Hey, how you doin'?
The name is Hack. As the title up there implies, I'm a fifth generation Wilson, named after my great-great-grandfather Hack. Of course, my parents weren't the most original, as they named me Hack as well. You would think somewhere along the way someone would think out of the box. What if I was to become a reporter? Huh? How would a writer named Hack be able to keep a career? But I digress.
As you can expect, I was born into Cubs lore. Next to Ernie the fourth and Ryno the third, I am practically royalty. Of course, I haven't been around too long, but what I don't understand is the doom and gloom you Cubs fans are always talking about. For my whole life the Cubs have been pretty good. They've always had that Lee guy at first and that nutty Zambrano character on the mound. You know, I think Big Z would have fit in well with Great-Great-Grandpa. If it wasn't for those off-season regiments and that fitness thing, I think ol' Z would be the type to throw down a spirit or two. Or four or six.
As you can see, I'm a bit of a drinker myself. It runs in the blood. Not only am I a Wilson, but I am also a fifth! From the moment I got off my mom's boob, I've had a bottle of the Lord's holy brew in my hands. That's a fair trade, I think. I also like to think I can already out drink the average sorority girl. Bring it on, Brittney!
Now I don't watch too much of the Cubs. My attention span is still only about 15 seconds, tops. Most of my days are filled with the regular rigmarole of eating, sleeping, or taking a dump in my diaper. And I occasionally cry. I don't have time to watch baseball. But I do catch a Cubs highlight every once in a while. My old man, Hack IV, was a big fan.
So what I am doing living in a Cubs bar? Well, a few weeks ago, the old man and my grandfather, Hack III, threw back a few too many Old Styles and left me in the parking lot. Thank goodness a nice bartender decided to bring me in and keep me around. From what my new dad (that's what I call him) told me, one of the regulars wanted to sell me to the Chinese. Something about payback for the great Gremlin invasion and impressing Phoebe Cates, whatever that means.
Now I live here, ensuring the wings are hot, the burgers are greasy, and the beer is tasty. I'll be popping in every so often to babble about something or another. Don't worry, I should start making sense in about 18 months or so.
