How Zamboni knew the Cubs would win even when they were down 3-1

You’ll notice my last post was Oct 30th, when it seemed it would be lights out for the Cubs, When Cleveland had their Wahoo fingers around the necks of the cute and cuddly Cubbies, when it seemed all over. After all, coming back from being three games down to one?- it had only happened five times in 132 years of this batting game you Americans love. Yet I predicted a Cubs win. It was easy.

Zamboni knows the ultimate truth that all mortals know deep in their chotzkes:  Everything ends. Sometime. Every leaf, at some point, falls. Red Sox fans know this. Game of Thrones fans know. Mad Men watchers even faced the end. Sopranos too. Even my favorite author, Pulitzer winning Danielle Steele, may one day expire and stop spinning her beloved yarns…Fabio’s hair even, one day will cease.

Also, you remember the man who brought the billy goat into Wrigley field, was ousted and cursed them? IT WAS MY UNCLE!

Yes, this is factual and I can vilify it as well. My uncle Tormallen had come from Estonia, changed his name, and opened a pub. Of course he had his goat with him when he came over to this country and named his pub the Billy Goat Tavern as the bond between an  Estonian and his  goat is as strong as iron yet as tender and soft as a newborn baby’s willy.

And so he brought his goat to game four of the 1945 world series. Evidently the smell of his goat -which we Estonians barely notice- bothered some. Yet I believe it was intolerance to immigrants!! He was booted, and summarily spoke on his way out the turnstile, as his poor goats’ horns were entangled- “these Cubbies aint gonna win no more!”

Until last night. Because you see, even the curse of someone in the bloodline of Zamboni can only last a maximum of 71 years. (Unless of course you have the fingernail of a toothless fishmonger’s wife, the eye of a marmot, the toe of a tax collector, and an evil eye stone, put all said sundries in a bag, bury it beneath the victims home and say out loud 11 vigorous times the ancient bon mots “I FUCKING CURSE YOU GOOD MOTHERFUCKER!”, but old Tormallen did none of that. We all know an off the cuff curse has an expiration date.

And yet it is more than that. It is also due to the power of love, brotherhood and extreme emotional vulnerability. This is like a mighty wall that there is very little can trounce or triumph over.

Late in the game, Anthony Rizzo put his arms on the shoulders of veteran David Ross, and poured forth, “I can’t control myself..I’m trying my best…I’m an emotional wreck…I’m in a glass case of emotion right now…” And was at this moment when the “grit” was found to finally beat the Indians, and end the 71 year old curse, and the 108 year old drought, and win the World Series.

So there is your doggy bag  for today’s lesson. Always pour out your fears and anxieties to your friends, it is not weakness, but strength. Your little fears?- clowns, finding a bit of sand in your sandwich at the beach, the Kars for Kids commercial, who cares. But when you are in a glass case of emotion? Always.

‘I’m an emotional wreck’: Watch Anthony Rizzo’s touching dugout exchange with David Ross

Why did the chicken cross the road? -and why do we never tire of those chicken jokes?

This question, and its rejoinder, come from “Moon Unit” in Albany, Ca.

The first one is very easy. Chickens are very simple and have an inner monologue that consists of only these thoughts: “worms….worms…..seeds…..grubs……huh?… huh?…worms…..worms…..seeds-” you get the picture. So the chicken crossed the road not even knowing what a road is, but just aimlessly wandering looking for food.

The second question is the interesting one. Why do we keep caring about the pointless chicken? The jokes are never funny!

Zamboni has thought this over and arrived at this thought. We all wish we could be the chicken. We wish we could turn off our brains to such mindless thoughtless instinct as the chicken and not think about what we’re doing for even a second. Not many of us can achieve such rash thoughtlessness- save me, Zamboni, Dalai Llama and Tom Cruise. We tell the joke because we  think the chicken must have some reason, because we always do.

We envy the chicken, and make fun of him for that reason.

New Pope Just Like You and Me!

Q: Hey Zamboni, what do you think of the new Pope?

A: The guy is really down to earth, I mean you wouldn’t believe how down to earth this guy is. I mean like Crocs with socks and Yerba Mate-drinking. Listen to this: he paid his own bill at a hotel! I mean OMG can you believe this guy? I have never done that in my life! I wouldn’t even know how or why to do that or even what you would say to the plebe behind the desk! Me, Zamboni, see I am used to getting cucumber Mexican papaya facials all day long on my private yacht- but this guy, this guy?… So next, are you ready? he lifts up his own suitcase right (I didn’t know that C-shaped thingee was for your hand? holy papal shred!)- and check this out, he carries, as in with his own steam, he carries his suitcase and -hold on to your slippers- he GETS ON A BUS…no no no wait i’m not done-, with OTHER PEOPLE!!!!!!! get it?

Like wow right? It’s amazing, this guy, who is so much more important than any other human being on earth, that he should do all these simple things, wow. There’s a lesson there somewhere.

Tomorrow: Mormons, Jews, and Buddhists decide to make popes too! (Buddhist pope rumored to breathe!) 


Why was Zamboni passed over for Pope?

I know, I was shocked too… I’ll explain it all as soon as I get out of here ( the Vatican). The last 48 hours were hell as we were locked in “conclave” -it was really just a 48 hour  McCauley Caulkin film marathon..I have to go as I am tweeting this onto my phone and homies be lookin’ over your shoulder up in this Sistine..

Talk soon…will reveal all… (the black smoke has no significance, my bad!!- Cardinal Slipovitz from Estonia and I were trying to BBQ some blood sausage!)


Recently a reader, Mike Z,  asked me, “Dear Zamboni, it seems like I am always failing at being a parent, why is this?”

Well, Mike, it might interest you to know, that in the ancient and obsolete -spoken by nobody anymore  except Zamboni and my grandmother- Estonian provincial dialect known as Gershvartz, the word for failure and for parenting is indeed the same, “kornfeldtx”.

Why is this? Because children are very hit and miss. It’s sort of like toasters before the Singing Revolutuion when my Estonia lived under iron fist of USSR. The Russian-made toasters were very inconsistent and unreliable. Some worked, some blew your face off. It is like that with children. Yes we “made” them but really they are gifts given to us for temporary custodianship and what we get is what we get. Smart parents can get a thick-brained nogoodnik- dense parents may get a Nobel prize winner.

Does the environment they are raised in count? Sure, look at me and my identical twin George Clooney. George was raised in the Hollywood mileu and became great actor. I, Zamboni was raised by illiterate cheese farmers and then adopted by a great Baron- see?


My point is this Mike: parenting is a rough road. Your children will have as many problems as you, just different problems. You can’t prevent this. Well maybe some you can, but no one is perfect. My advice to you is this- change the way you think of this concept  of, “failure”. Also, if you aren’t the brightest bulb in the six pack or maybe you wear Crocs with socks- then get your child to be around friends and family who are a little wittier or at least have nice shoes with some style. Your child will always look up to you most and first- but that doesn’t mean they don’t need coaches, cool aunts, cool teachers, and groovy grandparents…

So…. I encourage you to keep failing, keep failing…

Like my old Squash coach used to say at Estonian A&M: “Zamboni, you either learn to fail, or you fail to learn.”

Where does the white go when the snow melts?

This question comes from an anonymous question donor and is frankly pretty silly- I guess this is a guy for whom no real problems exist -congrats!- so lucky for you but the question is goofy..

Regardless, it is a point of Honor for me to answer– and if I don’t the devil may come for my soul..

Snow is in fact not white at all.  If you look quite closely at one tiny flake, it is quite like a crystal and very clear. But when these crystals pile on top of each other they appear as white due to light refractolology and karma.

It reminds me of a story by grandmother told, of how she lost her last tooth. She was drinking plum brandy in a bar and was challenged to a drinking contest by the mayor of our town, Shmolenkaplatz. The mayor said, “if you can answer this riddle, I will drink this whole bottle to your health and probably die. Here it is, what is the hardest thing to see, the most diffuicult place to discover, and the most uncharted isle?”

My grandmother pondered this greatly, and then said most astutely, “the NOSE!” The mayor was nonplussed and dumbfounded, drank the brandy and, thankfully, did not expire.

My point is this- what does that story have to do with her last tooth?


Ask not for whom the snow melts, my friends, it melts for you.

Go forth!

Zamboni, where does the wind come from?

Great question, thanks for asking.

This was baffling me for many moons until I asked the wind itself. The wind said it would tell me where it came from if I were to do it a favor, acquire for it a very hard to find record, “Barry Manilow: 2 Nights Live” that it had long sought. For obvious reasons it is hard for the wind to shop on Amazon or Virgin Megastore as the wind is restless like hyper ADHD child.

I did as I was told, pausing to enjoy this record and the very unusual verson of Mandy that it contains- until finally rendering the disc up to the wind.

After the wind blew around the world a few times enjoying this music some way I do not know how, it sang these words to me:

“the wind that blows from here to California-

it never stops to turn and wonder why,

it goes..”

I agree not a very satisfying answer, but then again, maybe it’s a stupid question, do we really need to know everything?

If it sails a boat and lifts a strand of hair from a face, isn’t that enough?

Rain Cats and Dogs

I see you people have been duped by the devil into trying to stump me!!! sad for you because it is not possible and you may as well be trying to cry in a Steven Speelberg movie- it just is not feasable, like trying to get full eating sushi- it just is not going to  happen..

Susan from NOLA contributes this attempt to stum Zamboni:

How many times has it actually rained cats and dogs and what circumstances were credited for having brought each event into being?

On November 29th, 1929, in Hoboken new Jersey, it rained fully grown cats (mostly calico) and various kinds of dogs (pretty much just Basset Hounds) for approximately 33 minutes…

Due to the strangeness of this- several people of an apocalyptic pre-disposition began to think the world was ending. One of them was a stockbroker who panicked and sold everything. Others were influenced by him (and his insane ravings on the stock market floor did not help) and did the same, thus “Mauve Monday” happened and the next day, well as you know, the Stock Market crashed. And sadly ironically, many desperate men imitated the animals, flying out their windows…

Strangely too, as a puddendum, the cats and dogs all survived the fall and simply walked away.

To this day, cats hate water because it reminds them of being used as rain, and Basset hounds look excessively confused and befuddled – as if they’ve just been dropped from the sky..

Be at BAY- DEVIL!!!

Stonehenge was a bus stop

Dear Zamboni-

What exactly was the purpose of the great wonder of the world Stonehenge?

-Cordly from Grand Rapids

Dear Cordly, it is a very good question that you ask, what the heck was that Stonehenge built for, and yes, as my title spews forth, it was in fact a bus stop.

Now I know this may be dissapponting for many of you as you like mysteries wrapped in enigmas and perhaps you are hoping I would say it was some wiccan sun temple, or virgin sacrifice altar built by aliens; but sometimes the truth is just a whole lot simpler. Like my friend the Footbal Coach is fond of saying “its not rocket surgery for fucks sake.”

As I was floating through time back then in ancient jolly England, I remember what some peoples said when the structure was built. A man named Nigel -who made shoes for priests out of goat bladders- told me over a bubbling goblet of barleywine in  O’Leary’s Pub, “it looks a pile of ‘fecking dinosaur turds it does!”

See the snack stand there, on the left? Next to Termial B Express to Glandonshiresberyy Isleskye

It is a good lesson for us. The past was just like today so it best not to romanticise it by painting it with a glowing sunset color.