Comes back and tells me – “I got to tell you something….”

I’m right in the middle of writing – ideas all fresh and vulnerable. If I don’t get them down, they’re lost forever. That sort of thing.

“Not a good time,” I say.

“No, I have to tell you….”

I sigh, put down my pencil, and turn to face her.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s about the dog….”

“What about her?”

“It’s…Well…Ugh…Uhm….”

Uh-oh, not a good sign. I’ve learned that if what you have to say can’t be said outright, it really means you don’t want to say it at all.

Happy Nicky — before the scalping….

“I took Nicky to the vet,” she says.

“Yes, I know….”

“And the vet shaved her butt….”

I look at my wife. She nods her head, like I’m supposed to know what this means.

“And you’re telling me this because?”

“Well,” says my wife. “For the next few days, you’re probably going to see more of Nicky’s butt than you want to. Here – let me show you….”

She calls the dog over and leans down to grab her. But the Nicky slips away. I get off my chair to grab her. But she gives me the side step. I swear that dog knows what we’re up to. When we go left, she goes right – quicker than a bed bug. Got us going in circles, as the song says.

Finally, my wife collars her and turns her around so I can see her buttocks and – What the fu!!!

“Oh, my God!” I exclaim.

“I told you,” says my wife.

“What did that vet do to our poor dog?”

“I know….”

“She looks like a freaking baboon….”

My hand to God, it was almost this bad….

“Well, it’s not that bad….”

“This is a humiliation – the dog’s gonna get a complex. Everywhere she goes, people are going to see right up her ass….”

“It’s not my fault….”

“Well, whose fault is it?”

“I didn’t do it….”

“Why would you have the vet shave her ass in the first place?”

“I thought it was getting shaggy back there – she was shedding. And it was getting dirty when she poohed….”

“Okay, first of all, more details than I need. And second of all, dogs don’t pooh, they crap….”

“So, the vet gave her a trim….”

“It’s more like a scalping….”

“It’ll grow back….”

“How the hell am I gonna take her for walks – she’s gonna have to wear a diaper….”

I’m telling you – for the whole conversation, Nicky’s sitting there looking up at us like a spectator at a tennis match, with her head going back and forth watching whoever’s talking.

Fast forward several hours. I’m walking her. It’s dark – no one can see us. I pass a neighbor.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

He pauses as we pass.

“Ugh,” he says. “Is there something wrong with your dog?”

“No, nothing….”

“What happened to her ass?”

Oh, brother….

The teller of this tale is my man — the legendary Chicago soul singer Devin B. Thompson, aka Daddy D.…

Take it away, Devin….

“It’s a Sunday night around midnight, and we’re playing the Backroom over on Rush Street.

“I’m up on stage with my buddies Marqueal Jordan on sax, Lamar Jones on bass, Khari Parker on drums, Gerey Johnson on guitar, Tim Gant on keyboards….

“We’re playing Love and Happiness. I’m in the part where we’re going, `Love’ll make you do wrong,’ when into the club walks this big dude and he’s coming right at me. I’m thinking – `oh, no, did I rub someone the wrong way? Did I piss someone off?’

“The guys comes closer and I realize – It’s freaking Dennis Rodman!

The legendary Dennis Rodman….

“He’s wearing a baseball cap and a T-shirt and jeans and you can see the man’s in great shape. Like he could go step right back on the court and grab you ten or twelve boards.

“He keeps walking right for the stage. He’s pointing at me. I say, `C’mon on up, Dennis.’

“There are about forty people in the crowd – this is a small club, remember – but everybody’s on their feet making a ton of noise. Dennis gets the mike and immediately starts screaming – `yaahhhh!!’

“People are going crazy. He has them right where he wants them….

“He breaks the band down – like he’s had some experience dealing with bands – and starts in: `How ya’ doin’, Chicago?’

“Just between you and me — he may have had a cocktail or two by this time….

“He says: `I want to say, Chicago is a marvelous place. You wanna know what’s marvelous about this city? We live here, we work here, we play here, we die here – yahhh!!’ He starts screaming again.

“Meanwhile, the band keeps doing Love and Happiness, not missing a beat….

Joined the great Devin Thompson….

“Then he mentions LeBron James. The crowd boos. He says, `Man, LeBron James is my girlfriend.’ There’s cheers and laughter. Then he says, `You guys don’t need LeBron James. You don’t need Michael Jordan. You don’t need Dennis Rodman. You just need yourself. If you believe in yourself you can make it!’

“It’s like we’re in Church and the preacher’s Dennis Rodman!

“Then he says: `I got one last thing I wanna to all of you out there – Get up, get on up.’

“And right then and there the dude goes into James Brown’s Sex Machine!

“He gives me the mike. So I start singing the lead and Dennis plays the role of the foil. Like I’m James Brown and he’s Bobby Byrd. I say, `Get up.’ And Dennis says, `Get on Up.’ And I say, `Stay on the scene.’ And he says, `Get on up.’ And I say, `Like a sex machine….’

“Then we move into — `hey, hey, I feel all right.’ And Dennis is doing these pelvic thrusts. I mean, he’s really thrusting his pelvis. These girls – I don’t even know where they come from – but they’re all around the stage, shaking their legs and making goo- goo eyes at him. Guess that’s how it goes when you’re Dennis Rodman….

To pay tribute to the King of Soul — James Brown….

“And then – I’m not sure whose idea it was, or exactly how it happens, but the next thing you know we go into Prince’s You Sexy Mother Fu….

“Band’s jamming. Dennis is dancing. And everybody’s singing — You sexy mother f….

“Then he steps down from the stage and stumbles over a table and knocks over this guy’s drink. He gives the guy a hug and apologizes for knocking over his drink. But the guy doesn’t care cause it’s Dennis freaking Rodman!

“And out he goes. Leave as fast as he came. Posing for pictures as he walks out the door. Off into the night, searching for the next party.

“Up on the stage we’re looking at ourselves and we’re laughing, like — can you believe what just happened? But you got to figure it was no big deal for him – just another night in the life of Dennis Rodman….”

Editor’s note: When he’s not singing lead for the bands Chicago Catz and Rico, Devin Thompson co-hosts — with a certain Third City blogger — The Mighty, Mighty Benny and Devin Show on WHPK-FM….

Unfortunately, I can’t contribute much to the conversation cause I didn’t know what the hell was going on.

For one thing, the movie’s filled with super smart characters who talk really fast and I’m always not sure of what they said.

In general it reminds me of the Sneak-Up Game, which is this game I used to play with my kids and nephews when they were much younger. We’d give ourselves secret code names – mine was Jordan – and creep around the housing sneaking up on unsuspecting grown ups and turning out the lights.

Then we’d run back to our base – which was the landing over looking the living room – and watch in delight as the other grown ups turned on the lights we had just turned off.

Is that fun, or what?

Another thing about Inception is I think I might have drifted off at some point in the middle of it. All I know is that I remember seeing Joseph Gordon-Levitt floating in the air doing some really weird stuff in the shaft of an elevator, and the next thing I know I’m watching Leonardo DiCaprio and Ellen Page wearing these funny looking white snow suits and they’re skiing down a mountain.

What the fu….

How did that happen?

I have no idea what happened in this movie….

In general, I’m confused by Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character. He’s always really busy, but I never know what he’s doing.

At one point, I lean toward my wife and whisper: “What’s going on?”

“Shh,” she says.

A lot of help she is!

What I need is a personal tutor — like with The Matrix. I didn’t know what was going on in that movie either, but at least I had Michael Rodriguez to help me.

I didn’t know what was going on in this movie either….

Michael was this 12-year-old kid who played on the little league team I coached a few years ago. Heck of a kid, by the way — great parents – and a totally awesome power hitter. When Michael got a hold of the pitch, man – good-bye. That baby’s gone….

Michael had seen The Matrix dozens of times — at least. I nicknamed him Neo – after the Keanu Reaves character – cause I swear he knew every line in that movie.

He was always telling me things about The Matrix. Once we were sitting on the bench while the game was going on and I asked him: “All right – one more time: Who was the big black lady Neo was talking to?”

He was about to answer, when he had to leave the bench to bat. He hit a homer, circled the bases, got congratulated by coaches and teammates, returned to the bench and started in where he had left off.

“The big black lady is….”

I’ll bet you anything Neo would know what was going on in Inception.

Here’s the real embarrassing thing – my wife understood Inception better than I did. After we see a movie we always have this competition over who understands it more. Sometimes I win and I get to look all smart and everything.

But not this time. As we walk back to the subway, she’s telling me all sorts of stuff I didn’t know.

Like Michael Caine’s character is Leonardo’s character’s father-in-law.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Positive,” she says.

“How do you know that?”

“They said it….”

“Who said it?”

“Leonardo DiCaprio….”

“When?”

“I don’t know – probably when you were sleeping….”

“Damn!”

Then she tells me that the Japanese guy, played by Ken Watanabe, was the – oh, forget it. I don’t want to spoil the movie for you.

The thing is – until she told me. I had no idea who the Japanese guy was or what he was doing in the movie.

Oh, brother. Let’s be honest. If Inception were a test, I flunked it.

It reminds me of what happened when I took the ACT and the SAT five thousand years ago. I’d read the questions, then I’d look at the answers I had to choose from and I’d think – it could be this one. But then again, it could be that one. Oh, hell – which one is it!

Then I’d get bored and my mind would drift and I’d be thinking about something else, probably girls. I was always thinking about girls back then….

The good news is that in the total scheme of things, it didn’t really matter that I sucked at the ACT and the SAT. I hope it’s the same way with Inception….

Go to the Raven Theater. Take my 81-year-old mother. She had a big operation a few months back, but she’s feeling better. Says she’s bored – wants to get out of the house. So it’s all good….

This is the perfect show for us to see. We love Neil Simon. The guy’s so freaking funny. And there’s always this tinge of sadness behind the one liners. Just to remind you – in case you could possibly forget – that it’s not all fun and games in life, even when you’re laughing.

Point of information for all you youngsters out there in Third City land – The Odd Couple’s the show about the neat guy (Felix Unger) who moves in with the slob (Oscar Madison), whereupon they drive each other batty.

You probably saw the movie….

I love The Odd Couple – especially the movie with Walter Matthau and Jack Lemon — it just may be my favorite Neil Simon play. I’ve seen this particular production three times. That’s right – as in one, two, three. I’ve seen it so many times, I could be the understudy.

I think I like it so much cause I can relate to Felix. Not that I’m fastidious. It’s just that I live with a bunch of women who leave their shoes lying all around the house. Late at night – when the house is dark and they’re asleep and I’m going to bed – I’ll stumble over some discarded sandal. And – Goddman it!!!

Ask my dog – who’s up late with me – she’ll tell you all about it.

Plus, I love those poker scenes in The Odd Couple.  Back in high school, I used to play tons of poker with my buddies. Five or six of us in Jonny Seidman’s basement. Just like the boys in The Odd Couple – Oscar, Felix, Murray, Speed, Roy and Vinnie – we’d be cracking wise.

One time we were listening to the Beatles on the tape player and this kid — I think it was  Tom Marx — was singing along to Fool on the Hill. He got the lines twisted. Started singing “but nobody wants to know him” when he should have been singing “but nobody ever hears him.” Or whatever.

He tried to play it off by quickly jumping to the right words, but Jonny didn’t let it slide.

“That’s okay,” Jonny deadpanned. “The Beatles made a mistake.”

That was – what – 40 years ago? I’ve been shameless using Jonny’s line ever since….

Anyway – where was I? Oh, yes – taking my mom to see The Odd Couple….

I used to play poker with my buddies, just like the boys….

Get there 45-minutes early, cause my mom didn’t want to be late.

On the way from the car to the theater, she tells me, “If it’s hot in the theater, I’m going to have to go home.”

While we’re waiting in the lobby, her allergies flare up. She says if it’s hard to breathe, she’ll have to leave the theater early.

I’m happy to tell you that everything works out great. Her sinuses are fine. The temperature’s perfect – not too hot or cold. And my mom and are laughing like crazy.

Especially in the scene when Oscar blows his top at Felix: “You leave little notes on my pillow. `We’re all out of Corn Flakes. F.U.’ It took me three hours to figure out that F.U. was Felix Unger.”

We’re still smiling when we leave the theater and go back into the heat. That Neil Simon’s a genius, I tell you. He’s got that priceless comic touch very few people have. Like Woody Allen said: “Dying’s easy, comedy’s hard.”

Except for Neil Simon. He makes it look easy.

So anyway, do yourselves a favor. Go see The Odd Couple over at the Raven Theater. It’s playing through August 7.

Take your mother – she’ll love it….

Curious choice. I think I know less about computers than any man alive. Except, of course, for Milo. It’s staggering, really, to consider just how little that man knows about these things.

Anyway, when something goes wrong with the Third City’s system — and something’s always going wrong with the Third City’s system — the boys call on me to fix it. Or at least track down some dude who can fix it. Which is a whole lot harder than you’d think. One thing I’ve been learning after almost a year and a half in the blogging business, there’s not a whole lot of people who know a whole lot of things about computers. Except for real basic stuff, like posting a picture on a post. Which can’t be that hard cause even I know how to do it.

In fact, I’m starting to realize that most people don’t know shit about computers. Their knowledge is as wide as the ocean and as deep as a ditch. They download a song and they think they’re Bill Gates. But ask them to do something substantial — you know like fix just one of the many flaws in our system — and they’re as clueless as I am. The only difference is that they won’t admit it.

Most people think they’re as smart as this guy….

For instance, you might have noticed that the ads on the home page repeat themselves. You got Coping with the Cubs, followed by Hoop Dreams, School Boy, Sharon Thacker, Monroe Anderson and Fox Hair. And then you got Coping, Hoop Dreams and so on.

That’s what I mean by repeating themselves.

I’ve asked about six different computer geniuses to help me fix that flaw. They come over, stare at the ads, look at me, and shrug.

A day doesn’t pass without a conversation between Milo and me that goes something like this:

Milo: That ad shit is fucked up….

Me: I know….

Milo: It repeats….

Me: I know.

Milo: We gotta fix that fucker….

Me: I know…..

Pause. Silence. Having exhausted everything we have to say on that topic, we move on to the Bulls, a topic of conversation we’ll never exhaust.

Which brings me to the real topic of today’s blog bit — my recent success as a computer genius….

I’m on the phone with El Dragón, one of our ace bloggers, putting the final touches on his tribute to his brother, the cop.

El Dragón and I fix my computer….

I’m typing in his by line and it occurs to me — it doesn’t look right. So I ask him: How do I get that little thingamajig over your last name?

“You mean the accent mark?” he says.

“Yeah….”

“Okay,” says El Dragón. “Press the Alt key and I and S.”

“Did you say F?” I ask.

“No, S….”

I follow his directions.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I dunno — this weird thing came on the screen….”

“What weird thing?”

“It looks like a big square with a bunch of cubbyholes in it….”

“Cubbyholes?”

“Yeah, and each cubbyhole has a symbol in it….”

“A symbol?”

“Yeah, all kinds of weird Greek-looking shit, like hieroglyphics….”

“That’s Egyptian — not Greek….”

“Whatever….”

“Is there an accent mark in one of the cubbyholes?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure….”

“Make the cursor go up and down….”

“The cursor won’t go up and down.”

“What’s it doing….”

“There is no cursor….”

By the way, we’re dropping F-bombs left and right. I may not have told you this, but my man, El Dragón, cusses like a sailor.

Suddenly, I have a bolt of inspiration. I copy El Dragón from the text he sent me and paste it into this text.

It works!

I sit back all happy and shit — looking at that accent mark. Feel like Bill Gates. No wonder they put me in charge of the computers….

Back then, I lived in Rhode Island — somewhere between New York City and Boston — so my favorite team could have been the Yankees or the Red Sox.

I went with the Yankees. Mickey Mantle won me over – thought he was nothing short of the greatest man alive. What did I know? — I was only ten.Made me a Yankee fan….

At the time, Mickey was at the end of his glorious career, a broken-down shell of the superstar he’d once been. Saw him play exactly once. Waited patiently through seven innings before he limped to the plate to pinch-hit. Promptly struck out.

Like Mantle, the Yankees were also past their prime, a bottom-division team that lost way more than they won. But I loyally followed them day after day, cracking open the paper to see how Mantle had done and whether my Yankees had won.

Mantle retired after the 1968 season, but I kept rooting for the Yankees until 1973. That’s when George Steinbrenner bought the team.

I didn’t like George Steinbrenner from the start.  As I saw it, he was a bully. Picked on people weaker than himself. Fired secretaries. Yelled at elevator operators. That sort of thing.

Plus, he got nailed for making illegal campaign donations to Richard Nixon’s presidential campaign. Then, as the New York Times obit put it, he tried to “`influence and intimidate employees’” of his shipbuilding company to lie to a grand jury about the matter.”

When he got caught he said he had no choice – Nixon’s boys put the squeeze on him.

Guess old George wasn’t so tough after all….

Because of George,  I did a flip-flop. Started rooting against the Yankees almost as fervently as I’d been rooting for them.

Unmade me a Yankee fan….

Couldn’t have changed my allegiances at a worse time. With Steinbrenner in charge, the Yankees went on a tear.  Wound up winning the World Series in 1977 and 1978. As hard as this is for me to admit, the man knew a thing or two about building a winning team.

Think about this, people. I stayed with the Yankees when they were losing and ditched them when they went on top. I’d like to think that George would respect that. But, let’s be real, he wouldn’t give a shit about a weird loser like me.

The good news is that after 1978 they didn’t win a World Series for eighteen years. Ah, yes – eighteen glorious years….

And then….1996. Playing Baltimore in the playoffs. Derek Jeter hits a long fly ball.  Gonna be an out. When this kid – this mother-bleeping kid – reaches out into play and bats the ball into the stands.

Baltimore’s right fielder’s looking around like – what the fuck happened to the ball? The umpires calls it a home run. I’m howling: “Interference!” You know, like the ump will reverse his call if he hears me.

The TV flashes to Steinbrenner, sitting like Napoleon in his box, a big smile on his face. “You bastard,” I’m screaming. “You lucky piece of shit!”

The home run ties the game. The Yanks win in extra innings. They go on to win that playoff series. Then the World Series. Then three more World Series. After each triumph, I gotta watch Steinbrenner — champagne-drenched and jubilant — hoist the trophy. Ah, the misery….

Sometime in the 2000s, Steinbrenner drifted away. Dementia, the papers said. His sons took over the team.  And just like that I didn’t really care about the Yankees anymore. Without George around, it wasn’t the same.

Well, anyway, you must have heard by now — George Steinbrenner died the other day. A massive heart attack. He was 80-years-old.

I know, I know – if you can’t say something nice about a man after he dies, you shouldn’t say anything at all.

But, c’mon, the guy was too much a part of my life for me to remain silent.

So as a tribute to one of the biggest bullies to ever own a baseball team – I’m gonna do what I haven’t done in years.

Gonna pick up the paper and look at the box score and hope that whoever or wherever the Yankees are playing they’ve lost the game. Hopefully, after blowing the lead in the 9th inning thanks to a controversial call by the ump.

I figure it’s the least I can do for George Steinbrenner, the man I loved to hate….

Yes, yes, I tell her, I really, really do. Though it’s not hate in the conventional sense, like, you know, I hate Hitler, Stalin or someone really evil.

More like hate in the sporting sense as in — he’s really good and I want him to play for my team. Get it?

Yes, she says. Though I know she doesn’t cause when it comes to sports the world split into those who get it and those who don’t.

Let me try to explain….

For as long as I can remember, I’ve hated someone in basketball, as much as I love the sport. Indeed, it’s precisely because I love the sport that I also hate so many of its teams and players.

Until the Heat — with their dreaded leader, the diabolically smug Pat Riley – the team I hated most was the Lakers.

That’s cause they knocked my beloved Bulls out of the playoffs back in 1973 when I was young and impressionable and exceedingly vulnerable to such hurts.

Nearly forty years has passed but I still feel the pain. One minute left. Bulls up five. Bulls have the ball. All they have to do is run out the clock. But, no….

Ahhhhhh!

Next day I had to come to school and sit behind Tit – this kid in my German class whose real name was Cichowicz, which got turned into Chicken Tit, which eventually got shortened to Tit.

Tit loved the Lakers cause they had a guard named Goodrich who shot left-handed. Tit was also a lefty. That meant he and Goodrich had a bond. Look, no one said this shit is logical.

Gale Goodrich — Tit’s favorite player….

Anyway, on the day after the great collapse, Tit rode me like a horse.

Tit: Ha, ha – Bulls suck….

Me: Shut up….

Tit: Chokers, chokers….

Me: Suck my dick.

And so on….

Fourteen years later, I got into an intense debate with a black guy named Derrick in a bar in Lakeview while we were watching the Lakers play the Celtics. Derrick said he was rooting for the Lakers cause he hated the Celtics. Said they had too many white guys. Nothing against white guys – some of his best friends, and all that. But, it sickened him that so many white people loved the Celtics precisely cause they had so many white players so he felt obligated to despise them for the opposite reason.

I was following his logic until he took it one step too far. Said there was nothing special about Larry Bird, the greatest white player of all those whites on the Celtics. Said he knew at least twelve black guys playing on a playground somewhere on the west side who were as good or better than Bird.

I told him that there was no way that he knew twelve guys – black, white, green or gray — on the west side or anywhere else who was as good or better than Larry Bird. Cause Larry Bird – like him or not — was one of the greatest players in the NBA. So if those 12 guys were as good as Larry Bird they’d be playing in the NBA as opposed to, you know, a playground on the west side….

Well, we were going at it, as sports fans do, when who should walk into the bar? Larry Bird himself. Derrick did a 180. Started fawning all over him, saying: “Larry Bird, my man, let me buy you a beer….”

Okay, that last part didn’t really happen. But had Larry Bird really walked into that bar, Derrick would have done that 180 – I guarantee it.

The thing about sports fan is that they really don’t mean half the stuff they say. They’re just talking – cause that’s what you do when you’re watching sports. That and drinking.

I loved you Dennis, even when you played with these guys….

All these passions can switch in an instant. I know dozens of Bulls fans who hated Dennis Rodman to the core when he was a Piston. Then he gets traded to the Bulls and they love him to death.

So, you see, the good thing about this hating thing is that it’s not real. In fact, if LeBron were to wake up tomorrow and announce: My mistake. I don’t to play for the Heat. I want to play for the Bulls….

Well, let’s just say, I’d welcome him into the fold like this whole thing never happened.