Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

I guess we should have figured everything would even out, especially after last Wednesday(and display of hubris, woe is us, please karma forgive me.).

Our bi-weekly Cubs checkup will arrive later this week; maybe they’ll quit scuffling before we offer it up. Maybe Lou will begin pitching Sean Marshall more than one-third of an inning. Maybe Kevin Hart and Mike Wuertz will simply go away. And maybe the offense will come back. Maybe this game is aggravating.

“Read the page, it’s cold and dead, and take me home.”

Alice In Chains

For the last five years, we’ve poured ourselves into writing our debut novel.

Easily the hardest thing we’ve ever done. Easily some of the most fun we’ve ever had.

Each time weve reached a seminal “stopping point,” a point in the alternately arduous, uplifting, despondent and thrilling process which could be called a finish – it’s never felt like elation. It’s never felt like relief. It’s never been particularly satisfying.

Not in August 2006, when the first 400-something-page draft was finally complete. Not in December 2006, when we removed passive voice and finalized characters. Not in June 2007, when we eliminated two major characters, nor in September 2007, when we resolved to cut nearly 100 pages. And we got there. In January 2008, we finally let some trusted advisers read it, and now, in April 2008, we’ve finally added and subtracted our final few pieces. Right now, the thing is done. Here we are – with a tale of three friends, kicking and screaming and resisting adulthood, as their lives separate for the last time.

That’s it. Simple, really. It’s done. Maybe we don’t allow elation simply because at each stopping point – there’s been much more, to do. This time’s different. We think it’s complete. Quite predictably, we think it’s rather good.

We still read through it, poring over passages, thinking “I fucking wrote that? Good god, that’s contrived.” Conversely, our greatest sense of accomplishment arrives when we re-read a passage, and really think it’s good (“Wow, I wrote that? That’s fucking fantastic.”). Or when a friend admires or enjoyed a certain portion – maybe even with a result unintended by us. Or when we step back, and realize that maybe we’ve put something together that’s fairly cool, fairly worthwhile, and maybe even a little intelligent. (Like Reinhold Weege after creating Night Court, we suspect.)

But it’s not relief, nor happiness, nor fulfillment. It is, however, done, and the next chapter (cough, predictable metaphor, cough) awaits.

More updates soon.

Immediately before the Cubs’ romp over the Pirates today, Matt Murton arrived, and hopefully will be installed in the leadoff spot tomorrow. But again, we’re not complaining – everything’s operating effectively, and Rich Hill looked like he exorcised some demons yesterday, even Jason Marquis looked competent today. Murton was 0-for-2 as a pinch hitter, mind you.

With the homestand already a success, we managed to get sucked into the Suns-Spurs first-round NBA Playoff game,  a marathon double-overtime heavyweight fight the Spurs ended up winning, powered by two buzzer-beating threes – Mike Finley to end regulation, Tim Duncan to end the first overtime. Steve Nash actually drained an omigawd three with 12 seconds left in the game to tie; but the Suns, as apropos, let Manu Ginobili streak nearly ALL THE WAY DOWN THE FLOOR TO SCORE THE GAME WINNER.

You may remember my criticism of the Suns’ trade for Shaq, but this series is the pudding. If the Suns can’t beat the Spurs now, in a first-round series, playing a wholly halfcourt game at full-strength against the struggling Spurs; then they may never beat them. And this game, which they controlled from the start until nearly the finish, just may be Exhibit A. Their inability to gain a crucial stop on defense remains unsolved, evidenced by Ginobili‘s game-winner.

Finally, during the run-up to what promises to be an entertaining NBA Playoff run, we were disgusted and dismayed by all the NBA debate surrounding the MVP. Quite honestly, if another stupid sportswriter exhorts the difference in criteria between “most valuable” and “best” and recites each possble intricacy of the semantics ad nauseum, we’re going to throw up. It’s the best player, stupid. Vote for him.

Sportswriters tend to inflate the importance of these awards simply because they themselves play a role, and thusly end up treating these ballots like a fucking multibillion-dollar lawsuit disposition. It’s ridiculous. And, since we repeatedly excoriate Slate, we’re thrilled to point out this timely article (thanks, The Big Lead) caustically dismissing these stupid self-important arguments.  Well put, amen, and off we go to the playoffs. And since you asked, the MVP is a tie between LeBron and Kobe. No, I don’t care, either.

No, not that orange guy. That’s Franklin the Cat.

We’re talking about you-know-who – our favorite, Matt Murton. A leftfielding spray-hitting victim of the Cubs’ latest attempt to shoehorn square left-handed speedy pegs into round, rational holes.

But I digress. Sigh. It’s been an eventful week for our Chicago Cubs; first the dunderheaded Chicago media predictably swirled around Dusty Baker‘s return, with piles upon piles of articles sugarcoating Baker’s excuse-riddled tenure. Maybe murderous scorn is too harsh. But it certainly wasn’t a favorite son’s homecoming, either.

Here at Mister Faded Glory, we’re simply happy the Cubs actually defeated the Reds twice, rather than strangely losing to David Weathers repeatedly on clutch Jeff Keppinger knocks or massive blown leads. As we know, the Reds have been the Cubs’ bugaboo for, oh, about seven hundred years.

Back to our point, as you know, during the Cubs’ midweek tussle with the Reds, Alfonso Soriano injured his foot on a hop-and-catch, predictably landing on the DL. That’s unfortunate, of course, but we’re certainly not bloviating and infuriated that Chicago shelled out tons of dollars to the struggling Soriano. Rather, we were a little frustrated with Soriano’s early-season struggles, and with his injury, ’twas the perfect time for the Cubs to recall their only OBP machine from anywhere in the organization, without a noticeable dropoff.

You know him. The supposedly major-league-ready left fielder who the Cubs held onto rather than shop around. The hard-worker and invaluable fourth outfielder. Matt Murton, he of the .290-plus batting average and .350-plus OBP. He who actually demonstrates an ability to take a walk. He who refutes the Cubs’ long-standing “Swing Harder” philosophy. He who the Cubs kept around, in case, you know, the only position Lou Piniella or Jim Hendry felt he could play opened up because of injury.

And now, the position is opened up, for a short time, and the Cubs had a chance to minimize any loss of production – or, perhaps increase production – or maximize trade value for Murton, or revamp their batting order, or whatever. In fact, we would have advocated leading him off, as usual. Instead, the Cubs called up yet another second baseman, to a roster already carrying three while attempting to trade for another. Boggles the mind.

But quite honestly, what does Murton have to do to earn playing time with the big club? And, quite honestly, if Piniella or Hendry are so certain Murton doesn’t fit their plans (which are often way too narrow, mind you, always searching for a lefty hitter rather than actual productivity.), then why not trade him? His value now diminishes by the day, and he’s destined to join the list of viable Cub prospects the team gave up on quickly and stockpiled for no good reason.

It’s a head-scratcher. We maintain that Matt Murton is the perfect leadoff hitter for this team. (Murt, Kosuke, Lee, Ramirez, DeRosa, Soto, Johnson, Theriot, pitcher). Or if not perfect for the Cubs, then at least for the A’s, Blue Jays, Twins or someone else. Maybe they can find him a home. Maybe in the process, they could conceivably replace a No. 2 starter…

I know, you’ve all been wondering where, exactly, Mister Faded Glory has been. With bated breath, you’re expecting an explanation. Well, here goes – I’ve been pining for Steve “Fletch F.” Flesch to win the Masters, however, it was all for naught. My dreams of pun-filled golf headlines everywhere tragically go unfulfilled.

Yes, that’s all I’ve got. But we are two weeks into the baseball season, and as I plan to do throughout the year, I’ll offer armchair analysis of the Cubs each fortnight. As it is today, we’re just over 7 percent through the 2008 baseball season, and after a last-ditch (lucky) victory against the Phillies, the Cubs are 7-5. So what, so far, have we learned? Read on.

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