Brian Fleck

Mark March 4 on your calendar and join me in celebrating the World Champion Chicago Cubs at the Frida Kahlo Mexican Restaurant, 101 Windflower Ln., Solon (off of Hwy. 1, south edge of town) from 7 to 9 p.m.
Kevin “BF” Burt is lined up to play. Goat tacos will be served for the first 100 attendees, as well as a beer selected by brew master and friend Jeff Allen to match. If the keg spits we’ll pass the hat and buy another. Put on your favorite Cub gear and be prepared to sing “Go Cubs Go.” Everyone is invited; especially Cardinal fans.

The worst meetings it was ever my misfortune to attend were run by a “light” colonel. As editor of the post’s newspaper I was expected to be in the room but was never sure why. I was in good company as there were another dozen in the same boat: we were ordered to attend. What I was sure of was that the colonel ran a meeting that was as long as it was worthless. Any topic could be picked apart including sports and soap operas. Nothing was ever decided even if it took all morning to get there.

In early November, as Wikileaks steadily released piles of emails from Hillary Clinton’s campaign chairman John Podesta, one contact caught the attention of prankster sites and/or political operatives.
James Alefantis is the owner of Comet Ping Pong Pizza, a restaurant in Washington, D.C. He’s also a big Democratic Party supporter and raised money for both Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Alefantis, who’s never met Clinton, appeared in the Podesta emails in connection with the fundraisers.
And from these thin threads, an enormous trove of conspiracy fiction was spun.

A couple of surprises came out of the old hen house recently.
The coop isn’t old at all, but it’s been a few seasons since the girls were spring chickens. Nevertheless, they shouldn’t be over the hill, egg-laying wise. Typically, a hen produces from five to seven years. We have six chickens, average age three-and-a-half, so we should still be making omelets and deviled eggs to our heart’s content.
Wrong.
Creation tapered off this spring and then stopped all together with the beginning of summer. It was a bit of a mystery since production typically goes up in the summer months.

Talk about your emotional swings.
In just 10 days, I went from the elation of the Cubs winning the World Series to the deep depression of the election of Donald Trump.
This week’s column was going to be about my earliest days of fandom for the loveable losers. I even started writing it before Tuesday:
Dave (Buzz) Buzello and I were as a thick as thieves in our preteens.
He lived a half-dozen houses down the street. Our mutual life’s goal was to discover a secret formula that would either: A.) Stink to high heaven or B.) Explode.