I had the privilege of galavanting around Chicago on Tuesday night with Carson Cistulli and Dayn Perry — two men who are grotesquely affectionate towards each other. After imbibing at a local dive — wherein I performed a twenty-minute bowel movement — we hailed a cab, which almost didn’t pick us up due to the fact that Mr. Perry was attempting to engage Mr. Cistulli’s groin in a boxing match on the sidewalk.
Upon entering the cab, the cabbie conveyed that we would be his last ride before he went to join a friend for some hard-earned sliders-and-buckets-of-beers. “You work hard, you play hard. But you have to earn some money. Some people want to be handed everything. But if you work hard, you earn some money, then you can drink whatever you want.”
To which Mr. Cistulli tellingly responded, “What if you neither work nor play hard?”
The cabbie — Murad, who goes by “Mike” because many people are too drunk to remember “Murad” — ignored the Cistullian (read: sophistic) inquiry and instead went on to tell us about his various sexual escapades, many of which were aided by his very scrupulously shaved head. About my head, which I like to call “organically bald,” Murad was quick to say, “Prickly…like a fucking cactus, man.”
Soon thereafter, Mr. Cistulli revealed that we were all “Baseball Writers,” a title that certainly applies to Mr. Perry; unfortunately but technically applies to Mr. Cistulli himself; and one that I cannot, in good conscience, say applies to me.
At this point, of course, most people would take the opportunity to offer their own insights on the sport, and Murad was no exception. “The Cubs fucking suck,” he began. “You know what I think? I think they should just give them an honorary World Series. Like, ‘Here you go. You are World Series champs.’ Seriously, any team that goes over a hundred years without winning — they aren’t going to ever win one. So they need to get all the owners together and just decide to give the Cubs a Worlds Series. Because who can say no to that? A hundred years, man.”
Unsure as to whether what was just suggested was meant in earnest, or if Murad was merely trying to be provocative, I was inclined to nod, pay the fare (Mr. Cistulli paid our cab fare, actually; he is polite and generous, even if he can’t button a shirt properly), and move on with the evening. Instead, Mr. Cistulli assured Murad that his idea would make its way to the baseballing internet in short order.
And so now I shall address Bud Selig: Mr. Selig, on behalf of outspoken Chicago cab driver Murad (also known as “Mike”), I ask you to please gather all owners, meet behind closed doors, smoke a carton of Parliaments (the judicious cigarette!) between you, cup your ears, waggle your jowls, and do not emerge until you have discerned how to give the Cubs a free World Series pennant, even if it means implanting memories into the brains of 500,000,000 fans worldwide.