Friday was an eventful day at Wrigley Field. First, Piniella admitted that he had smoked dope once and it hadn't "done a damn thing" for him. Speaking with the same reporters, Bradley lamented his solitude in the clubhouse. Then he flew out, threw his helmet and punched the Gatorade water cooler, prompting Piniella to bench him and stoking a heated exchange between the two in the clubhouse. Bradley left the field in street clothes, and — voila! — the Milton Bradley Meltdown of 2009 was off and running. Piniella's days of dope seemed, like, so 1960s.

But, you see, Bradley's not the one to blame here. It doesn't matter that he's a grown man making $30 million over the next three years just to play baseball, chase seagulls and, otherwise, keep his mouth shut. It's hard for him to do that when no one in the clubhouse will talk to him, so he has to lash out to get everyone's attention:

"This isn't me," Bradley told the Tribune before his confrontation with Piniella. "I've always excelled at playing baseball, and to come here and suck like I have, it's just not a good feeling. And there's really not one guy who I can sit and talk to. I've been on teams where I have guys I know, or somebody I can just vent to."

Derrek Lee has a locker next to Bradley and they speak frequently. So why not vent to Lee?

"We just don't have that bond," he replied. "'D-Lee' is cool. He's quiet. But things change. I had a good rapport with [fired hitting coach Gerald Perry]. I trusted Gerald and I could talk to him, and he's gone. I think I clicked with [ex-Cub outfielder Joey] Gathright, and he's gone. So you just kind of feel like you're on an island, and trying to stay afloat."

Bradley said the Cubs are a "good group of guys," but he hasn't formed any real relationships yet.

"The teammates, they're there and they say all the right things," he said. "But it's just [small talk]."

Lee said the Cubs players have no issues with Bradley.

"When we're in the clubhouse, everyone gets along with Milton," Lee said. "I don't think there's a guy in here who says he doesn't get along with Milton. Guys get frustrated. We see it all the time."

Carlos Zambrano was so concerned about Bradley he followed him into the clubhouse after the incident with Piniella to see if Bradley was OK. Zambrano declined to discuss Bradley, though Alfonso Soriano pulled no punches.

Ha! Wordplay!

Actually, the real culprit is Piniella himself. If only he visited California pharmacies more often, he would preside over a mellower clubhouse. The water cooler, at least, would be grateful.

Is Piniella's tough love the way to handle Bradley? [ChiTrib]
Bradley uncomfortable with fit on Cubs [ChiTrib]
Bradley's outburst ignites Mount Lou [ESPN]

Thanks to Awful Announcing for providing video of the worst rap in the history of car commercials (and that's a long list). I would have liked to have been in the room when the ad guys pitched this to Lou and Ozzie. I bet it sounded a lot more like the rap we're used to. Well, the vocabulary at least.

These Are Your Managers, Chicago Fans

Today, Luke Burbank, the host of "Too Beautiful To Live" on 710 KIRO in Seattle, tells the tale of his career-changing run-in with Lou Piniella and the 1996 Seattle Mariners.

I was a really nervous, still-pimply 20 year-old trying to pretend I was some kind of real sports reporter.

My internship at the college NPR station was enough to get me press access to the Mariners' locker room, but that non-laminated day pass with "NBR" written on it wasn't exactly blowing Lou Piniella's mind-grapes the way I'd thought it would. It was August 1996, and the M's were locked in a tight division race with The Rangers. They'd come home for a make-or-break nine game stand. Somehow, I'd conned my way into an assignment doing a story about the insane breakout year A-Rod was having. This was going to be easy, just get some quotes from Piniella, and Griffey and Buhner and A-Rod and be on my way. Why wouldn't they want to talk about his awesome season? Well, because theirs was about to go to complete shit, that's why.

During the home stand, the M's managed to go 1-8 and fall completely and utterly out of the race. Every day I would go to the locker room hoping that they would not be in a super-pissed mood, and every day it would get worse. Baseball players (more than any other athletes, in my opinion) are total fucking babies when they lose.

Finally the last game arrived. The clubhouse was like a morgue. I was determined to get that goddamn tape no matter what. Here is a minute by minute account of that night:

6:02 pm (Pregame): In the trainer's office I can see A-Rod getting a rubdown or something. This is great. The clubhouse is totally empty and I am going to get my quote as soon as he emerges. There's only one problem. For some reason, my peeking into that room infuriates Mike Jackson. He runs up to me and starts screaming at the top of his lungs, 'WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!!!?' 'THE MAN IS GETTING TREATMENT!!' "I'm I'm just trying to to get my my quote" I stammer (literally holding back tears). 'GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE AFTER THE GAME LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!!"

Never mind that MLB requires teams to open their locker rooms before games so that reporters can get quotes. Apparently Mike Jackson takes a dim view of this rule. One other problem, it wasn't even A-Rod in there. It was Rafael Carmona. His back was to me and they look like the same guy. I'm racist and I don't have a quote and Mike Jackson wants to rape me. Awesome.

7:15 (Game time): Terrified by my encounter with MJ, I figure I'll just lay low and hope to Jobu that they win. Then they'll have to be in a better mood. I leave a bucket of KFC in front of my Jobu shrine. It totally works. They win.

10:13 (Post Game): The Seattle Mariners are more pissed than ever. Pissed like Blazer fans in 1986 realizing Jordan was going to be Jordan just as Sam Bowie picks up another three in the key. I still don't know why this was. Probably residual anger from the previous eight games or something.

10:14: Ken Griffey Jr. is sitting, fully reclined, in a barca lounger in front of his locker. This is a bad spot for this huge-ass chair, because his locker is also right next to the only narrow hall out to the field. This means everyone trying to go play in the baseball game has to hug the wall to try to get around his chair. He is playing Nintendo on a flat screen TV (very, very fancy for 1996) and eating a chocolate bar. Five different times I try to ask him a few questions. Not only does he not respond, he is totally unaware that another human being is trying to talk to him. I am basically Bill Murray during the ghosty part of Scrooged. I finally give up.

10:16: Still terrified of a "Mike Jacksoning," I cower behind a huge empty couch. Apparently I also accidentally lean on it, because from across the room Chris Bosio starts hollering. "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!!" "GET OFF THAT COUCH!!" I stumble, dazed, towards a completely naked Jay Buhner.

10:18: During his time as a Mariner, Jay Buhner was known as quite the prankster. Of course, as me and my friend Bill often discussed the line between "prankster" and "total asshole who purposefully vomits into your work hat" is kind of a fuzzy one. So anyway, Buhner is completely completely naked. No towel. No undies. Nothing. And that's not even the creepy part. He agrees to talk to me (jackpot!) but during the entire interview he refuses to look at me. Instead, he goes to work on, and is completely fixated with, an ingrown hair literally ONE MICRON from his dong. If I want to interview Jay Buhner, I will also be interviewing his dong. That is just how he rolls. Desperate, I do the interview. It actually goes OK.

10:23: Wonder of Wonders! A-Rod is clean, showered, not Rafael Carmona, and walking out of the locker room by himself. I run out to talk to him. He is totally polite, and professional, and cardboard. But he's not yelling at me, or ignoring me, or naked, so I consider the interview a big success.

10:37: I'm just one interview away from having my story: Sweet Lou.

10:48 : All hyperbole aside, Lou Piniella is the most terrifying man ever in history ever. And he really needs to buy some new underwear. He's sitting in his office behind his desk. No shirt (what is this with the nakedness?), just some tattered tighty whities, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. The office is very small. The beat reporters (these dudes are plenty grizzled themselves and have interviewed him a thousand times) seem terrified of him. They stand with their backs up against the wall and nervously call him 'Skip.' He's like a tiger that you raised from when it was a little cub. You feel mostly certain he remembers that you two are cool, but on the other hand, he might bite your face off out of sheer boredom.

After everyone else has asked their questions, I finally summon the nerve to squeak mine out.

"Um Skip?" I say meekly. "Could you um, talk about the amazing season Alex is having?"

'Huh?' Piniella asks, his head cocked, perfectly angled for a face-biting.

"Um, could you talk about how well Alex Rodriguez has been playing this season?"

Piniella gets up slowly, and comes around from behind the desk. The rest of the reporters scramble to get out of his way. He's heading right for me. He gets up right next to me, I can see his balls through a hole in his underwear. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulls me in so close I can count each individual whisker, and says... "Not tonight kid, not tonight."

"Perfect," I think. "That's the final memory of my sportswriting career: Lou Piniella's balls."

I never went back there again.

Sure, Zambrano had looked great. But so had Brandon Webb, who's the real reason Arizona won. Zambrano is notoriously fragile in the brain, and giving up the winning run might have caused him more trouble than overextending his arm might have. Also, Carlos Marmol is awesome, though he wasn't last night. It just didn't work out that way.

Do you really want a guy like the Dustbag, who can only think one game (hell, one minute) at a time, or do you want someone who can see the big picture? Lou knows, that if our hitters start hitting, there WILL be a Game 4, and we are actually set up better for Game 4 than if he wrung Zambrano out for every last pitch he had. He also knows what he has with Marmol, and maybe when the chests get tight and men reach for their nutsacks, maybe instead of reflexively reaching for Marmol, he insteads opts for Wood or Howry.

We are a bit bewildered by the histrionics of Piniella's move. Of the three teams who lost yesterday, the Cubs would seem to be in the best shape. The Phillies are down 1-0 at home, and the Angels just looked bedazzled. The Cubs lost to the best pitcher in baseball. It happens. Now if they lose tonight, it's probably time to freak out. Not that Cubs fans would ever do that.

Gordon Wittemeyer Has Proven He Is A Witless Ninny [Goat Riders Of The Apocalypse]

Fortunately, some Cubs fans have their minds straight. Enter Fire Lou Piniella, a new Web site devoted to the notion that the Cubs should fire their brand-new manager before matters degrade even more. The site appears to be somewhat tongue-in-cheek for now, but just you wait: It's only a matter of time.

Seriously, it's the end of November: FIRE LOU!

Fire Lou Piniella ["Official" Site]

Sources familiar with the situation told ESPN.com that Piniella, who is extremely close to Rodriguez, expects the Cubs to aggressively pursue the 10-time All-Star. The 63-year-old manager and the 31-year-old Rodriguez have what amounts to a quasi-father/son relationship; Rodriguez was managed in Seattle by Piniella from 1994-2000. It is that relationship — and the tantalizing talent of Rodriguez — that has prompted Piniella to want to explore a trade with the Yankees.

We're less than convinced this will happen — unless the Cubs decide they've had enough of Carlos Zambrano's constant stream of Internet porn — but boy, do we love the idea of A-Rod hanging out in Wrigleyville. Think the guys at the fire station across the street will let him apply the lip liner? You know, if you put him and Bartman in the same locker room, the pipes would all burst, the toilet would back up, the shower would only spray cold water and all the laundry would come out pink. Perhaps Dennis Green could be the locker room office manager.

Piniella Wants To Acquire A-Rod [ESPN]

(By the way, Piniella does know what he's in for, right?)

Piniella said that expecting similar production (from A's shortstop Marco Scutaro, who hit well in the divisional series against Minnesosta) would be "like finding a wallet on a Friday night and looking for one on Sunday and Monday, too."

Four minutes later, they had moved to different subjects and Piniella said something in Spanish. "The bilingual Lou Piniella," Brennaman said.

Lyons said: "Lou's habla'ing some Espa ol there, and I'm still looking for my wallet. I don't understand him and I don't want to sit close to him now." The three laughed and continued calling the game.

After the clever "habla'ing some Espa ol" line, I'm not sure I even understand what Lyons is saying there. He doesn't want to sit next to Lou Piniella because he's speaking Spanish? Lou Piniella steals wallets because of his Hispanic heritage? I don't know what he's saying. I don't get the joke enough to even know how much of it's racist, and how much it's just Steve Lyons being a total doofus. Given his track record, though, I don't blame Fox for pulling the plug.

It was about a month ago that he made fun of a fan with low vision who was using a magnifying device to watch a game, and Lyons also got into some trouble for things he once said about Shawn Green's Jewish heritage. You can find that passage in the Sandomir article, too.

Fox Fires Lyons Over Racial Comments [New York Times]