But not everyone is on the bend thankfully, and some players are even entering the season in the best shape of their lives.

This comes as welcome news, especially for teams who are used to playing with a 50/50 squad of "A-team" and "B-team" players, and especially comes as welcome news for a handful of teams who could contend this year, such as Oakland, Chicago (both sides of town), and perhaps even Atlanta.

Let's take a look at some of the players who are currently pictures of perfect health.

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But hey, what else is new, right?

Screaming at your computer monitor or Blackberry update will not alleviate your problems, nor will crazy-desperate trade considerations. What can help is utilizing the hot bats for this week in plug-and-play situations to open up the door for added opportunities.

Let’s take a look at three hot bats that have a huge ceiling for success in a plug-and-play role this week.

Seth Smith–OF–Colorado Rockies: Smith has been slowly and quietly turning it up, and we had a glimpse of what he’s capable of Sunday against the Marlins, when he chimed in for two hits, two home runs and four RBI. Smith isn’t exactly thought of as a viable option, even in a filler role, but that is due to a slow start. For the year, he is hitting .231/.286/.590 with four HRs, and 12 RBI.

One thing you should know is that Smith is home at hitter-friendly Coors field with a showdown with the Diamondbacks. But the pitching he will face isn’t exactly serving up the heat. Dan Haren (Monday), Edwin Jackson (Tuesday) and Kris Benson (Wednesday) are a combined 4-3 with a 4.00 ERA. Smith is due for a hot start to the week.

Kosuke Fukudome–OF Chicago Cubs: Fukudome has been hot as of late, including his manhandling of the Brewers on Sunday where he reached base five times and had a two-run home run. As of now, Fukudome is hitting .333/.400/.588 with three dingers, 11 RBI, 17 total hits, and a stolen base. He makes an excellent choice for NL-only leagues looking for a little pick-me-up. And for those of you in weekly leagues, he has a surprising 13 percent ownership in Yahoo leagues.

Ryan Sweeney–OF Oakland A’s: Ryan Who? Sweeney is currently enjoying a personal best, 19-game hitting streak for those of you who don’t know. But in addition to the explosive start to the season, Sweeney is also hitting .306/.381/.361 with 11 RBI and 22 TB. Even better, Sweeney has only struck out seven times and has walked 10. He has a 6 percent ownership in Yahoo leagues and is a great consideration for a temporary plug-in player with all the mounting injuries.

Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed this piece, you may want to check out why I believe Mark Reynolds’ hit streak will be in huge jeopardy all week long.

Read more Chicago Cubs news on BleacherReport.com

This time, things should be vastly different then the Bradley experiment.

In addition to the signing of Byrd, the Cubs also signed Byrd’s old hitting coach Rudy Jaramillo who is said to have a hand in convincing the club to grab Byrd before it’s too late.

Byrd was ecstatic at the opportunity of becoming a Cub saying quote:

“When I knew I had the opportunity to become a Cub, I was really hoping this would be my landing ground.”—Cubs.com

Byrd hit .283 with 20 HRs and 89 RBIs last year with the Rangers, and while this is a significant upgrade for the Cubs hitting, it also overloads the team with right handed hitters; something that was prevalent in 2007.

The Cubs dealt with a rash of injuries last year that really kept them from doing anything significant during the season, despite still finishing second in the division; something that speaks volumes of what could be if the Cubs can remain healthy.

The cubs will still have to figure out their bullpen situation and another quality setup man—particularly a lefty—would be most beneficial.

For now, though, the lack of off-season movement for the Cubs and their fans has been settled with one big swing, and a friendly “Byrd” landing.

Read more Chicago Cubs news on BleacherReport.com

He was better known as Andre Dawson.

For nine years—what has probably been an eternity for Dawson—the eight time Gold Glove Award winner has patiently waited for that one phone call that ever HOF nominee yearns to hear, and for nine long years, that call has perpetually remained silent.

Now, Dawson finds himself on the merry go round once again; hoping there are enough votes to finally put him where he belongs: inside the Hall of Fame.

Dawson began his career in Montreal (1976) where he rapidly rose to recognition. In 1977—where it all began—Dawson won the Rookie of the Year award, became an everyday outfielder for the Expos, and finished the year with .282 average, 19 homeruns, and 21 stolen bases.

In seven seasons, Andre Dawson afforded the Expos a player that hit at least 20 home runs every season, stole at least 20 bases every season, and Dawson became the only Expo to ever hit 200 homeruns and steal 200 bases; a club record that will forever be held by Dawson.

His undeniable defensive and offensive play garnered him 2nd in MVP voting in 1981 losing out to Mike Schmidt, and again placing second in 1983 losing out to Dale Murphy.

The time spent on the Montreal’s turf, however, began to take its toll on Dawson which forced his exodus out of Montreal in search of a new “field of dreams”.

That field would be Wrigley.

Dawson’s endeavor to play for one of the most storied franchises in MLB didn’t come easy though, as Dawson was met with resistance from then owner Dallas Green. Green had already had a player in right field (Brian Dayett) and was concerned with Dawson’s knee issues.

Later that spring, during spring training, Dawson presented a blank contract to Green as a last ditch effort to prove he was willing to do whatever to play for the Cubs. Green took advantage of the situation and gave Dawson an anemic $500,000 base salary, and laced in another $250,000 in incentives IF Dawson made the All-Star team, started the All-Star game, or won the National League MVP.

To Green’s surprise, Dawson accomplished all three, and so began his famed career as a Cub.

For anyone growing up in the late eighties to early nineties—especially Cubs fans—Andre Dawson was as synonymous with Cubs’ baseball as Harry Carey.

To me, as a kid, Dawson was the best player in baseball, and no one even came close. He was as fast as lighting, and was better at thieving bases than the Hamburgler was at pilfering hamburgers.

He was the unstoppable power bat in Chicago, and the only thing more intimidating than his swing was his larger than life appearance on the television every Saturday—although that probably had a lot to do with the screens back then—thank you JVC.

Andre Dawson was the Cubs.

For Cubs fans alike, Dawson was one of the most popular players in team history, and a mainstay in the community from 1987 until 1992, when he left for Boston.

His time spent with Chicago, however, was one for the ages as Dawson boasted a .285 average, 174 homeruns, 587 RBIs, and 57 stolen bases—all natural, bad knees and all.

In 1996 Dawson retired as a Florid Marlin after serving one year for the Red Sox, and in 2003 Dawson finally received a World Series ring as a member of the front office.

To add to Dawson’s lofty accomplishments, he is one of six players to hit 300 homeruns and steal 300 bases in a career (the 300-300 club), AND he is one of only three players to hit 400 homeruns and steal 300 bases in a career; an achievement only shared with Barry Bonds and Willie Mays.

After 21 years of above average service to MLB, eight All-Stars, eight Golden Gloves, Rookie of the Year, and an MVP award—not to mention another nine years of patiently waiting—the reason for Dawson not receiving enough votes to get into the Hall of Fame is inexplicable to say the least.

This January, though, will present itself with another round of shear hope as Dawson—as well as millions of Dawson fans— will once again patiently anticipate the announcement that whispers “inductment”.

An announcement that is long overdue.

Read more Chicago Cubs news on BleacherReport.com

The anthem had finished, and for a split second everything went quiet in the stands—everything went numb in my body.

I was shocked at the moment of silence because I am sure it wasn’t the first time the vast majority of those fans were at a game, but that small immeasurable act of silence is a grand example of that little kid inside each and every one of us; standing out in left field waiting for the neighbor kid to stop striking out and hit the stupid ball.

The game was always new no matter how old I thought, incredible.

The commencement of the first inning had begun, and first to the plate was the same man I had sat directly behind; the same player who I SWORE looked back into the sea of red and afforded me a quick nod as if to say: “ I see you in there, thanks for being a fan my man.”

Well, there’s nothing wrong with being an idealist is there?

There’s no way the Phillies could win tonight I thought. How could they? We had Carlos Zambrano on the mound for crying out loud; the man in two games was sporting a 1.32 ERA with 12 SO and only 1 HR, far better than that other guy on that other team.

How soon we forget the cruelty of the game.

I looked around and seared at each red shirt that caught my discerning eye. I defied the ‘smack’ my friends were trying to serve and deflected any attempted burns with comments like: “Who’s in third place right now?” and “Brett Myers, isn’t his ERA somewhere in the vicinity of washed up and underachiever?”

My counters worked, but only for a short while.

The first pitch to Soriano—Alfonso had a penchant for hitting dingers to left field and I thought that perhaps I would get even luckier and catch one.

I heard a crack, a soaring high fly ball to left field and it hooks towards center and into the glove of Victorino for out number one, and for Soriano a near miss for the game’s first score.

Oh well.

Next at bat is none other than Kosuke Fukudome who had a hot start to that year, he takes the 1-1 pitch, and that’s a popup to second for out number two and just like that the Cubs are in a two-out hole for Derrick Lee.

Lee steps in and takes a long and patient at bat before swinging at a 2-2 pitch that SCREAMS IT’S WAY TOWARDS LEFT FIELD, IT’S GOING, HERE IT COMES AND IT’S GONE!

A solo homerun and the Cubs take a 1-0 lead.

The crowd DOESN’T GO WILD, but I certainly do!

Who knew that Ramirez would add to the excitement slamming a 1-1 pitch deep into left that hooked to center for run number two and just like that, my Cubs were on top two to zip!

Daryle Ward would ground out next to end the inning, but the damage had been done and my hopes were higher than the two balls that sailed over my head, and for the next two innings the two teams would slug it out in a stalemate.

It all changed in the fourth.

Chase Utley would single followed by Ryan Howard who singled down the third base line forcing the out at second, and then it happened: Pat “The Bat” Burrell drives a two run shot to left and ties the game up, and as quickly as I enjoyed the 2-0 lead, it faded away into a tie.

Now the crowd went wild, as I slumped into disbelief.

The next inning wasn’t any better with Zambrano walking the “Flying Hawaiian” Shane Victorino, and Gregg Dobbs hitting a double that scored Victorino. The Phillies were now on top 3-2 and the crowd was swiftly turning against the few Cubs fans—it was getting harder by the moment to endure.

In the sixth, Soriano hits a deep line to left field on the first pitch and within the blink of an eye the game is all tied up again, and all the hopes of winning that were turning stale began to flavor up a bit.

The fans by this time didn’t care what the score was only that Myers gave up another run, and they were calling for his head. But the inning was far from over, and it would be the most entertaining of the night.

Howard would hit a line drive double to left followed by Pat the Bat who hit a double to right scoring Ryan. Jenkins grounded out leading way to Carlos Ruiz who blooped a single to right scoring Burrell and the game is now 5-3—I had to do more than stretch at this point.

I ran and reloaded one more time on beer—one place left thank god, and for a moment realized my night was coming to a close.

It was a disheartening feeling. It was such a short time ago that I had just arrived and now it was almost time to leave. “Nuts to that I gotta get back.” I thought.

I made my way back post haste—can’t miss a moment.

The Cubs took the field and just like that they were gone, three up and three down, I didn’t even get a chance to finish my beer. For the remainder of the game the two would slug it out (pun intended) and one flyball, three stikeouts, and eight groundouts later the game had ended.

The night had come to a close, and the experience that I had waited for, for so long, had finally come to fruition, but alas, all good things must come to an end.

The ride home was filled with game recaps that would’ve made both Harry Kalas and Harry Carery proud, of course I also took the brunt of the jokes but it was all good.

As the jubilation died down and turned swiftly into silence I utilized the remaining moments in the car to reflect on the night.

Plastered from ear to ear was a smile that was indelible from the moment I got into the car at around 5pm, to when I walked into my door after midnight; I suspect I also woke up with said smile as well.

April 11, 2008: The memory of a lifetime, the experience of a lifetime, the battle of a lifetime and the unforgettable contest that will be with me until my very last breath.

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Thank You all for taking the time to read and leave your feedback, and journey through this wonderful memory with me I appreciate it very much!

We split two out of four against the Cardinals who are hovering just above average play right now, we stole three out of four against Milwaukee who has the HR derby crown to be happy about but nothing more, and as the 11-3 drubbing of Washington comes to a close in the background, we will take a four game sweep of those pesky Nats into the lair of the champs.

Well I say BRING IT!

The rumor of Lilly not being available for the series is now confirmed dead—he will in fact pitch game one vs. Rodrigo Lopez.

Former teammates Rich Harden and Joe Blanton (Oakland) face each other in game two and Harden puts his 4-1 road record on the line. Harden has also put together a nice 42/12- K/BB ratio when not in Wrigley.

Then in game three, Big Z dukes it out with father time (Jamie Moyer) in a battle of fire vs. water.

Zambrano has the fast moving, dominant command that brings nothing but heat while Moyer flashes skill and grace that is as overwhelming and docile as a serene lake.

Let’s face it; this series is huge to say the least.

For the Cubs, keeping pace with St. Louis has proven to be difficult, but the Cubs are only two games out of first and riding a four game winning streak.

Going to Philadelphia, into the heart of the current champions, and winning even just two would be about as big as Piniella’s belt size.

But it won’t be easy.

The Phillies are enjoying their own ride with a very comfy seven game lead in the division, and a whopping nine game winning streak. Simply venturing into Philadelphia and knocking them down will prove itself to be harder than one might think.

The pitching for the Cubs has been rather successful; the pitching for Philly has been unstable.

The hitting for the Phils has been impressive to say the least; the Cubs are just now starting to dig themselves out of their hitting woes.

The fielding for both teams has been up and down although Chicago probably has had more issues in the past.

But in essence, these two teams are also more similar than you would think making this 3 game set a bit more intriguing.

For starters, both teams can hit the long ball; both teams have the uncanny ability to beat you with small ball, and both teams can pitch lights out if need be.

For our Cubs to take at least two games a couple of things must happen:

1. We need to win the contest on the mound every game hands down. With hitters like Chase Utley, Shane Victorino, Jason Werth, Pedro Feliz, and of course the big man, Ryan Howard the Cubs staff aces will have to utilize their strengths and keep a solid state of mound semblance.

Utilize the changeup to keep Howard guessing and swinging low. Effectively command the fastball to keep Feliz in check. Keep Victorino off the bases as much as possible and when he IS on the mound limit the stolen bases.

Pitch Werth to the outside and paint the corners; leaving any pitch over the plate will result in disaster, and limit Utley’s looks; work him fast and hard.

2. NO ERRORS! The last thing you ever want to do against Philadelphia is give them an opportunity to capitalize on. The better fielding we have the better our chances are of slowing their pace.

3. Play ahead not behind. Aside from Blanton, there should be plenty of chances for hits and runs; we must make sure we are not playing catch up.

4. Get Soriano going early. Soriano has been flaring up again which is a good thing; letting him cool down now would be detrimental.

5. Don’t let them back in. The biggest, and I mean biggest, problem facing Philadelphia is their penchant for come-from-behind wins. Just because you have an eight run lead in the sixth inning doesn’t mean jack, and you could wind up losing by two in the end.

The Cubs’ season has been less than spectacular thus far, but that doesn’t mean they are down and out and it is a very legitimate notion to think they can take two out of three.

A sweep of the champs would be downright astonishing!

It was now about half-past six, and the game wouldn’t start for another 45 minutes, so it was a perfect time to take a gander at my surroundings; of course, most of that time was spent rubber-necking toward the field.

I knew one thing had to be accomplished, but it had to be done so in a precise manner: Acquire a Hatfield Hot Dog.

It was dollar dog night, and at some point, the right point, my hands had to be filled with beer and hot dogs as my armpits would have to shoulder the responsibility of carrying the peanuts.

In the meantime, I must have circled CBP at least five or six times. I climbed all the way up to the mezzanine just to get a view, and was overwhelmed by the countless different family-oriented amenities and concourse concessions they had to offer.

One of the other interesting aspects of the park as mentioned before in part one was the openness of the park and the ability for anyone, anywhere to view the game; even ones who don’t have a seat ticket.

To me, that’s a beautiful gesture; it preserves the foundation of the game and provides the fans the opportunity to get a bird’s eye view of the team the love so much.

After spending time taking it all in I decided it was time to move onto food; after all the game was about to start, and although I am a diehard Cubs fan I am also fully aware of the type of food in Philadelphia.

I cleverly placed a plan into motion before ever reaching the park. Deep inside the recesses of my crawl was the blueprint of a perfectly designed architecture. It was now time to unveil my masterpiece.

You see, you can’t have a beer without a hot dog. You can’t have a hot dog without some peanuts to accompany. You can’t enjoy a hot dog without first scarfing down a bratwurst, and you can’t do ANY of this without an appetizer.

Starting to envision my diabolical plan?

In Philly, whether you have been to a game or not you can bank on hearing about Greg “The Bull” Luzinski, the BBQ king.

It is the first scent you smell upon entering the park, and hands down the best food I have ever consumed. BBQ pork, chicken, and ribs and each one of those choices are piled higher than most stomachs are designed to hold. Luckily for me my small frame can ingest an intimidating large amount of food at any one given time.

The purchase of the BBQ pork was to be followed by the acquisition of the bratwurst; little did I know the pork would be gone before I ever got to the vendor. Mission accomplished, the bratwurst was secured, onto the peanuts.

The peanuts had to come first since getting the beer and hot dogs would be easier to do right next to my seat on the way back. Peanuts under my arm—check!

The beer and hot dogs finale was at hand and as I relegated myself to my throne I checked my inventory:

One bag of peanuts, one giant bratwurst, two hot dogs and three beers; everything was in its right place.

I purchased a third beer to cover for the ensuing question from my beloved cousin which went a little something to the tune of:

“Oh is that mine?”

My plan was a success, and I began to...did I mention how beautiful this endeavor was becoming? I began to enjoy the fruits of my labor, but I must admit to something incredibly embarrassing.

To my defense let us all remember this was my first game.

As I began to eat the peanuts I had to turn to my cousin and ask if it was OK to throw the shells on the ground, Instead of responding, he simply turned and pointed to the floor below; my answer was literally at my feet.

Mortified by my idiotic question I usurped his beer away while he went for another— that’ll teach him.

The food was settling and the seats were rapidly filling up. The toss around was beginning to end and the Fanatic was pulling his ATV around third; it was almost time.

The day was starting to give way towards night, and as I turned to look around in a panoramic fashion for one more time, I began to feel the loyalty side kick in; the brethren that I was with had now become my sworn enemy for the duration of nine innings.

The level of anticipation was high, the nervousness was unbearable. Arresting. Overwhelming.

To most, this is a memory that is usually forged in childhood. The proverbial game with Dad, baseball cap hanging so low you have to look up an extra six inches just to see. The hot dog dripping with ketchup, or mustard, down to your sneakers as you watch your team throw around the ball in preparation of the game.

For me, this was a long time coming.

I am a Cubs fan living in New Jersey; about as far away from Wrigley as one can get. Instead of Wrigley I have Bernie Robbins Stadium, once home to the now defunct Independent league Atlantic City Surf.

Instead of fellow Cubbie fans I have nothing but Phillies fans; most of which are my family. If it weren’t for the MLB package I have on the television, I wouldn’t even be able to watch many games.

But, as the saying goes: Que sera, sera.

I enjoy being an outsider. I grew up to the swooning sounds of HK on the radio and the everyday visuals of Mike Schmidt, Von Hayes and his cookie batting stance, and Juan Samuel while secretly reading about Steve Trout (a personal favorite as a kid) Ryne Sandberg, and Andre Dawson—1987 was not a very good year for us but we had a ton of great players, go figure.

I lived in Pennsylvania when I was a kid but every year I would come to New Jersey and live with my cousin for a couple of weeks while also visiting my Grandfather; all of which we Philly fans except my uncle who is a Yankee fan.

My cousins would poke fun because sandwiched between the NLCS of 1984 and NLCS of 1989 we four of the most miserable years I can remember. But it was all in good fun. In fact, only my Grandfather would talk to me about the Cubs. He was Mr. Baseball, and knew just about every damn thing the game could offer a fan—a true baseball encyclopedia.

Fast forward to April 11, 2008 (nine days until my birthday) and I find myself reliving most of the memories while trekking down the Garden State Parkway in route to Citizens Bank Park.

As familiar as that drive has been to me over the course of 35 years, it took on a whole new identity.

Instead of the good old GSP, it was a red carpet laid before me with a throne at the end that had the number 17 at the top.

Instead of another common trip to Philly I found myself at the culmination of a journey that was two and a half decades in the making.

Instead of watching Chicago, I was going to live, breath, and be a part of Chicago—as real as it gets!

I will hand it to Philadelphia, they made a pretty special park in that, anyone, anywhere can watch the game—a true homage to the fans. I haven’t been to any other parks yet, but It was a very intimate experience for me.

I literally crashed through the gate like a kid at his first baseball game—oh wait.

Before my visual cortex had even a smidgen of a chance for overload, my olfactory senses were tantalized with scents of BBQ and pork. The food was trying to flirt, but this was no time for feeding the urge for there was something waiting for me.

In an almost dizzy manner, I made my way around the concourse not even taking noticed that everyone I was with were missing; no matter. I scurried past the thousands of Phillies fans and the sea of red stripes that surrounded me.

I scoffed at the countless “Phillies!” cries and chants. I began to rue the opposition. “No time for that now” I thought.

Then I was stopped dead in my tracks.

To my left, the scene opened up as wide as the ocean unto a beautifully tailored green field; unlike anything I have ever seen before. Players were on the field, seats were beginning to fill up—“MY SEAT, it must be close by now.” The unexpected interruption was unexpectedly interrupted by, what I sometimes believe, were the baseball gods.

Off I went, increasing my speed to a new level. I thought for a moment how cool it would be to have theme music as this played itself out; something with a bit of drama, and that proverbial crescendo of emotion as the song builds. Where’s Walter Murphy when you need him.

I rounded the last turn, not even stopping for a hotdog and there it was: Section 143 above.

I made my way down, no up, wait, how do I get to my seat? The lady pointed it out and off I went making my way to row 20 and as I turned it lay before me; No. 17, my throne.

Before I sat down, I once again lifted my eyes to the visual of the field that had caught its glance a moment ago; this time I was much closer, so close, I could see Big Z warming up in right.

It was more important to me now, the race was over and the pursuit had found its finale. I was now afforded the elusive pageantry of a professional baseball game before it begins.  I had about 10 minutes all to myself and believe me, that bubble was so fortified that a monkey smoking a cigar could have been right next to me and I would have never known.

The group I was with had finally caught up to in a far more relaxed state. They included a friend of mine who was of course a Philly fan and he heckled me the whole way there.

The other two? Well they were none other than those same cousins that poked fun at me as a kid and this day was a carbon copy of those days.

As I sat with them all I can remember how lucky and fortunate I felt to not only be there at the park to watch MY TEAM, but also to have them surrounding me.

The stage was set, the layout was now familiar and it was on to phase two: The tour of the stadium, a nice cold beer, and food!

No offense to either, but you get the point.

I have read a myriad of articles that ranged from fans showering their teams with accolades of a fine performance so far, and I've also read an equal amount of articles from fans throwing cabbage and disdain to performances well beneath their team’s potential—both of which are equally fitting.

After all, that’s what a being a fan is all about, isn’t it?

Some seasons are a walk around the maypole, while other seasons are a trip down the river Stix, and it is that ebb and flow that either drives us to euphoria, or plunges us into the depths of madness.

I have decided to take a similar approach. But rather follow suit, I decided to take another avenue.

One that is fleeting and more idealistic.

I thought it would be fun to take the mentality of the proverbial “halftime” talk we know so well in football and apply it to baseball.

Taboo, I know.

But I HOPE that somewhere, somehow, just maybe, an ACTUAL Chicago Cubs player or other member of the team will read this and say:

“Hey, HEY YEAH, he’s right, that’s what we needed to hear!”

So here you are, Chicago.

So here we are boys; the midway point. Better than half the season is over and we are hovering at .500. Why? Well I’ll tell yeah why, because we’re playing like a .500 team and no better. Our RBIs are down, the HRs are bottom dwelling and our overall team average suggests the fences we’ve been swinging for are no more than a 100 feet away.

Seriously, what the heck is going on out there huh? And let’s not focus on injuries. The kids on the bench made this team for a reason and that is too fill in when they are called upon, and do as much as possible not the bare minimum.

This year, I have had to swallow all sorts of discrepancies and underachieving straight across the board!

Lee, April was a complete mess and ya cleaned it up a bit out there, but the lack of consistency is hurting more than Sosa’s feelings did when we got rid of him for YOU.

Theriot, what happened to being the only guy hitting above .300? That’s really what we count on you for when it comes to offense. Now we’re lucky to get a string of multiple games out of you.

Soto, you had to see this coming. No excuses period. You have less than 15 days to figure things out and get your mojo back END OF STORY!

Soriano, you literally fell off the boat and are now wading around wondering what happened but guess what? So are we. You’re leadoff for a simple reason, and you’re dropping the ball, sometimes literally.

Stop trying to change your batting stance, it worked fine all last year and worked fine in the beginning of this year—if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. We should also talk about that little half-hop you have going on there with fly balls. This isn’t Dancing with the Stars this is baseball, so knock it off and play to your ability.

Bradley, I am gonna sum this up as cleanly as possible, and if you have some tears to shed afterward you know where the bathroom is: The umps aren’t out to get you, not having “friends” in the dugout is NO EXCUSE for your poor play, Gatorade coolers don’t fight back, and for the love of god a professional player should ALWAYS, ALWAYS know how many outs there are in a game.

I don’t wanna hear about your recent success, you do your best work in July historically; let’s add a couple of more months to that; August and September sound good.

Lou, let’s keep the talk about pot to a minimum okay buddy.

Bench guys, I said it before I’ll say it again: Your job should be playing a cut above the rest, not mediocre and sufficient.

As a team guys, you have too many loose bolts and not enough wrenches to go around.

You guys are way too good for this hands down. YOU ARE the best team in the division, not Milwaukee and not St. Louis. They have been slipping as of late, and if it weren’t for that, we would probably not even be in the race right now.

Is that how you want to remain competitive, through other team’s slipping performances and hiccups?

The Cubs that I know play with heart and grit. They play for nine straight innings. They support each other. They back each other up and give each other a pat on the rear when things are going bad.

They are, always, the best team on the field. They are the team that no one wants to face.

But you know what? It’s over okay? What is behind us should stay there like a road in the rear-view mirror. I want what has happened thus far to be as far back in the recesses of your minds as it can go.

I don’t want to hear guys saying things like: We have to figure out what went wrong and work through it.

I don’t want to see you fellas hanging your heads three feet in the sand. And I sure as heck don’t wanna see any moping around.

I wanna see guys talking about when they can get back out there and kick some butt. I wanna see guys working out their own problems with the guy NEXT to you.

Rose pedals and popcorn gentleman not dead ivy and curses.

I’m not just blowing steam through your pipehole guys I mean it; you are the best damn team out there and you ALL need to start playing like it NOW. There is no eventually.

Fellas I can sit here all day and talk about what the greats would’ve done in this position, but it’s not about them it’s about you. It’s YOUR time. They already found their way through the forest and now it’s your turn.

Forget about the Cardinals, and the Brewers. Hell for that matter forget about the whole damn conference, the miscues, the poor play, the damn goat, that stupid cat, and that bonehead in right field who we won’t mention—NONE of that matters.

The ONLY thing, the only thing that matters is what you do from this day forward. Become what EACH and EVERY one of you is capable of: The next great Cubbie.

Become the World Series team that I KNOW you already are. You guys are the best damn bunch of kids I have had the pleasure of watching. Now it’s your turn to get out there after this break and prove it!

Not to the league or the naysayers and not even to the fans—god bless every single one of them—but to YOURSELVES!

You have the talent.

You have the pieces.

Deep down inside every one of you guys lies that little fire waiting for a spark.

It may be corny to say, but it’s time to light this candle and take control of what belongs to us—the 2009 season.

Awaken the champion inside fellas, cause each one of you were a champion before this season ever got underway and as far as I’m concerned that hasn’t changed a bit!