being pals, we had a good time with it back then. There's an excellent article in the Cincinnati Enquirer, by the way, written by John Erardi this weekend, that sheds a little light on those two -- The Odd Couple -- during their Reds days.

Where's Chris Sabo?

So it felt a little more than coincidental to notice that Sabo made his way over toward where we were sitting and watched part of the game with some folks he knew, just a section away. As fans started to realize he was there, he started to get mobbed with autograph and photo requests while he was watching the game. It was a tantalizing opportunity to be that close and not drop by, and I played the devil on Aaron's shoulder to an extent, prompting him to go over -- "He's right there, man.. your childhood hero ... you can't be this close and not try and meet him..."

In other words, probably being a needling prick.

But Aaron wasn't biting. He didn't want to bother him while he was trying to watch the game, and he was content with the night as it was.

Later, Aaron got up to take a trip to the men's room, and lil' Sierra decided she would go with -- a key development. Because that prompted them to go to a family bathroom nearer to our section. To be honest, it crossed my mind to give Aaron my camera "just in case," but before I could, they were already gone and up the stairs.

And it is here that fate intervened.

Sure enough, whilst standing in line for the family loo, Mr. Sabo happened to be walking by, giving Aaron his golden opportunity after all to shake hands, say a few quick words, and settle for an admittedly grainy cell phone shot as Sabo waved and moved on.

It was a brief, but genuine, moment. He declared his night made, accompanied by the Reds' 8-1 victory, and didn't have to selfishly join the throngs of folks who were clamoring for the guy's attention to make it happen.

In other words: Just be cool and relax in situations like these. Because if it's meant to be ... it'll be.

Fancy seeing you here!

Well, my Chicago Cubs started the baseball day with an ugly scene this afternoon, but who ever thought we could count on Edwin Jackson and the Arizona Diamondbacks to close it with such flourish?

Working in the baseball business, at least from the standpoint that my job entails, it's become somewhat of a Pavlovian response to dread the possibility of a no-hitter or perfect game unfolding on your watch ... mainly b/c we're apparently all lazy asses and don't want to do a little extra work. But in the seven years I've been in the biz -- and despite numerous close calls that had my sorry ass cheering, sometimes silently, sometimes not, each time one was broken up -- I had yet to be assigned to a game that ultimately turned into a no-hitter.

Edwin Jackson celebrates his no-hitter. (AP)

Until tonight.

And even though Mr. Jackson hadn't allowed a hit through five innings against the Tampa Bay Rays, he had given up seven walks, so I have to admit, a no-hitter wasn't really on my radar.

But as the game went on, and the Rays continued to put up zeroes in the "H" column, I became more intrigued than panicked to see if this guy could finish this thing out. He did ... throwing a whopping 149 pitches -- the most ever thrown in a no-hitter -- and walking eight batters, hitting one and allowing one to reach on an error.

That's called doing it the hard way.

But what intrigued me the most about this particular gritty no-no -- the fourth one this season, for that matter -- was that I had some interaction on a personal level with Jackson in the past. In my very limited capacity as a professional writer, I filled in one day in 2007 to cover the Rays, who were playing the Chicago White Sox at U.S. Cellular Field.

The starting pitcher for those Rays that day, the very same team that was held hitless tonight? Edwin Jackson.

Edwin Jackson reacts after giving
up three straight homers. (AP)

What I remember about that afternoon was a young, inexperienced pitcher, who held the Sox scoreless and scattered five singles over six impressive innings, cruising toward a sure victory. That is, until the seventh inning, when -- Bing-Bang-Boom! -- Jackson served up three consecutive homers that chased him from the game and led to an agonizing defeat.

Afterward, going down to the clubhouse to get quotes for the game story was like walking on eggshells. I, along with a couple other reporters, talked to Rays manager Joe Maddon in his office right away, and fairly extensively, to get his thoughts, and then moved out to the clubhouse common area to talk to the players.

Obviously, a quote had to come from Jackson, who was quietly dressing in front of his locker with his back turned. The three of us tried to stay back a bit, giving him space and waiting until he was ready, which really had to have been a funny scene. Neither of us really said anything to each other, but kind of shared a couple of glances and half smiles, revealing the awkwardness of the situation ... looking around and acting as if we weren't waiting specifically for him to be finished, making small talk with other forlorn players milling about, and mainly not wanting to have to make the guy talk about what happened, but needing to get the quote nonetheless.

Eventually, Jackson appeared ready, finished putting some things in his locker, slipped a chain over his head, took a deep breath and slowly turned around to face the music. As he was doing this, the three of us slowly had inched our way nonchalantly toward his locker, so that we were standing there when he turned around.

Now, following this type of loss, any pitcher has every right to be surly and defensive and short with his answers. But Jackson faced each of us directly, looked us in the eye, and answered every question we asked. We kept it brief and tactful and after we got what we needed, I shook his hand, wished him "best of luck, man" and walked up to finish the story.

And what a long trip it's been for Jackson since that day. He was traded to the Detroit Tigers and then to the D-backs, battling injuries and inconsistency, but always having that brute strength and determination that seemed to offset some of his shortcomings.

Tonight, he threw a no-hitter against his former team, and it's cool to look back on that game, and remember how depressed he felt, not knowing what was going to be in store for him three seasons down the line.

Equally cool, is Maddon -- one of my favorite managers in the game -- who had Jackson's back during that tough game in 2007, reflecting on his former player who got the best of him tonight: "He's a horse and a great athlete," Maddon said. "He's a great kid and he deserved to do that tonight. Hat's off to him, he's a wonderful man."

So here's to Edwin Jackson! Congratulations on joining the prestigious no-hit club ... it wasn't the prettiest thing you'll ever see, but nobody can take it away from you.

And, maybe to a lesser and more selfish extent, it certainly washed the sour taste out of my mouth from today's forgettable opening act.