From an article by Jay Mariotti the day before, that I missed.

The chirpy provocateur placed one hand around his throat, then the other. Ozzie Guillen was peering into the stands at Wrigley, merrily reminding Cubs fans that their team had gagged the night before. Normally such a batting-practice gesture would be forgotten like a wee-hours Clark Street bender, but this wasn't mere idle razzing.

No, this was the day after the Bartman game, when the Mourning After converged with a thick sense of impending doom, and there was that twerp who used to play for the White Sox, twisting a red-hot poker into Cubdom's deepest wound. "You're quiet tonight," yapped Guillen, then the third-base coach of the Florida Marlins. "You aren't yelling 'Cubs! Cubs!' anymore.

"You guys scared?"

Let the story serve as octane for any Cubs fan who is yawning today, feeling smug and blase about the weekend series on the South Side. All by himself, the Blizzard of Oz will serve as a lightning rod for anyone who thinks the Cubs-Sox showdown is an overhyped intramural taffy pull.

I get a kick out of that nick name, "The Blizzard of Oz." I didn't realize Ozzie did that last year, may my intense hatred of the Whitesox grow even more.

On the other hand let me pull a line from the movie Fight Club.

"I am Jack's complete lack of surprise."

Nothing much surprises me anymore about the Sox and their fans.