Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

The Hawk, the HOF and Me

The WISCH LIST

Jan. 9, 2010

In 1987, I was short, the Cubs were awful and Andre Dawson was amazing.

That summer on the North Side of Chicago, the Lovable Losers were never more lovable as they dropped 85 games, canned sadsack manager Gene Michael and finished dead last in the National League East.

But, in spite of all that, the team still managed to leave me with one of the most enduring memories of my youth, which I vividly recalled once again this week when Dawson was finally named to the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame after eight frustrating swings and misses.

On July 7, 1987, my father and I, along with my Little League manager and his son – who was a teammate of mine – made the trek from Bourbonnais to the corner of Clark and Addison to watch the Cubs take on the San Diego Padres in a matinee at the Friendly Confines.

I don’t believe the four of us were expecting much, since the Cubs had already been stinking up the joint for months. And the fact that star middle infielders Shawon Dunston and Ryne Sandberg were out with injuries and being replaced by the, ahem, immortal double-play tandem of Mike Brumley and Paul Noce didn’t particularly buoy our hopes for win.

But, whatever, I was 11. It was still Wrigley Field. It was still the Cubs. And Dawson, the dashing right fielder that the Tribune Company had signed for a song off the free-agent market the previous winter, was still in the lineup.

And he was hot.

That season, the “Hawk” would go on to bash 49 home runs, drive in 137 runs and so lap the offensive field in the National League that he managed, quite remarkably, to haul in MVP honors on a truly crummy team.

Unlike the Cubs themselves, Dawson had a lot of good days during the summer of ’87.

This, however, was not one of them.

For the Tuesday afternoon tilt, an erratic right-hander named Eric Show took the mound for the Padres against some Cubs rookie by the name of Greg Maddux. And by the third inning, the Cubs had already belted three home runs off Show – including a solo shot by Dawson – when the Hawk strolled back up to the plate.

With Dawson having hit homers in three of his last five at-bats, the volatile Show – who would pass away less than seven years later from a drug overdose – proceeded to fire a fastball directly at his head. It struck the Cubs slugger flush on the left cheek and sent Dawson down in a heap at home plate, sucking the collective breath out of Wrigley.

The next thing you knew, Cubs pitcher Rick Sutcliffe was barreling out of the dugout – his eyes as red as his beard – on a beeline for Show. A bench-clearing brouhaha was on. And in a surreal scene, players exchanged blows and shoves in the infield while Dawson lay prone at the plate.

Adding to the madness of the situation was that it was “Seat Cushion Day” at Wrigley. And not surprisingly once the brawl broke out, hundreds of the white cushions distributed among the Bleacher Bums were sent flipping and flying like Frisbees across the outfield grass.

Moments later, the crowd became only more vociferous when Dawson – now surrounded by teammates and trainers after the infield brawl had subsided – suddenly leapt to his feet and charged like a madman towards the Padres dugout, searching for Show.

Lucky for the San Diego headhunter, Show was a no-show on the field as he had already slipped into the safety of the clubhouse. Eventually tamed by his teammates, Dawson was finally escorted to the hospital where he required several stitches in his face, thus sewing the day into my permanent memory bank.

Now, that ballgame, of course, wasn’t the reason why I became such a big Andre Dawson fan during the six seasons that he spent patrolling right field for the Cubs.

No, his Tru-Link Fence commercial was.

I’m kidding.

(Well, sort of.)

Really, though, what I admired about Dawson was the way he carried himself off the field and the way he willed himself on it, fighting through a dozen knee surgeries to earn eight Gold Gloves and become only the third player in history to record 400 home runs and 300 steals.

Such is my admiration for the Hawk that on Wednesday, shortly learning he had been inducted into the Hall of Fame, I booked a hotel room so I can join Andre’s Army at his induction ceremony on July 25.

It’s been more than 20 years since I’ve been to Cooperstown and more than 20 years since that crazy afternoon at Wrigley in 1987.

But, come this summer, I get to be 11 years old all over again. I can’t wait.

Maybe I’ll even bring a seat cushion.

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

Wisch Lists are for New Year’s

The WISCH LIST

Jan. 2, 2010

Wish Lists are for Christmas. But Wisch Lists? Well, they’re for New Year’s.

And with 2010 now upon us – I hope you had fun ringing it in, by the way — I’m sharing mine with you as we embark on this brand new year.

And brand new decade.

Speaking of which, never mind those who say that since there was no Year Zero (we know, we know …) the new decade doesn’t actually begin until 2011.

Trust me, it begins now.

And so begins my Wisch List for 2010 …

I Wisch that at some point we had managed to come up with an appropriate name for the past decade. After all, we had 10 years.

I Wisch, though, that I knew what that name should have been. “The ’Aughts,” for example, might have worked just fine for folks back in Nineteen-aught-eight. Not so much for us today.

I Wisch there were 28 hours in a day. I could get so much more accomplished – and so much more sleep – if noon was at 14 o’clock, rather than at 12.

I Wisch Michael Jordan still played basketball on Christmas Day.

I Wisch the Blue-Gray Football Classic was still held on Christmas Day.

And I Wisch I’d stop griping about sports on Christmas Day.

I Wisch that “Avatar” had been about 45 minutes shorter. Maybe 60. And I really Wisch that the precious mineral in the visually-dazzling, dialogue-challenged flick hadn’t been called Unobtainium. (C’mon, James Cameron, seriously?)

I Wisch that Ron Zook could serve as the University of Florida’s interim head coach during Urban Meyer’s leave of absence … rather than serving as the University of Illinois’ interim head coach instead.

I Wisch I was more interested in hockey. Because, right now for Chicago, the Blackhawks are the only game in town.

I Wisch the Bears would have played all season like they did on Monday night vs. the Vikings. Then there would be another game in town. For another week, at least.

I Wisch that every time Jay Cutler throws an interception, he throws four touchdowns as well.

I Wisch I could explain how it’s come to pass that, for 2010, I know a contestant on “The Bachelor” (Caitlyn from Chicago), a contestant on “Celebrity Apprentice” (Maria Kanellis of the WWE, originally from Ottawa, Ill.) and someone who might end up as a contestant on “The Bachelorette.”

I Wisch I could befriend someone from “Jersey Shore.” Then I’d pretty much have the entire Reality TV spectrum covered for 2010.

I Wisch you’d realize I’m kidding about that.

I Wisch the Ricketts family would just leave the Cubs’ spring training location in Arizona well enough alone.

I Wisch I was in Arizona.

I Wisch we had the Chicago Olympics to look forward to in 2016 instead of merely the 108th anniversary of the Chicago Cubs’ championship drought.

I Wish it hadn’t taken the Cubs until New Year’s Eve to realize that their hot stove wasn’t even turned on.

I Wisch I knew what conspiracy theory Milton Bradley will brew up with his coffee in Seattle.

I Wisch airline travel felt as safe today as it did at 10 years ago.

I Wisch I thought that it was every going to feel that way again.

I Wisch Chief Illiniwek still performed in Champaign. Halftimes simply are not the same without him. In fact, they’re downright boring.

I Wisch Illinois basketball could win on a neutral court. (Perhaps today against Gonzaga?)

I Wisch I wasn’t at the point where all I wanted for Christmas was a new vacuum cleaner and a microwave. It was more exciting when I wanted, say, a Nintendo and Transformers.

I Wisch for my new car to experience a better winter this year than my old car did during last, when Chicago-area potholes devoured two of its tires.

I Wisch Mayor Daley read that one. And cared.

I Wisch that what I know now I knew when we started the last decade. And I also Wisch I knew what we’re going to call this new decade. The teens, after all, don’t even begin for three years, so how can we call it that? This whole new century stuff is just too confusing.

I Wisch it was 2020 so things can just be simple again.

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

The City of Cold Shoulders’ winter tales

The WISCH LIST

Dec. 26, 2009

I spent last weekend in Atlanta, where the weather was about as warm as, well, Chicago (the natives were restless). Although, it was nowhere near as bad as in Washington, D.C., where the city’s record-setting snowstorm wreaked havoc on holiday travel.

And travelers.

While at Atlanta’s Hartsfield International late Sunday, a man told me how a woman he flew with earlier in the day was informed by the airline that they had to postpone her flight to D.C.

Until Christmas.

This was on Dec. 20.

I have no idea if that poor lady ever reached her destination – a dog sled sounded like a better option – but, regardless, I’m guessing she doesn’t want to hear Bing Crosby belt out “White Christmas” any time soon.

In honor of, this, the first full week of winter, I thought I’d share with you a few of the wintertime “war” stories that Chicagoans have written me about during my time in the city.

So, sit back, grab some hot chocolate and enjoy three frosty tales straight from the City of Cold Shoulders …

A Wind Most Wicked

“I worked at the IBM Building (330 N. Wabash) in the 1970s,” writes Chicagoan S.C. Argento. “When the weather got bad, the building would put up ‘life ropes’ at each corner of the building. This was to help anyone who walked over the Chicago River Bridge, as they could grasp a line and ‘pull’ themselves in.

“Known as the windiest place in Chicago, it became even windier when the river froze and the wind, falling off buildings, would come down the river and accelerate. There was also a `lifeguard’ posted at the southern corner of the building whose job was to rescue anyone that could not pull themselves into the building. I saw an elderly lady blown down, and she was carrying along until the lifeguard got her and dragged her in.

“You calculate the wind chill of a negative-10-degree day with 65 mph winds, and that’s cold. This was the day I decided to pursue opportunities away from One IBM Plaza.”

The Joys of Transit

“One bitterly cold winter day about 10 years ago, I waited in vain for my bus,” Chicagoan Irma F. Gibbons writes. “Since it was only about a half mile to the train, I started walking. I stepped off a curb right through some ice into a very cold puddle of water, which soaked through my boot. I continued my squishy trek to the Blue Line. At our first stop, the sliding doors on the train car became stuck open.

“The conductor had to stand by them, so none of us would fall out. And he assigned a passenger to look out the little window and let the engineer know when the platform was clear of passengers. The car was crowded and cold, but everybody seemed to take it with good humor. My foot was even more frozen than when I first got it wet due to the wind from the open door blowing on it.

“I finally arrived at my destination and caught my last bus. Upon debarking, I slipped on the wet steps and slid down them into a large snowbank! Of course, I was late to work and I referred to this adventure as my ‘Ride From Hell.’ ”

School Daze

“I remember the winter of 1981-82,” writes Chicagoan Gabriel Garcia. “It was bitterly cold, especially the month of January. Everyone was having problems starting their cars, and the CTA was really having problems keeping the bus lines in operation. In fact, Mayor (Jane) Byrne had ordered that the buses be kept fueled with engines running all weekend to avoid not having them start for the Monday morning rush.

“I was a freshman at St. Rita High School, and the announcement came over the radio that all Chicago Public Schools were closed due to the weather. It was announced that most area Catholic grade and high schools were recommended to be closed. Needless to say, I was shocked when it was stated on the radio, and confirmed by the school, that St. Rita High was open for a regular schedule.

“Mom insisted that, if the school was open, I must attend classes. After some arguing, I bundled up and walked out the door to the bus stop. Normally, I would have had to take two separate buses to get to school, but the first bus was more than 30 minutes behind its usual time, so I decided to walk to the next bus line more than a mile away.

“I waited at the bus stop for another 45 minutes with the air temperature hovering around 18 below. I was miserable and angry that I had to be outside in that weather while my siblings were home because their grade school was closed. I finally made it to school around an hour and a half late. I was given a detention for arriving late to school. We didn’t learn anything new due to the fact that around 90 percent of the student body and 60 percent of the faculty staff were absent.

“I moved out of my parents’ home at age 18.”

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

Order your holidays Chicago-style

The WISCH LIST

Dec. 19, 2009

I’m not sure if we should send a gift card to Father Time, St. Nick or Baby New Year, but with the way the calendar falls this month, there’s more reason than usual to cheer the holidays.

Christmas and New Year’s conveniently fall on Fridays, setting up a pair of long weekends just perfect for taking a daytrip and making merry in Chicago.

Here are a few of my suggestions on ways to enjoy the holidays, Windy City-style. And, as an early gift, you don’t even have to wait until next week to start:

Skate ‘The Rink at Wrigley’

If it hadn’t already been frozen by the minus-three-degree wind chill, the irony would have been dripping right off the sign posted outside “The Rink at Wrigley” on Tuesday night.

“Due to the recent warm weather,” the placard read, “the ice rink opening has been postponed until Friday, December 19th. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

Better than apologizing for frost-bitten ears, I suppose.

Wrigleyville’s newest attraction – originally scheduled to open Tuesday – is a full-size skating rink located in the parking outside the ballpark along Clark Street. Inspired by the popularity of the Blackhawks’ Winter Classic game last January, the rink would be even better if it was located inside Wrigley.

Nevertheless, it’s a fun new attraction and the rink’s grand opening is at 11 a.m. Sunday. Through February, the rink will be open Sunday through Thursday until 10 p.m., and on Fridays and Saturdays until 11 p.m. Regular admission is $10 per adult and $6 per child. Skate rentals cost extra.

The Cubs were looking to Milton Bradley’s contract somehow, you know.

Have a Tom & Jerry at Miller’s Pub

Since 1935, Miller’s Pub (134 S. Wabash Ave.) has been an institution in Chicago’s Loop. Frequented by tourists, city folk and celebrities, the restaurant is best known for its BBQ Canadian baby back ribs but, during December, it’s also known for its signature holiday drink: The Tom & Jerry.

A mix of rum, brandy, egg whites, sugar and vanilla served in a coffee mug with a stick of cinnamon, the Tom & Jerry is a unique concoction. I can’t guarantee that it will become your favorite Yuletide drink, but it’s worth a try.

After all, eggnog gets old after a while, right?

Visit Macy’s on State Street

It was better when it was still Marshall Field’s, but a stroll past the animated holiday windows outside Macy’s (111 N. State St.) remains a State Street tradition.

Your kids will love it and they’ll also enjoy getting a photo taken with Santa Claus in Macy’s SantaLand, where the jolly old elf has greeted both the Windy City’s naughty and the nice every winter since 1948.

While at Macy’s, also make time to visit the Walnut Room, where you can dine beside – or simply ogle at – the Great Tree, which stands 45 feet tall and boasts 10,000 sparkling lights and 1,200 ornaments.

Sing Along at the Music Box

On most nights, the historic Music Box Theatre (3733 N. Southport Ave.) on Chicago’s North Side has independent and foreign films flickering on its enormous main screen.

But, for the past 26 years, the theater – which opened in 1929 – has spent five days in December showing a pair of vintage holiday movies an having Santa Claus, himself, lead the audience in Christmas caroling during the intermission.

This year, the Music Box Christmas Show – which runs nightly through Christmas Eve – features “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “White Christmas.” Tickets are $11 for a single feature and $16 for the double feature. For more information, visit www.musicboxtheatre.com.

On a side note, the Music Box is located just a few blocks west of The Rink at Wrigley, meaning you could visit both for a double feature of a different sort.

Ring in 2010 early at Navy Pier

You can go anywhere and celebrate New Year’s when the clock strikes midnight. But, on Dec. 31, only at Navy Pier can you can ring in 2010 at … 8:15 p.m.?

For those kids (and parents?) who perhaps can’t stay awake until midnight, Navy Pier’s Winter WonderFest offers a chance to play, dance and celebrate with interactive shows leading up to a New Year’s countdown held at 8:15.

For those night owls, Navy Pier also puts on a fireworks and music show at midnight to welcome 2010 in style.

Catch some hoops at the UC

The Chicago Bulls might stink, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any good basketball at the United Center this holiday season.

At noon on Saturday, Jan. 2, the University of Illinois takes on nationally-ranked Gonzaga in what should be an entertaining tilt at the House That Michael Jordan Built. You can visit www.ticketmaster.com for more information and if you do attend the game, you should keep an eye out for me.

I’ll be the guy dressed in orange.

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

The Pros and Conference of Notre Dame

The WISCH LIST

Dec. 12, 2009

I’m not Catholic, but I do have a confession to make.

Once upon a time (in a galaxy far, far away), I counted myself among this country’s legions of die-hard Notre Dame football fans.

This was back during high school in the early 1990s before I enrolled at the University of Illinois and purified myself as an orange-and-blueblood. Back when Notre Dame still competed for national championships instead of merely giving Navy competition. And back when Notre Dame actually won bowl games (like last season) rather than lose them (nine straight times from 1994 to 2006).

Or simply turn them down.

Back when Notre Dame was still, you know, Notre Dame.

It isn’t these days, if you haven’t noticed.

(But, I’m guessing you’ve noticed.)

This week, Notre Dame hired Cincinnati’s Brian Kelly as its new football coach, replacing the beleaguered Charlie Weis, who replaced the beleaguered Tyrone Willingham, who replaced the beleaguered Bob Davie. In an all-too-forgettable 13-season stretch, that trio combined for a record of 91-67, which might be just peachy if you’re Gerry Faust.

At Akron.

But, for Notre Dame, such run-of-the-mill records don’t do much for waking up the echoes, which seem awfully drowsy these days. So, for the Fighting Irish – who haven’t won a national title since 1988 and haven’t even competed for one since ’93 – it’s on to the next (hopefully) great coach.

However, the thing is, the name of the new coach attached to Notre Dame isn’t nearly as relevant as the name that’s not.

Namely, that would be: “Big Ten Conference member.”

In the face of all modern reason – except, of course, the almighty NBC TV dollars – Notre Dame football continues to retain its haughty independence from any conference. And it’s flat-out folly.

Just this week, during an interview with the New York Times, Notre Dame athletic director Jack Swarbrick insisted that it remains a “priority” in South Bend to retain the university’s long-held independence. It’s a status that Notre Dame currently shares with only Army and Navy, which is great if the Fighting Irish want to start defending the country.

Although that would require them to first learn how to play defense.

“It’s not about wanting to stand alone,” Swarbrick explained. “It’s about who we are and the history of the place. So maintaining that is very important.”

To which I’d argue that history also says that Notre Dame is a champion. But history isn’t always right. And viewing things from a modern-day prism, rather than one that’s fogged with Knute and nostalgia, I’m of the belief that Notre Dame never again will run with college football’s thoroughbreds until it gets off its high horse.

And joins the Big Ten.

In 1999, Notre Dame came the closest it ever has to adopting conference affiliation, before ultimately snubbing the Big Ten. At that time, then-Notre Dame president Rev. Edward Malloy explained the rationale behind the decision by saying,

“Just as the Universities of Michigan or Wisconsin or Illinois have core identities as the flagship institutions of their states, so Notre Dame has a core identity. And at that core are these characteristics – Catholic, private, independent.”

As a Christian, a former Dean’s List member and a college football fan myself, I sincerely admire Notre Dame’s lofty religious, academic and pigskin ideals. But, I’m also a realist. And the fact is, Notre Dame cannot maintain its academic standards, be a Top 5 football program and remain an independent.

It might be able to do two of those things, but it cannot do all three. And for the Irish, academic and football excellence should trump independence (besides, there’s plenty of TV money to be made within a conference).

As Sports Illustrated senior writer Frank Deford noted this week, “the problem with Notre Dame is that for such a fine academic institution, it’s amazing that it hasn’t wised up to how much the football landscape has changed.

“It’s been decades since Notre Dame became America’s only national college team, back in the day when professional football was not popular and few Americans went to college.”

Yet, the Irish still continue to view themselves that way. And while Notre Dame games may indeed be everywhere thanks to its NBC contract (which currently runs through 2015), unless the Irish are competing for a national championship, without a conference, those games simply don’t mean as much as other schools’.

“So long as [Notre Dame] remains the only independent of any consequence, the current team’s only real rival is the past,” Deford astutely observed. “And it can’t possibly win against that glorious past. No matter who the coach is.”

Since the formation of Division I-A in 1978, 57 schools with football have held independent status at one time or another although three of them – Cal-State Fullerton, Cal-State Long Beach and Wichita State – eventually dropped the sport altogether.

If Notre Dame isn’t careful, people are going to start saying that the Irish have done the same.

The game has changed, Notre Dame. It’s time to start playing it.

In a conference.

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

A Movember to Remember

The WISCH LIST

Dec. 5, 2009

Last year for Halloween, a trio of co-workers and I dressed up as Bill Swerski’s Superfans from the old Saturday Night Live skit (you know, “Da Bears, Da Bulls, Polish sassidge …”) and won “Best Costumes” at our company party.

To transform ourselves into disciples of Ditka, we donned Chicago Bears regalia, sunglasses and, of course, fake mustaches. Although, for the past five weeks this year I haven’t needed a fake anything to look like Da Coach.

My own mustache has worked just fine.

For myself and scores of other newly mustachioed men throughout Chicago, it’s been a Movember to Remember.

All because our razors have been forgotten.

You might recall that on Nov. 7 I let you know through this column that myself and 15 teammates had decided to take part in Movember, a six-year-old charity event where men begin November clean-shaven, but then make like Magnum, P.I., and spend a month growing a mustache to raise funds and awareness for men’s health, specifically prostate and testicular cancers.

The idea for Movember was sparked in 2003 when a group of friends in Melbourne, Australia, decided to grow Mo’s (Australian slang for mustache) and then use their new looks to raise donations and help stereotypically reticent men start talking about prostate caner, which affects 1 in 6 males during their lifetimes.

To date, the Movember Foundation – which launched its movement in the U.S. in 2007 – has raised more than $47 million globally, making it the world’s largest charity event for men. This year, for the first time, Movember donations are split between the Prostate Cancer Foundation and the Lance Armstrong Foundation, whose namesake famously battled testicular cancer, the most commonly diagnosed cancer for 18- to 35-year-olds.

For such a worthy cause, I was happy to put my own whiskers to work. But before growing out my first “Mo,” I first sought out the wisdom of two friends who have had mustaches for nearly as long as I’ve been alive (33 years).

One was my co-worker and Movember teammate Randy, who grew out his mustache in August 1976 to start his freshman year of college at the University of Illinois.

“Everyone was growing mustaches then,” Randy explained. “You were out of the house and it was a rite of passage. But, unlike a beard, you figured you could go home for Thanksgiving with a mustache and your Mom would still do your laundry.”

Since ’76, Randy had never shaved off his mustache – until the start of Movmber. His wife had never even seen him without one. Although, if you ask Randy, why would she had ever wanted to?

“Women, a lotta women,” Randy said with a smirk when I asked about the biggest perk of having a mustache. “They just flock to you.”

I next touched base with my friend Dan, who’s had his mustache in some form for nearly three decades and told me, “I first grew a mustache almost as soon as I could — when I was 16. I grew it to show I could grow one, that I was no longer a kid, but a ‘man.’ And I also believed a mustache looked good on most men, forming a triangle with the eyebrows. Symmetry, you know.

“A third reason for growing it was, around that time, PBS ran shows done by early TV pioneer Ernie Kovacs. I believed Kovacs – who had a ‘Magic Marker’ mustache – looked sharp, so I emulated him.”

I’m not sure who I emulated with my mustache this month. But most people have said I look like a cop.

Officer Wisch, at your service.

With all the chuckles it’s induced, Movember is, without a doubt, about charity, not vanity. And while our Movember team lost a few men along the way, the Merry Band of Mustache-Makers who did survive the entire month had generated nearly $2,500 in donations heading into Chicago’s official Movember Gala Party on Friday night.

That event capped off Movember, but it doesn’t mean you can’t still contribute to the cause. To do so, simply visit www.movember.com, search for “Dave Wischnowsky” and make a donation.

I know, for certain, that my friend Jeremy Januski, of Aroma Park, would appreciate it.

Last Saturday, while back home for Thanksgiving, I met with him to discuss how five years ago he was rushed to the ER with lower abdominal pain so severe that he could barely move. At just the age of 19, Januski was diagnosed with non-semanomus testicular cancer, which required surgery, followed by several weeks of chemotherapy. Now 24 and cancer-free, Januski urged men to conduct self-checks for testicular cancer.

“It’s one of the most curable cancers, if it’s caught early enough,” Januski said. “Guys just don’t think to check, but they should.”

A supporter of Movember movement, I asked Januski if he might grow out his own Mo next fall.

“I think my girlfriend would be a little upset with me,” he said with a laugh.

Bah. Who doesn’t love a man with a mustache? And now that Movember is over, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.

Anyone up for growing a Decembeard?

Really, what's more Chicago than a mustache?

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

Return to reality? It’s harsh for Cutler, Bears

The WISCH LIST

Nov. 28, 2009

As I sat on my couch last Sunday night watching Donovan McNabb whisper sweet nothings in Jay Cutler’s nationally televised ear, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the Bears could find a way to trade their quarterback to North Korea.

Because, right now, Cutler could overthrow a dictator.

Yes, that was Chicago’s would-be football Messiah tossing unintentional Hail Mary’s over his receivers’ heads time and time (and time) again as the Bears forsook a trinity of touchdowns en route to a 24-20 loss to Philadelphia that effectively ended their season. (Don’t count on a resurrection.)

As it turns out, remarkably enough, Jay Cutler doesn’t walk on water.

But he can make you whine.

Regular Wisch List readers may recall that back in September after Cutler tossed a quartet of interceptions in the Bears’ season-opening loss to Green Bay, I issued a quarterback caveat through this column.

“I’m sorry, but Jay Cutler isn’t the Sistine Chapel,” I wrote on Sept. 19 after the QB was compared to Michelangelo’s masterpiece. “Nor is he Michael Jordan in shoulder pads. Certainly not yet, at least. And no matter how much Chicago has seemed to want him to be.”

At that time, the Windy City was having its first doubts about Cutler’s competency following a summer-long love fest that had reached preposterous proportions. So, I called for tempered expectations while stating that I did still believe Cutler to be a talented quarterback, that trading for him was a good move and that he could potentially lead the Bears to Super Bowl glory.

Regarding those three topics today, though, I’d now have to say, “I guess he is,” “I suppose it was” and “Yeah, not any time soon.”

I wasn’t trying to tear Cutler down at that time, but rather urging fans to hold off on so quickly building the guy up. Because, as I wrote, before deciding on exactly what Jay Cutler is, we need to first let him show us.

And so far, with his league-high 18 interceptions, what Cutler has shown is that he’s a work in progress (or, perhaps, regress).

And not a superstar.

Not now. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

To be honest, at this point, I don’t really know what Jay Cutler is. I’m not sure that anyone does, and I think that includes even Cutler himself.

What we do know for certain about the Bears’ mop-top QB is that he racked up huge numbers with the Denver Broncos, has a cannon for an arm and hasn’t won a postseason game since 2001, when he led Heritage Hills High School to the Indiana Class 3A state championship.

In fact, since his senior year of high school, Cutler hasn’t even played in a postseason game. Not in the NFL, and not in college at Vanderbilt.

Because of this lack of playoff success (or appearances) and his often-dour demeanor both on and off the field, I’m not at all convinced that Cutler is a leader. And I’m concerned as to whether his confidence can survive this season in Chicago, where signal-callers seem to enter as quarterbacks and leave worth a plugged nickel.

Regardless of all that, though, Cutler isn’t going anywhere. He’s Chicago’s property through 2013, so the Bears had better figure out how to best use him.

And with a shaky defense, a receiving corps that often can’t seem to catch H1N1 and an offensive line that’s become, well, downright offensive, the Bears have a lot of work to during the coming offseason.

This week, the Bears’ management situation has been picked apart like a Thanksgiving turkey, and you can certainly argue that both Lovie Smith and general manager Jerry Angelo should get their walking papers (I’d probably agree). That’s unlikely to happen, though, and it’s much more probable that offensive coordinator Ron Turner will be replaced instead. To which I say, it’s time.

For Illini and Bears fans (such as myself), Turner – who worked with the Bears, coached the University of Illinois and then returned to the Bears – has been in our lives for 17 seasons.

That’s three more seasons than even Michael Jordan played here. Think about that.

During Turner’s tenures, the Bears and Illini combined have gone a pedestrian 111-119 with about 111,119 frustrating play calls. I’m sorry, Ron, but the relationship has run its course (if not its routes) and, at the very least, the Bears need to bring in someone new in to teach Cutler how to, in baseball parlance, become a “pitcher” and not a “thrower.”

Besides, the Bears reportedly will have a big-name offensive coordinator option available to them quite soon. His name?

Charlie Weis.

Heaven help us.

Today’s Wisch List column from the Kankakee Daily Journal …

Where Chicago sings the Blues

The WISCH LIST

Nov. 21, 2009

When it comes to the Blues, there are legends. And there are myths.

And, then, there’s Robert Johnson.

As the story about the famed Mississippi Bluesman goes, one night during the late 1920s, Johnson – the man who would go on to record “Sweet Home Chicago” in 1936 – met the Devil at the lonely intersection of U.S. 61 and U.S. 49 in the heart of the Delta to sell his soul.

In exchange for Johnson’s eternal fate, the Devil tuned the youth’s guitar, played a few songs and then returned it, thus giving Johnson the ability to play the Blues like no other man.

Dead or alive.

Today, only two photographs of Johnson are known to exist. But at Kingston Mines, the quintessential Chicago Blues club tucked along “Blues Alley” on North Halsted Street, a framed pencil-sketch portrait of the musician hangs on the wall.

“Born 5/8/11,” reads the hand-written message scrawled beneath a drawing that shows Johnson clad in a Fedora. “Died 8/16/38 … at the hands of a jealous husband.”

Johnson’s untimely death – allegedly caused by taking a swig from a Strychnine-laced bottle of whiskey – took place 30 years before Kingston Mines even opened. But had Johnson been able to perform there, he surely would have felt right at (sweet) home.

And had a devil of a time.

Chicago, of course, is known as the “Home of the Blues.” And if that home has a playroom, it’s inside Kingston Mines.

In 1968, the original Kingston Mines was established on Lincoln Avenue as a coffee house, but soon was converted into “Chicago’s Blues Center” and became known as the hotspot for hearing traditional Chicago Blues on the city’s North Side.

Twelve years later, Kingston Mines moved to its present location at 2548 North Halsted, where today it bills itself as Chicago’s oldest and largest real Blues club and serves as a popular haunt for both city-dwellers and tourists alike.

“It’s just an international sort of destination,” Chris Dischner, of Roselle, said late last Sunday with a guitar case strapped to his back following a jam session. “Unlike maybe some other places, Kingston Mines is authentic.”

David Graziano, the author of the 2003 book “Blue Chicago: The Search for Authenticity in Urban Blues Clubs,” may take issue, having been quoted as saying, “Nowadays a lot of Chicago blues clubs feel like Hollywood movie sets. On the surface they feel ramshackle and rusty – the barstools are worn out, the plaster is falling off the walls, and the floor seems barely mopped …

“Like Hollywood’s best film noir, these clubs are in the business of producing middle-class fantasies of urban life, thrilling and dark. But in reality, most of these places feel more like Disneyland with booze.”

Whether its shabbiness is contrived, or not (and I’d argue that it doesn’t really matter), Kingston Mines, with its rollicking music and rich atmosphere, is undoubtedly a Chicago treasure.

And on Sunday, I paid the $12 cover to rediscover what the message just inside the club’s front door describes as a “Return with to the Southland of Yesteryear where the Blues was born.”

Inside Kingston Mines are two spacious rooms, featuring two stages, two bars and about 200 Jack Daniels whiskey signs. Above the main stage hangs a wooden sign with the misspelled reminder: “DANCING ALOUD,” while fliers hawking fried green tomatoes, fried okra and Seafood Gumbo Ya Ya food specials dot the hallways.

In both rooms, intricate murals cover the walls, displaying images of sprawling cotton fields, a riverboat floating down the Mississippi and streetscapes evoking New Orleans’ French Quarter.

Beyond the ambience, though, what Kingston Mines really is about, of course, is the music. And if it’s true that “the Blues ain’t nothing but a good man feeling bad,” then Kingston Mines’ performers are awfully good at feeling bad.
On Sunday night, Blues artist Charlie Love stood onstage, spilling stories of heartache backed up by his band’s guitar riffs and drumbeats, as well as his own harmonica.

“She left me for a man with a job,” Love sang, playing to the crowd. “She said Charlie Love is a no-good so-and-so. You know that ain’t true … Play the Blues, man.”

At times, Kingston Mines is as much comedy club as Blues club, which Bluesman Linsey Alexander displayed upon taking the main stage a few minutes after 11 p.m. and promptly apologizing to the crowd for his band’s tardiness.

“Sorry, we’re a little late,” Alexander said wearing a smirk and a cream-colored outfit. “But we had to go chase some women …

“And they’re still runnin’.”

Kind of like Kingston Mines itself, which you’ll find open until at least 4 a.m. every night.

Including Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Because the Blues takes no holidays.