If its not the flu, then what is it?

It must be a sickness. Or a disease. Either way I know I am not right in the head. It happens on an annual basis, lasting anywhere from 16 to 20 weeks. It first starts sometime around mid day, usually. But curiously only once a week. Mostly on a Sunday. The symptoms are frustration first, followed by confusion and/or bewilderment, which in turn leads to anger and intolerance, lots of swearing, and finishing with embarrassment. On occasion, though rare, jubilation. And I haven't been to the doctor. You see, my malady is the Chicago Bears.

Oh how I envy the occasional fan, able to watch the game with modest detachment, cheering the highs, ignoring the lows. Even scoffing indifferently at some meaningless early season turnover. This for me is impossible. I can't put the game in context. Hell, I can't even put one play into context. Life itself hangs in the balance of the next snap count. Remember week one this year? A loss to the hated Packers, and worse yet, losing our captain on defense for the whole year. By the end of the game, spit flying from my mouth faster than the cuss words can come out, I had lost my voice. Good thing no gig coming up, not good for a singer to scream until his lungs bleed. The next morning I was in a foul mood. Brows furrowed, with a sneer across my lip, the wife asked what was wrong. 16 years of marriage and she still can't figure out that a loss to the Packers on opening day is like someone taking a red hot Samurai sword and shoving it up my ass. At least she knows enough to be out of the house at kickoff.

So there I sit, in total isolation. I can't go to a friends house to watch the game, I wouldn't be invited back. EVER. My kids can barely stomach being in the same room for even a quarter, knowing that at some point, the lid is going to come off the pot. They won't even have friends over, lest they hear the dad upstairs telling Lovie Smith or Ron Turner what a piece of crap that last call was. As if I don't know they can't hear me. Thanks for that piece of reality. No, no, I am alone in my misery, unable to even enjoy a beautiful comeback like we saw against the Steelers in week 2 because of the general ineptitude of the whole game. Is there something I can take? Does anyone have a Valium?

Now I love the Cubs. And the Bulls. And am gaining new found respect for the Hawks organization. But it is the Bears they drive my motor. It is the part of the year I look forward to the most, and least. If I am out of the house for any part of the game, all I can say is thank God for the DVR. Radio in the car is off just in case some smarmy DJ decides to blare out the score and ruin my day. I have even sat in the stands at one of my kids sports games with my hands over my ears going"...LA,LA,LA...!" to drown out the possibility that someone in the crowd might utter, "Did you see that Hester ran one back today?", at which point I would whip out my Glock and put a bullet between his eyes. Am I sick? Probably. I only wish I knew what to call it. Oops, gotta run, pregame started. Can't miss Waddle, that f*#king idiot.

The real X-Men.

So assuming most of you haven't heard the story I will give you the basic facts. On Friday morning, an unloaded handgun was found in the bathroom of Warrens O'Plaine campus where my son is a sophomore. 2 thoughts immediately went through my head when he sent me a text message (the school actually TOLD the students to text/call their parents, bravo!! ) relating the news. 1) he was safe in his classroom with about 30 other students and 2) don't tell the wife until it is all over. Before I could even finish the second thought my phone was ringing. You see, he had sent the text to both of us.

I could hear it in her voice, she was fraught with both concern and worry. I'm leaning towards the 80/20 split with worry the big winner. OK 90/10. I wasn't worried in the slightest. Yes even with school shootings across the country in the last 10 years a painful reality, I was concerned about the fact that this hit so close to home this time, but I will repeat...I was not worried. I heard his voice on the phone, and there are probably 2500 kids on campus. Doing the math in my head I knew the odds were slim that he was in harms way. I am not a worrier by nature, as the wife seems to have us both covered on that front.

Is this a girl/guy thing? Or am I alone on this? Does it make me an unconcerned parent? I think I involve my self TOO much sometimes in my sons life. For instance. In our school you can go on the web site and check each class, grade for grade, on every test, quiz, homework assignment, binder check, lab report and speech. (If they had this when I was in HS my life would have been HELL.) Sometimes even before he comes home from school I will be standing at the front door wanting an explanation for the D he got in English 2 hours ago. So at the end of his 1st semester the teacher asks the class who wants to know how many time their parents had checked up on them. Hands shot up and students heard numbers like 52, 26, one kid got a chuckle when his number was 95. Our number? 156. Poor kid was the laughing stock of the class. But I was never worried that he would fail, just wanted to make sure his freshman year got off on the right foot. But the wife? After 2 weeks she was in tears over his grades, sick with worry that he wouldn't graduate and go to college. Again, I wanted him to get with the program a little better but the thought of not getting his diploma in 4 years never entered my mind. She was consumed by it.

So dear readers help me out. Am I alone? How does it work in your house? Are there guys who lose sleep when their young teen stays out late? Or when they first get their drivers license? Or do we all sit on the couch with remote in one hand while mindlessly scratching with the other telling the better half to relax? Am I a heartless bastard or is it just that damned extra x-chromosome gumming up the works?

Look, in the sky!! Its a bird, its an airplane...

So you can't stick with the Guitarman because he rambles? So lets try small doses on random topics:

Article in today's Sun Times-Men in Burqas try to attack oil facility in Pakistan. So its cowardice enough when fanatical Muslim terrorists hide amongst their own people so that when the bombs come raining down they can say that we are massacring innocent civilians, but now they are actually posing as women so that when we demand that women remove their head covering at checkpoints and the like the same ones that shoot at us or blow themselves up can accuse us of insulting their women and their religion. Riiight. Insults are so much worse than bullets and bombs.

Everyone has seen Superman, right? Didn't it annoy you that nobody could look in the face of Clark Kent and be like, "Dude, you look EXACTLY like Superman. Wait, you ARE Superman! Whoa!!" Fast forward to today. Everyone with a daughter in between the ages of like 6 and 13 can relate. Can't anyone at that school look in Miley Stewart's eyes and be like, "Dude, you look EXACTLY like Hannah Montana. Wait, you ARE Hannah Montana! Whoa!!"

President Obama appearing on Letterman to pitch his health care plan via the airwaves reminds me of a current former Illinois politician going on a TV blitzkrieg to sell his version of his truth. Here's a novel idea: Why didn't you just sell it to congress instead of giving us another inspirational speech?

If fate had any place in the real world, Kanye West would wind up retired in Arizona with wife Serena Williams screaming at him, "What do you mean you took my last steroid pill? I'll walk over there and shove your VMA Music Award down your f%&king throat!"

So Rep. Joe Wilson loses his cool and yells at the president for what he considers less than the truth. Classless and rude no doubt. So the senate rebukes him and sends him to his room with no supper. Gee, if only the Pelosi-ites could muster up only HALF the enthusiasm for the health care thingy as they do for the evil Republicans we might actually see 46 million Americans finally get health insurance.

And would someone please tell Jimmy Carter to SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!!

Whew, glad I got that off my chest.

I'm not going to clean that mess!!

Chores. That has been a bit of a four letter word in our house for quite a while. As in trying to get the offspring to not only do the intended task, but do it without whining. Good luck with that. As the parent of a 2 teenager household, it has become increasingly cumbersome for The Guitarman and the wife to gently nudge the aforementioned duo to get off the couch, off the Xbox, off the Wii, and complete just a few minor tasks without complaint, something that I'm sure most of you with older kids can appreciate, and those of you with younger, less opinionated children will come to learn. Like I said, good luck with that.


Oh I know there are few parents who have raised their kids the right way, watching them become perfect little ladies and gentlemen who always say please and thank you, always keep their room clean, and always do their homework first. Well, 2 out of 3 and bad, as a matter of fact, its downright awesome. But chores. Why is it that kids can't understand that we weren't put on this earth to serve them? Ok maybe we are, up until they are 8 or 10 years old. But at some point, becoming self sufficient is imperative, as we don't want to see our 28 year old kid on the living room couch, with Xbox controller in one hand while giving us the bird with the other. So how do we get our kids to do some bloody work around the house?


Threats don't work, generally, in our house because a) I don't have the balls to follow up on most of them and b) its actually a bonus to go to your room for a while. We tried allowances. Paid weekly if we decided they lived up to their end of the bargain. For a couple of weeks, things got done, and slowly but surely, they stopped altogether. So, I figured that I would just not mention the word allowance for a while and it would sink in. Months passed, and they seemed to relish the trade off. No allowance? Cool! That means no more litter box! Yeahh!! But we finally found a system that works, much to the amazement of both of us. Its what I like to call, Pay-per-chore. $2 to empty the dishwasher or clean the kitchen, $3 to clean the bathroom or litter box, etc. The grosser the chore, the higher the bribe. At the end of the week, we tally it up and pay it out. I know its sounds crazy, but it works. Sometimes they actually argue as to who gets to do the chore.


Now what works for me might not wok for you, especially if you have neat, uncluttered house, with a spouse who loves to clean, or better yet, a housekeeper. But who needs a housekeeper when you have kids, right?

Bear down, Chicago Bears! The real audacity of hope.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation with your T-formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, and let them know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down.

If you call yourself a Chicago Bears fan, trivial as it may seem, you must know the words to the fight song. Not should know, not will know someday, but know it cold. And it doesn't count if your version goes something like this;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, da da da da da da da da victory, etc.

Why you might ask? Hell I don't know, but it just sounds better when you know the lyrics. But what does it mean for Bears fans this season? Is this year different from any others? I say, hold on to your hat. It all starts and ends with Jay Cutler.

How many times in years past has the team had those 13-10 squeakers where you were saying to yourself, "The D played great, if we only had an offense...?" So whose fault was it that we didn't? Certainly not any one person, but a collaborative effort unseen by any other pro sports team. Oh sure, there are perennially bad teams in sports, like the NFL Lions or the NBA Clippers, but those teams have nothing on the Bears futility in the most important position in any pro team, the quarterback.

So I blame, in no particular order, Dave Wannstedt, Jerry Angelo, Michael McCaskey, Lovie Smith, Dick Jauron, John Shoop, Bob Avellini, Steve Fuller, Rusty Lisch, Greg Landry, Mike Tomczak, Doug Flutie, Jim Harbaugh, Peter Tom Willis, Will Furrer, Erik Kramer, Steve Walsh Kramer, Dave Kreig, Rick Mirer, Steve Stenstrom, Moses Moreno, Shane Matthews, Cade McNown, Jim Miller, Chris Chandler, Henry Burris, Kordell Stewart, Rex Grossman, Jonathan Quinn, Craig Krenzel, Chad Hutchinson, Kyle Orton, and Brian Griese. My apologies to any member of the Bears back office, front office, side office, coaching staff or player I forgot to mention.

Now will Cutler wave a magic wand and make all of this futility go away? OF COURSE HE WILL!! It is my choice to go through the NFL season with blinders on believing this will be the year. That's what we Bears fans do. My prediction for the season: 12-4 Now that's my audacity of hope.

The reality of hope.

Tonight as President Obama makes probably the most important speech of his career since becoming the leader of the free world, The Guitarman would like to weigh in on the subject. Dangerous waters I know, and I will try and keep it short and sweet, but I will borrow a word from the presidential playbook. Hope.

As in I hope he realizes that this isn't a speech, but a movement. A cause. A defining moment in our history and his legacy. I hope he stops the campaign talk and all the feel good moments that have delivered him to this point and give us some nuts and bolts. Like where he stands, hopefully on one side of the fence or the other. I hope he will he tell us how he is going to pay for it. Or rather who is going to pay for it. I hope he will ignore the lunatic fringe ("He is going to kill my Nana!") and focus on what matters. And I hope he does away with the the whole shirtsleeves rolled up sans tie look that for sure got him a few votes in the election. He has already won over all of those who would be swayed.

But my biggest hope is that he follows in George Bush's example. Huh?! Didn't see that coming did you? Criticize W all you want but don't fault him for taking an unpopular stand to do what he thought was right at the time. He made a decision in the best interest of our country, and all I am asking is that Obama do the same. Please make the decision on what you believe is the right way to handle this health care reform thingy, rather than with an eye to 2012.

I'll even give you my stance. I am for the public option, without forcing those who can afford the private option to do the same. And I am for forcing the private insurance companies and drug companies like Pfizer ($44.5 billion in profit last year, yes that is a "b" for billion) to stop being 100% profit driven and share the wealth so that this country can get healthy again. There, I have given you my stance. I can only hope that the big O can do the same.

Butterflies are free to fly, just stay out of my stomach.

Why do people get nervous? Is it some underlying feeling of impending failure? Failure to ourselves? Meaning: I couldn't do it, ergo I suck. Or failure in the eyes of others? Meaning: he couldn't do it, ergo he sucks.

Remember that first time you had to stand up in front of your classmates and deliver some hastily written convincing argument that you weren't quite sure convinced even yourself? Ok, I don't remember the actual "first" time, but more of a collective memory of every time I had to give a speech in class. And maybe you were one of the sickos who actually relished in the moment. But not me. I hated it. But why was I nervous back then? I guess I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the unforgiving eyes and ears of my classmates. And then the speech is over, I get a B, and nobody is making fun of me until summer vacation.

Fast forward 15 years. I'm at college, my first actual band is forming, and we have a gig. It first started a few days before, that queasy feeling deep down in your gut. Was it something I ate? I ask myself. No, I know this feeling, I'm nervous. The morning of the gig. Didn't sleep. Can't eat. Can't remember the chord change to Louie Louie. (We actually played a Toga party for my frat and learned most of the music from the Animal House soundtrack) Now its a few hours away and I can't get off the toilet. Gonna hurl? Want to but can't. Can't wait for it to be over. Why am I doing this to myself? You love it, remember? So again, why am I nervous? I guess I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the unforgiving eyes and ears of my frat brothers and their girlfriends. In the end, we played good, and everyone was so drunk they probably wouldn't remember the party itself let alone a missed chord. Today I can play in front of 200 people and not feel a thing.

Fast forward to yesterday. I wake up, and I have the butterflies again. Eat some eggs and a bagel, and I feel like I am going to hurl. Why the hell am I nervous? Oh yeah, soccer game. Every spring and fall on the day of the first game I feel nervous. No, I don't play for some over 40 men's recreational league, I coach my daughters soccer team. Doing the quick math in my head, this is probably the 45th to 50th team of my kids' I have coached in soccer, basketball, baseball, softball, and football, from kindergarten through 8th grade. And I am still getting nervous. Why? I guess I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the unforgiving eyes and ears of my players parents. In the end we won the game 7-0 or something, we're not supposed to keep score. But I am finally realizing something after all these years. The only person who ever cared was me.

What am I trying to say? Don't be afraid of failure, because in the end, it's all just perception. You never fail for trying, you only fail when you don't even try. The Guitarman getting serious. Doesn't that make you nervous?

...and you can put the load right on me.

Lest everyone start thinking that I am a road rage-aholic, I will now put the subject of driving behind me. I promise. And talk about more inspiring things, like music.

Take for example that my band plays the song Knock On Wood by Eddie Floyd and Steve Cropper, covered by just about everyone. Countless times singing the lyrics and never once listened to what I was singing about. Finally hearing it on the radio one day I figured it out. Boner. That's it? This song, that has been covered by the likes of Eric Clapton, Otis Redding, Ella Fitzgerald, James Taylor, Seal, Ike and Tina Turner, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, David Bowie, even Michael Bolton, PLUS dozens of other artists most people, including myself, have never heard of, is about an erection? Inspiring? I guess from a certain perspective.

How about Buffalo Soldier by Bob Marley. I love Marley, RIP. We even named our first cat, RIP, after him. Sing the refrain. Woi yo yo, woi ya yo yo, woi yo yo yo yo yo yo yo. Catchy, right? OK, now sing the refrain from The Banana Splits, that 70's show on Saturday mornings. Tra la la, la la la la, tra la la la la la la la. Ok who's ripping off who? Considering Buffalo Soldier wasn't recorded until 1980, and the Banana Splits ran from 1968-70, it doesn't take a genius to figure out the a 25 year old named Robert Nesta Marley was sitting in front of a TV set watching cartoons and writing songs.

One last realization. Listen to the lyrics of The Weight, by J.R.Robertson and popularized by The Band:

Take a load off Fanny,
take a load for free,
Take a load off Fanny,
And (and) (and) you can put the load right on me.

Wouldn't that make a great ad for Kohler toilets?