EDITORIAL--My Lungs to Hendry: "Save Us!"

Well, it's finally happened. Jim Hendry's stupid confidence in Dusty Baker has caused me to do something drastic to end this nonsense. I'm going to start smoking in protest. That's right, Jim Hendry. From this day forth, each day that Dusty Baker is the manager of the Chicago Cubs, I am going to smoke a cigarette.

I'm not a smoker, Jim. I'm not going to enjoy it. My hair, clothes, and breath will stink, my teeth will stain, my food will taste bland, and my wife will probably hate me. But none of it can be as bad as watching your stinky, bland team on the field, and hating them.

An artist's rendition of the current condition of my lungs.

What Jim Hendry can prevent my lungs from becoming.

The Surgeon General has said smoking is bad for you, Jim. It may even kill me. But no more than your team is killing me right now.

So, Jim, do the right thing. If not for me, if not for the fans of the Cubs out there, for my pink and beautiful lungs. Save them, Jim, before they become black enough to play in a day game for your idiot manager.