If I write the one-millionth "Down with OBP" joke headline in blogging history, will balloons and confetti fall from my ceiling?

I've been living in some considerable dread that I will be challenged about an anomalous development in the pages of this Blogger®-brand web-based publication. That challenge -- which would come from an imaginary critic that I'll imagine with the voice of my old pal, Kirby the Beekeeper, who can issue a loud challenge, to be sure -- would consist of something like, "Hey, Colicky! Hey, Mr. White Sox fan! How come all's you write about on this blog anymore is the Cubs?"

Well, I'll tell you. First, check the name of the blog. If you're aiming to create some kind of semi-fictional (OK, quarter-fictional) Colicky Baby characterization for yourself, you can't beat the Chicago National League Ball Club for material. Plus, I live on the North Side (granted, in Uptown, which is sort of the North Side's least favorite body part, aside from maybe East Rogers Park -- although East Rogers at least has the advantage of being a couple miles farther away from Wrigleyville), and the constant turnover of doe-eyed (or is that wall-eyed?) Iowa and Michigan temporary transplants serving out their three-to-five-year post-collegiate "urban adventure" (heavy on the public drunkenness and urination) and wearing various faux-vintage machine-antiqued Cubs gear in all the liquor stores and taverns (my places, damn it -- I've earned title to them through 10 years of hard Uptown living) before spawning little replicants clad in spittle-stained Cubs onesies and then moving to godforsaken places like Schaumburg and Naperville after driving up rents in "The City" -- well, sorry for the run-on, but those transients are a constant source of inspiration -- colicky-wise.

Short version: It's too much fun to pick on the Cubs to resist doing so.

Second, the White Sox. Have you been watching them lately? If so, I'm sorry. In particular, I'm sorry for predicting, a few months ago, that Nick Swisher would "get on base a lot." Oops. Nick's OBP is currently a few points higher than the team's OBP, but the team's OBP is sadder than a Kazuo Ishiguro novel. Yes, the Sox are like an old English butler whose time has passed and who gave up the chance for true love to live out a dying ideal, when it comes to on-base percentage right now. Or something like that. Anyway, maybe I should go back and quietly edit that post by adding the phrase "in April." As in, "Nick Swisher will get on base a lot in April, before turning into a strikeout machine with grotesque facial hair."

Although predicting that Nick Swisher would "get on base a lot" might be less embarrassing than accidentally referring to him, as I've done about a dozen times in meat-space, as "Steve Swisher" ... but then that probably just means I'm getting old.

And I don't get much pleasure, personally, from making fun of the Sox at this time. I could slag Konerko, but why? I guess I actually did make fun of Juan Uribe the other day, but that's allowed.

Have the Cubs signed Jim "Hollywood" Edmonds yet? That should go at least as well as the Nomar signing.

See what I mean?