The photos are definitely the book’s strong suit.  As a Blackhawks fan since the late ‘60s, I thought I’d seen every photograph of Bobby Hull.  Boy, was I wrong.  The book contains hundreds of photographs completely new to me and, I’d imagine, most fans.  At the same time, Bobby reveals a number of things that somehow had eluded me over the years—such as the fact that, during the 1961-1962 and 1962-1963 seasons, he wore the number 7. I knew about his first uniform number, 16, but not 7.  I also couldn’t help noticing that Bobby chooses to never refer to his ex-wife (Joanne, in case you didn’t know) by name.  Even in the photos in which she appears he refers to her only as “the mother” of his children.

Whenever I find a book like this, I can’t resist pointing out errors, since publishers supposedly employ fact checkers.  I’ve found sports books that are heavy on photos generally come with a fair number of misidentified players.  For all the photos that appear in this book, however, I could find only one mistake—on page 45.  The goaltender is not (the right-handed) Johnny Bower but (the left-handed) Don Simmons Bobby recalls scoring against in Game 6 of the Cup Finals against the Maple Leafs in 1962.

Bobby Hull and Bob Verdi have teamed up on a wonderfully nostalgic profile of one of the most beloved players in Blackhawks history.  This is the essential coffee table book for fans of the Hawks.

It’s too bad so many writers and commentators chose to use the word “lose” in recapping the race (ESPN.com – “Zenyatta loses by a head….”), because only technically was Zenyatta a loser.  When you can overcome an early 15-length deficit, overtake 11 other horses and fall short in the end only by the length of a football, you’re not a loser in my book.   At the same time, when you compete with strength, class, character and dignity yet still come up second, you’re absolutely not a loser.

I realize that the essence of competition is to produce a single, clear-cut winner, but I’ve never been able to accept the notion that the results of competition are always going to be one winner and a remaining field of “losers.”   Zenyatta’s magnificent effort yesterday in the Breeders’ Cup Classic is exactly what I mean.

Beth Harris, who covered the race for AP, came up with the best post-race analysis I’ve seen, using a form of the word “lose” only once.  “[Jockey Mike] Smith blamed himself for the loss,” she wrote.  Even then, I probably would have found another word to ue, because finishing second in a field of 12 will never be my idea of  “losing.”

This is how having the Bears on WBBM-AM is a serious misallocation of radio resources from a listener’s standpoint.  You see, WBBM-AM is the only all-news station in Chicago.  Whenever they’re airing a Bears game, the station is departing from normal programming for at least six hours.  (Don’t even get me started on why they need a two hour long pre-game show.)  As a listener, you’re left with few alternatives on the dial if you want an immediate shot of what you’d ordinarily be getting from WBBM.  Traffic and weather, for instance.  On WBBM you get traffic and weather every ten minutes but not when the station is airing the Bears.  And there’s nobody else on the dial providing the information as frequently.  If it’s not near the top of the hour, you won’t get it from any of the other AM stations at the moment you need it.

The Bears really should be on one of Chicago’s main radio stations to air sports programming:  WGN, WSCR or WMVP.  That would free up WBBM-AM to stick with what it’s always saying to us that it is:  “Chicago’s All-News Station.”  Frankly, I’m not so sure they ought to be calling themselves an “all-news station” when we all know they aren’t.  Not as long as they’ve got the Bears.

Even as an eleven year old back in 1970 I couldn’t help noticing Nancy’s repertoire was different from anything I’d ever heard during the games I attended at Wrigley Field.  On the north side, all you got were standards and old school and sometimes VERY old school (“Moonlight Serenade,” “String of Pearls,” the kind of stuff my parents would like).  I remember “Rock Around the Clock” (1954!) being one of the more contemporary songs.  Even the organ itself sounded old, of roller rink vintage, and organist Jack Kearney’s song choices didn’t help.

It was a totally different story at Comiskey Park.  I didn’t know her name at the time, but Nancy Faust blew me away that night.  I noticed right away that she played currently popular songs (songs I liked!)—five second snippets when players were going up the plate, full-length versions in between innings.  She showed uncommon creativity, deftly connecting players’ names with the titles of songs she played when they went up to bat.  You could tell right away she was in complete command of:  a) the nuances of the game; b) the names and nicknames of all the players, home team and visitors; and c) pop music.  With Nancy, it wasn’t just “Three Blind Mice” when the umpires came out onto the field—imagine that!

For the past 41 years, whenever I walked into Comiskey Park or The Cell, I listened for the sound of the organ.  Just a couple notes were all it took for me to know Nancy was on the job, doing what she did better than anyone else on earth.  We need to find a way to get her into the Hall of Fame.  Organist’s wing, anyone?

I couldn’t even tell you what the final score was or even who the Sox played the first time I saw them at the old Comiskey Park.  But the impression the organist made on me that night will stay with me forever.  And, since that night, I’ve considered Nancy Faust a key part of my enjoyment of watching the Sox at home.  Thanks for the memories, Nancy!  Enjoy your retirement.  You’ve earned it.

Glad to see the NFL has their house in such good order that they could devote time this offseason to devising the ridiculously nit-picky “process” rule that nullified an incredible game-winning catch by Calvin Johnson yesterday.

At the same time, if you’re a wide receiver, shouldn’t you be aware of rule changes that impact your position?   Like holding onto the ball until the entire “process of the catch” has been completed?

There’s an age-old axiom in baseball when it comes to young players:  “bat plays.”  It means that when it comes to young players, a good bat gets them into the lineup quicker than anything else.  Teams can absorb a rookie’s shaky fielding much better than shaky hitting.  That’s exactly the case of Starlin Castro.  At this stage of his career (and on a team going nowhere), we can live with his errors.

It’s during losing seasons that you get a true measure of the abilities of a play-by-play man, and the Cubs’ 2010 season has reaffirmed my affection for Len Kasper and Pat Hughes, who’ve done a great job.  A further bonus is that inept play tends to bring more color out of a color man and, in that respect, Bob Brenly’s also risen to the challenge.

The store has an impressive selection of Blackhawks memorabilia, from pucks and plaques to framed photos.  Going through a stack of gorgeous pre-matted 8x10s, I noticed one player was conspicuous by his absence:  Antti Niemi.  I asked a store employee if I might have been looking in the wrong place for the Hawks’ netminder.  “No,” he quickly replied, “we’re all out of Niemis.”  He shouted to another gentleman behind the counter, “Do we have anymore Niemis?”  The other guy just shook his head.

“But,” I chuckled, “I see you still have lots of Cristobal Huet.”  They had at least a half dozen photos of the other Hawks’ goalie.  The first gentleman looks at me and says, almost sheepishly, “Nobody wants Huet.”

That’s when it dawned on me how true that was.  I couldn’t help thinking about that as I paid for my pictures and walked out of the store.  Ever since the team clinched the title, every Blackhawk who stayed in town has suddenly become a hot commodity, commanding what I would guess to be premium fees to shake hands and sign autographs at stores, auto dealerships and shopping malls.  Even fill-ins such as Jordan Hendry were getting top billing in some places.  But there was one player who didn’t seem to be making the rounds of the glad-hand circuit:  Cristobal Huet.  Is there any place you’ve noticed that’s hosting a Huet autograph signing?  I bet not.

I don’t know if Huet had a reason to leave town right after the celebration or if he’s still here but laying low.  Either way, it’s not fair that he’s become persona non grata among fans, especially after being a contributor to the Blackhawks’ greatest season going back almost 50 years.  Huet was actually the starting goaltender when the ’09-’10 season began and, along the way, appeared in 48 games, earning the same number of wins as Niemi, 26.  True, he wasn’t a world-beater, performing below league average some of the time, and his wobbles at the end of the season couldn’t have come at a worse time for fans and their short memories.  Furthermore, it doesn’t help that his large salary is often cited as the reason the Hawks have serious cap issues this off-season.  But Huet was always ready when the Hawks counted on him, especially in the early part of the season, and his salary is the fault of Hawks’ management, not him.  Fans should also realize that, even on championship teams, players can have subpar years.

Since the team clinched the Cup two weeks ago, Blackhawks fans have been a happy, contented lot.  I’m proud to say I’m one of them.  But I’m a bit disappointed in my fellow fans who’ve been giving Cristobal Huet grief, from booing him at the rally downtown to totally ignoring him at the souvenir stands.  At a time when there’s plenty of celebratory afterglow to go around, Huet deserves to bask in his share of it.  At least his name is on the Cup, where it’ll be forever.

As for the Hawks themselves, how could you not root for them?  The Blackhawks were an exciting, energetic team that appealed to everyone, from young fans to people like me from the Tony-O/Golden Jet/Stan Mikita generation who never got to see that stellar crew win a Cup.  The 2010 Hawks went 16-and-6 over their last 22 games against premiere competition.  They methodically overcame everything that could have been used as an excuse for failure:  losing home ice advantage, questionable officiating, their opponents’ physical play against their speed and finesse game.  They rose to every challenge and won with dignity, class and old-fashioned hard work.

Then came all the celebrations which followed Wednesday’s clincher.  There were so many high points we don’t have enough space here to list them all.  Let’s review just a handful that had me reaching for the kleenex:  Toews’ emerging from the plane in the wee hours of Thursday morning to give us our first glimpse at the Cup; the throngs that greeted our conquering heroes downtown Friday morning; the reception Hossa got up on stage when his name was announced; the young players looking like they were truly soaking it all in and not taking it for granted.  And, when it was all over, the crowd eventually went home, no storefronts were smashed and downtown was left perfectly intact.

I’m proud to be a Chicago Blackhawk fan.  At the same time, I’ve never been prouder to be a Chicagoan.  We showed the world a big city can still celebrate a sports championship the way it should be.

Quick:  when was the last time a Stanley Cup Finals featured two Original Six teams?

We’re a couple of major steps from having that happen, but wouldn’t it be neat if it did this season?  To wit:

1. The Bruins would have to beat Philadelphia tonight to insure an Original Six team would represent the Eastern Conference.  If the Flyers win, then the Canadiens would have to beat them in the conference finals.
2. The Blackhawks would have to beat San Jose.

As for the latter, the Hawks are a better team than the Sharks.  But who’s to say which Hawks team will show up on any given afternoon/night—the one that manhandled the Canucks all three games in Vancouver or played totally uninspired hockey in both home losses during the series?

Still, I’m feeling good about the whole thing.  Rick’s pick:  Blackhawks in seven.

I’m not going to use the word “choke” because, at the highest level of professional athletics, I’m not convinced it ever happens, but the Bruins’ dropping four in a row to lose their round with the Flyers is a collapse of mammoth proportions, far exceeding the ’69  or ’03 Cubs or ’64 Phillies.

It’s a dirty rotten shame that the network playoff practices currently in place are keeping Pat Foley out of the broadcast booth from here on out.

In baseball, we’re one month into the season, and I’ve already seen three things I’ve never witnessed in 41 years of watching the game:

1. Mark Buehrle’s between-the-legs desperation toss to Paul Konerko to nail the Indians’ Lou Marson at first on Opening Day.
2. Marlon Byrd’s no-look behind-the-back catch.
3. Starlin Castro driving in an MLB record six runs in his very first game.  (Know how hard it is to break an MLB record anymore?  The game’s been around forever, and most benchmarks are out of reach.)

I’m getting the impression that Jim Hendry is much better at solving problems than avoiding them.  Unloading Todd Hundley and getting Mark Grudzielanek and Eric Karros in 2002, for example.  And sending Milton Bradley to Seattle for Carlos Silva this past winter.  But who backed the Cubs into the financial corner they find themselves in right now with those untradeable contracts (Soriano, Fukudome, Zambrano)?

Of the top five highest payrolls in MLB (Yankees, Red Sox, Cubs, Phillies, Mets), which team is the one most obviously underperforming?  And the Cubs are likely stuck for the next couple years, because they can’t take on any significant salary.

So, which of the Chicago baseball teams will be the first to reach .500?  Will either?  At that point in the season, will we even care?

(The last Cup Finals to feature two Original Six teams was 32 years ago:  1978-1979, when the Canadiens defeated the Rangers in 5 games.)

Ryan Miller was a deserving MVP in men’s hockey.  And dream, Blackhawk fans, of how easily he could have been OUR #1 goalie right now.  In the 1999 NHL draft, he was available until the 5^th round, when he was taken by Buffalo.  With Miller still on the board, the Hawks chose the eminently forgettable Steve McCarthy, Dmitri Levinski, Stepan Mokhov, and Michael Jacobsen instead of Miller for four rounds.  True, the Hawks weren’t the only ones who whiffed on Miller, but wouldn’t your feelings going into the playoffs be a lot different with him between the pipes?

Televising the action during the three periods commercial-free—thanks to a deal with DirecTV—was fantastic.  Unless you actually attend a game, you never get to see what the players do during extended TV timeouts. Luongo, for instance, never hesitated to skate over to his bench, lift up his mask and grab some refreshment.  You could see the strain on his face the whole game during the extended breaks.

I’ve become captivated by curling.  It’s an odd activity and questionable as a real “sport” in the same way archery, golf and bowling are—to me, they seem much more a skill than a sport.  No matter, I surprised myself by not being bored watching either the men’s or women’s competition  in curling.

I don’t like the idea of the televising network’s exclusivity on the rights to action footage from the games.  Still photos are fine for ESPN The Magazine, but in the television world of technical bells and whistles, they fall very flat.  And that’s all the other networks can use.

I have trouble with the idea that, in keeping the medals count for the individual nations, gold, silver and bronze medals are considered equal in scoring.  For instance, this was the final count we saw in the paper this morning:

USA – 37 (9 Gold, 15 Silver, 13 Bronze)

Germany – 30 (10 Gold, 13 Silver, 7 Bronze)

Canada – 26 (14 Gold, 7 Silver, 5 Bronze)

Gold medals should be worth more than silver, which should be worth more than bronze in the medal standings–something like gold medals 3 points, silver medals 2 and bronze medals 1. That would give us this revised scoreboard:

USA – 70 points

Germany – 63 points

Canada – 61 points

The rankings haven’t changed, but the extra Golds push Canada closer to second place.  And, if you think all medals should be considered equal in merit, ask Duncan Keith if he wouldn’t mind trading his for Patrick Kane’s.

The gold medal game had all the drama you’d want in a finale–it was outstanding.  The fact that it got a 23.4 rating in Chicago–which put it in Bears territory–didn’t surprise me in the least.

Sure, the Blackhawks won Saturday night.  But they should’ve had a shutout.  Campbell’s stupid penalty, taken behind the play, combined with Sopel’s bonehead unsportsmanlike conduct call 26 seconds later, gave the Blues a two-man advantage, which led to the goal which ended Niemi’s bid for his fifth shutout.

Richard Dent didn’t make it this time around.  But, unlike MLB, at least the NFL’s Board of Selectors aren’t shy about putting people into their Hall.

My brother-in-law’s constantly on the prowl for Blackhawks tickets.  He tells me he’s being priced out of the market now, even when it comes to regular season “cheap” seats in the 300 level.  I’ll tell you:  the closer the tickets get to the $200 mark, the more attractive my own private box becomes.  Washroom and refreshments just a few steps away with never any waiting, free parking and climate-controlled perfection—my living room.

With Ryne Sandberg’s being the most likely candidate to succeed Lou Piniella when Lou’s deal expires, it sets up the possibility of a grand ’84 Cubs reunion on the field in ’11.  Ryno could tap Sarge Matthews, Zonk Moreland and Bob Dernier as coaches.  By the way, Ryno deserves a shot at the top job.

On the one hand, seeing how quickly the Blackhawks turned around their fortunes gives me some hope for the Bears.  On the other, what did it take for the Hawks to make the big leap forward?  A change at the very top of the organization.  Somehow, I don’t think that’s a scenario we can count on at Halas Hall anytime soon.

What did I like most about the Super Bowl?  Two things.  First, that we can refer to it by its true name here (not “The Big Game,” which is just plain silly, if you ask me).  Second, how could I ever quarrel about a sporting event that starts at 5:30 and is completely over with by 9:00?  (This is a point I wouldn’t have made—say—twenty years ago when I was a wee bit more youthful, by the way.)