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By the way, scratch the Colorado Rockies off my list of viable backups.

Nothing against anyone on one side or another (well, maybe a little), but stuff like that seems just a shade unseemly. Gulp.

No. 12. Nirvana, All Apologies.

A behemoth, gargantuan, tender yet thundering epitaph to the career of Nirvana and its lead singer. All Apologies is best known as the closing performance of Nirvana‘s seminal Unplugged performance — its haunting melody exposed in the simplistic acoustics. However, though it’s an outstanding performance, I tend to prefer the studio version off of In Utero.

The song is cynical, skeptical, yet somehow discovers optimism as the lead and rhythm guitars burst into prevalence during the chorus. The lyrics are nonsensical yet profound — relaying a story of finding something – redemption, love, an identity, an escape?

It’s the perfect swan song to a nearly-perfect album, nearly-perfect performance, and the perfect swan song to the untimely end of a tragic career, morbid as that may be. Though grunge is most often remembered and pigeonholed just as heavy, guttural, guitar-dependent bursts of rage — its true characteristics, identity, and feel are often expressed in songs such as these — layered, multitextured, simple yet complex, challenging yet relieving. All Apologies is a classic.

What else can I say?

There’s some news about the Tribune Company today, which has long been murmured to be in a little bit of financial trouble. Obviously, we Cub fans are giddy, at the prospect of a private owner or group (i.e. George Steinbrenner, Tom Werner, etc.) somehow buying and assuming control of the team (We conveniently assume that no, uh, David Glass or Don Sterling type will have any interest…).

Intrepid bloggers at Ivy Chat and 1060 West have commented on how this might affect the Cubs , (both are worth reads, incidentally), adding fuel to our giddy hope that the Tribune is for once and for all removed from the stewardship of the franchise. Coincidentally, their takes appear on the same day that Jay Mariotti imagined a conversation with Mark Cuban or some ridiculousness of some sort. Weird, I know.

Does this matter? Sure it does. Read the two links above for comment. Still, though we all agree it would be nice for a change at the top to come, I’ve still never really thought it was solely the Tribune’s fault the Cubs were poorly run. Sure, they have faults, yet I think it’s an easy and convenient target for us fans (seriously, we’re alwaysmystified that the whole ship appears this sinkable year to year) to blame the parent company.

Evil as the Tribune Co. may be (or have been), I scarcely think that a massive corporation is simply content to trot out a loser simply turning a profit each year — when in fact, a winning team and/or any sort of postseason success would create much, much more lucrative and profitable opportunities. 2003 should have and could have proved this for them — and I just can’t believe that the corporate stuffed shirts really downplay or downgrade the marketing, goodwill, merchandising, expansion, and profit opportunities that must exist. I’m a layman, granted, so maybe there’s something I’m not seeing. But opening up the brand, and a brand’s goodwill to more people? Isn’t that the essence of all advertising? Doesn’t a champ sell itself? Maybe I’m wrong….

Blame the Trib. Co. all you want, but a $94 million payroll is $94 million — and Dennis FitzSimons isn’t the one refusing to use that money to overpay for Carlos Beltran, Ivan Rodriguez, or Rafael Furcal, even if totally feasible. He’s also not the one deciding to overpay mediocrity — Neifi Perez, Glendon Rusch, or Dusty Baker. (Whom would you rather have had? Years of these reclamation projects … or Carlos Beltran for 7 years and supporting, cheap players like Matty Murton and Ronny Cedeno? You tell me.)

It still reflects most negatively on Andy MacPhail and Jim Hendry, and the twosome’s failure to have any sort of plan, or even a rudimentary understanding of baseball in the 21st century. Granted, maybe they aren’t stupid, either. But maybe they are lazy. Or content. Or whatever — stubborn or arrogant? And even if the Tribune isn’t wholly responsible — we’ve seen they may be complacent. And new ownership moves us closer to housecleaning. Dare for us to dream, anyway.

Well, regardless, MFG ain’t exactly going to refuse the endorsement of a new owner. Bring on someone new, fresh, and hands-on. We can’t wait. Maybe ownership will actually be traded. Wouldn’t be the first time. This season, even.

No more ranting about the Cubs. Am currently auditioning other teams to become the Official 2006 Favorite Club of Mr. Faded Glory, which — depending on the Cubs’ administration and/or upcoming (please!) housecleaning — may actually be permanent.

I’m leaning toward the Detroit Tigers, namely because I’m partial to their uber-cool hats, uniforms, logo, current stadium, and old stadium. (Also because they rebuilt within the last few years just as the Cubs should have done — and Ivan Rodriguez and Maggs Ordonez were both talents I suggested the Cubs overpay for…) Also in the running: Colorado Rockies, Philadelphia Phillies, Cleveland Indians, and Toronto Blue Jays. We’ll continue to keep our eyes on the Baltimore Orioles, as well as productive (a-FUCKING-hem) No. 6 hitter Corey Patterson.

Regardless, today is a new day. And the bad is succintly summed up in the Sun-Times Saturday sports page.:

Baker: ‘I don’t know what’s going on’
The only thing worse than hitting rock bottom is the anxiety that the real thud hasn’t yet come.

More true words never spoken. It’s not going to get better. Not till 2007, at the earliest.

But, juxtaposed with the bad, we’ve got the good:

Boston, May 25:

set: Severed Hand, Corduroy, World Wide Suicide, Do The Evolution, Given To Fly, Dissident, Even Flow, Marker in the Sand, Low Light, Insignificance, Army Reserve, Garden, I Got Id, State of Love and Trust, Comatose, Inside Job, Rearviewmirror
first encore: Wasted Reprise, Man of the Hour, Elderly Woman…, Parachutes, Black, Alive
second encore: Why Go, Life Wasted, Smile, Indifference, Leash, Rockin’ in the Free World, Yellow Ledbetter

According to The Sky I Scrape, it’s the first time Pearl Jam has played former crowd-incitement-anthem Leash since 1995. Leash! That means on this tour they’ve resurrected not only w.m.a., Rats, Garden, Satan’s Bed and I’m Open — but now the intense and powerful Leash! Get out of my fucking face, indeed!

And you’re wrong. Every time, with this gutless, pathetic, inept, arrogant organization.

I want no part of any of this anymore. None. We’re all livid. We’re all pissed. We’re all fed up.

All of us. Days on end. There’s no sun coming up. It’s the breaking point. Scoffing fans of other teams said it couldn’t happen, but it’s here.

Those writers above are part of legions of Cubs writers and diehard fans everywhere. Sure, Mister Faded Glory is another (although probably not quite as effective of a scribe), but this isn’t a symptom. It’s an epidemic. And there’s no cure — not one imminent, and not on the horizon. Who caused all this? Who led us all here? Why? Why? Why?

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Vote here, now, and forever!

Category: Dumbest person on television, week of May 19-26. (Fox edition)
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13. L7, Pretend We’re Dead.

No pretenses today, as the strongest and most classic “riot grrrl” song of the early 1990s enters the grunge countdown. (God, ‘Riot Grrls‘ was a stupid name for a genre. Just when you thought ‘grunge’ was dumb.)

I don’t know much about L7, nor do I care. I don’t even think there’s anything particularly riveting or innovative in the ditty Pretend We’re Dead, but the monotonous drone of the chorus and catchy hook somehow always move me to a bizarre sort of energetic motivation. Somehow L7 caught lightning in a bottle with this song, or perhaps this entire album (Cleverly titled ‘Bricks Are Heavy,’ which may be my favorite album title of all time. Runner-up? L7′s follow-up: Hungry For Stink.) The whole record is actually quite good, showcasing a frustrated, droning punk, and PWD is still the best cut, and also their biggest hit by far. They had somewhat of a devoted fan following, and are even still in existence today, but other than that I don’t know much about them. Unbelievable analysis, I know. But the song, well, it rips. I’m Mister Faded Glory, and I approve this message.

Okay, we’re going to break the Cubs boycott today for a short post. Obviously, it’s a lost season — even after false hope early in the year — for Chicago on so many levels. I’m not going to bother rehashing it. I’m not going to assign blame. I am going to pose a few questions. I’m not going to answer any.

First — we’re all pissed. Furious, even. All the blogs in all the blogosphere (BTW – no links in this article, you can find the usual suspects if you want.) — we’re all upset with our team. Frustrations are boiling over, everywhere, and for our overrated-yet-hardworking catcher, over the weekend they blew up even more, with his punch to the jaw of AJ Pierzynski, the other Chicago catcher.

Here’s my question — why was Barrett excoriated by his own fans up and down the blogosphere? Seriously, I read litanies of authors admonishing Mike.

Certainly, it’s never OK to punch a player. But (a) even if Mike is suspended 10 games, we’re not exactly losing Johnny Bench from the lineup, we’re losing about 2 fewer first-pitch DPs a night; and (b) It’s not like it was Jesus Christ running into Barrett. It was noted jagoff AJ Pierzynski. The only thing I’m frustrated by is that Mike didn’t use the bat.

On a more cerebral note, how many times must it happen?

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While I was tempted to install Life Wasted at No. 14 with a bullet, I thought that might cheapen the entire countdown. So, after you watch the video, here’s this week’s entry. And, be forewarned, it’s a gigantic behemoth of a grunge classic…

14. Mother Love Bone, Stardog Champion.

Before the grunge era took full, depressing roots, the guttural, grinding guitars and grating voices emanated from overdone arena rock anthems — replete with elements of glam, hair metal, and even pop music — all best encapsulated in the campy, tongue-in-cheek, ridiculously named classic Stardog Champion.

Perhaps Mother Love Bone‘s best known song, it’s a gigantic slice of metal-cum-grunge, echoing Van Halen arena anthems more than the Melvins, Green River, or even Malfunkshun. It’s got everything — scolding, shouting lyrics; a narcissistic and shouting chorus; a low, building, bridge; contemptuous and overwrought lyrics — and its capped off by a children’s choir singing the chorus. In short, it’s either an example of where all rock and roll went wrong — or a delicious combination of excess that proves all of rock music’s worth.

I vote for the latter — there was a time in my life in which Stardog Champion somehow became an important piece of my identity. I played it as a rousing wake-up call before our crew headed off for the bars; I began tailgates by spinning it, I even tried to shoehorn the song title as a nickname for myself. (It never caught on.) In any case, Stardog Champion — overplayed, overwrought, and overdone — and if it signaled either the end of one era or the beginning of another – that doesn’t make it any less of a classic.

Here at Mr. Faded Glory, we’re no stranger to jumping on bandwagons.

Suffice it to say we aren’t quite the mold of the typical chest-beating sports fan, who asserts his/her worthiness to their chosen team based on length of allegiance, rather than the quality of fanaticism during that allegiance.

We have a problem with rewarding loyalty based on length rather than intensity – and this translates to much of our views on life, actually. (Example, Employee A is not better, more productive, more loyal, or more beneficial to the company than Employee B simply because A has existed for more years within the company.) We have additional problems with other fans dismissing our knowledge of a team’s history, pain, and sacrifices, simply because we didn’t check in on the ground floor. Why would they care?

To me, one person’s fandom has no influence or basis upon mine. Same with music. You shouldn’t care that you discovered Tool after hearing Stinkfist, whereas I came upon them after hearing Swamp Song. And I don’t feel threatened that I signed onto Nirvana after a year of Nevermind, rather than before. It’s all enjoyment, and it shouldn’t threaten anyone’s identity, no matter how vigorous we claim it as a part of us.

Bearing that self-discovery odyssey in mind, today we’re celebrating the success of a longtime favorite of Mr. Faded Glory, the official hockey team of Mister Faded Glory, the Edmonton Oilers.

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