Via Chicago

Last night, I got to witness the first sign that we are oh so close to the point in which we will read the sweetest four word phrase in the English language: Pitchers and catcher report.

Take this journey back in time, a mere 12 hours ago or so, with me...

While hanging out with friends last night to celebrate a birthday, we ended up at a local sports bar (well, it's actually a "nightspot" that calls itself a sports bar) for after dinner drinks and people watching. Unfortunately, there was a fight being broadcast last night, hence getting a table was completely out of the question. So our party found a spot to stand somewhat unobtrusively while waiting for a group, any group, to leave.

The funny thing is that I didn't even really notice the big screen TV we were standing next to until baseball came into the equation.

A scrawny dude, wearing a Chicago Cubs cap, suddenly took control of the DVD player connected to the TV. Apparantly he was having what was previously a friendly discussion with a White Sox fan who was much bigger than the Cubbie guy, as well as bigger than me. Cubbie evidently felt compelled to play a PC-burned DVD for the Chisox guy as his big closing argument.

I was surprised, yet pleased, to see what is part of local folklore on the big screen. An event that is larger-than-life, but also verifiable because it was captured by many cameras and played over and over on ESPN and local FW/D affiliates, as well as local affiliates nationwide.

Nolan Ryan stood on the mound, started his windup, emitted his patented grunt, and freaking nailed Robin Ventura of the White Sox. The 28 (right?) year old Ventura calmly dropped his bat, tossed the helmet, and charged the 42 (right?) year old Advil pitchman. Nolan, in his best hockey imitation, dropped his glove and strode (yup - not ambled, not walked, but "strode") forward like an Old West lawman who knew he was about to administer a lesson.

Suddenly, Ventura was in a headlock, rendered helpless by a hog tying move straight out of any cowboy movie scene except for those in 'Brokeback Mountain'. Then the punches came, straight to the White Sox noggin. After several landings from the "old" pitcher, the fight was broken up. Ventura was ejected and Nolan was allowed to stay in the game.

And the legend grew larger at that instant. Forget the no-hitters, the strike out record, the one-hitters and two-hitters, too. Nolan Ryan, the man with the ageless right arm, suddenly became more famous for his left fist. Hall Of Fame pitcher? Strike Out King? The Ryan Express? All of those accolades are cool, but I think the vast majority in these parts prefers Texas Bad Ass.

After the scene was over, Chisox (who was standing right next to me) asked Cubbie, "Yeah. So what does that prove?"

Cubbie: "Never mess with Texas!" (Good one, dude. And, by the way, if you're going to tuck your shirt in? Wear a belt.)

I decided to egg on the debate a little at this point. I told Chisox, "Hey, just remind him that your team won the World Series last year. Scoreboard, yo." Sadly, he was way too drunk to even know that I was talking to him. Meanwhile, my friend Ali is making eye contact with me and motioning for me to move away from these two guys.

At the other end of the spectrum, there was my girlfriend (first time I've ever typed that) in the background chanting "Jerry! Jerry!" but nothing happened. At least not yet.

When the Chi-dudes walked off, Nathan and I were talking about Cubbie and his little collection of PC-burned DVDs. 'The Natural', 'Bull Durham', and 'Major League' - all stacked on the TV stand. I remarked, "Sadly, that little guy is our target audience."

A few minutes later, there was a commotion at the entrance of the bar. Cubbie had decided to "attack" Chisox. I put that word in quotes because it was actually quite comical. Cubbie, who might have weighed 115, had jumped up and put his arms around the neck of 200 pound Chisox. (Apparantly he had not learned the correct hog tying technique because it looked more like a scared Johnny Carson jumping into the arms of Ed McMahon when the tiger snarled at the host.) Like the Nolan and Ventura tussle, this one was broken up quickly and the extremely drunk Chisox was shown the exit.

But I swear that I heard the two of them yelling "18 days! 18 days!"

Well, fellas, it is 17 now...