Terry Boers - The Score of a Lifetime: 25 Years Talking Chicago Sports

To my wife, Carolyn, my guiding light for 46 years, my sons, John, Joe, Cary, and Chris, who have made me enormously proud, and my grandchildren, Tyler, Ellie, Josh, Connor, and Delaney, who remind me each and every day how beautiful life can be.

Contents

Prologue

Ive always maintained that Im one of the least interesting people in the world to interview on just about any subject.

And I say that with absolutely no hint of false modesty.

To wit: Ive never been molested by a family member, a priest, a deacon, a right reverend, a wrong reverend, an elder, a monsignor, a mon-junior, a Cardinal, a Dodger, a Met, a junior-league hockey coach, a senior-league hockey coach, a gymnastics coach, Bela Karoyli, Bela Lugosi, Bella Abzug, a swimming coach, anyone with swimmers ear, somebody elses icky uncle, Uncle Fester, Uncle Remus, Uncle Tonoose, Aunt Irma, Aunt Farm, Aunt She Sweet, Cousin Itt, anybodys distant cousin, or anyones slightly closer cousin.

And not a single teacher I ever had in 16 years of school propositioned me, unless you count an occasional meeting where one of them would ask why I seemed so hellbent on being an idiot. Twas nature, not nurture.

I did have a guy at the long gone Lincoln movie theater in Chicago Heights put his hand on my knee once when I was about 8 or 9, but nothing ever came of our brief relationship. Besides, I think he might have been drunk and he could have been the usher.

I know one of my favorite college professors at Northern Illinois University would spend literally hours behind closed doors counseling nubile coeds whod been struggling to keep their grades up. I was told he never struggled to keep his, uhgradesup.

So no, I dont have any twisted tales of sexual depravity to share, although I understand that claiming to have been molested has become a cottage industry for some.

And no, sadly Ive never sought treatment for sexual addiction, either. Nor have I ever had to sit down and tell my wife every detail of the 121 women I slept with while I was on the PGA Tour, and Ive never been the subject of a song written by a certain country singer who turns every one of the guys who jilted her into songs that sound exactly the same.

Ive also never been in Betty Ford or her clinic. Ive never been in rehab for alcoholism or abused any illegal drugs or any prescription pain medication. I leave that to a much fatter oxymoron whos going to own a piece of an NFL team about the same time that Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones admits hes had more work done on his face than Kenny Rogers.

Ive never had a session with a therapist, never been ordered to anger management, never needed couples counseling, or sought anything in the way of marital aid, although Ive run across plenty of dildos in my time.

So why should you keep reading?

Because I believe the journey has been pretty damn interesting. I hope you might agree.

1. Steger, USA

The late, great writer Pat Conroy knew how to paint a picture when it came to describing his hometown.

Not that he was the first to wax poetic about historic Charleston, South Carolina, as he did in his novel South of Broad . But who wouldnt want to grow up in a town filled with homes and buildings of classic architecture and a unique Southern charm populated by families whose centuries old tales could be traced back to the days long before the Civil War.

From the stately elms to the other magnificent flora to the smell of the oh-so-green, green grass of home, Charleston seems like a sparkling gem, a place where youd be proud to raise a family, a place youre almost expected to brag about to complete strangers, even if they dont give a damn.

But even as I read Conroys remarkably descriptive work, I couldnt help but think that while Charleston may gleam, its still located in a state where the fight to remove the Confederate flag from in front of the statehouse dragged on and on and on as each side dug in their heels.

So who really needs it?

And then theres the brilliant James Lee Burke, whose crime novels set in New Orleans and its environs have been on my must-read list for years and years. Im reasonably sure he wasnt the first guy to write about Nawlins either, but Im telling you hes the best. Just read one of his Dave Robicheaux novels and tell me Im wrong. The guy is an absolute genius, a true American treasure who knows every nook, every cranny of the city and describes them with grace and elegant prose.

Even at that, Ive never found New Orleans to be all that much fun after my first couple of visits. The food is great, but Bourbon Street is a grungy, filthy hellhole that attracts too many drunken imbeciles who dont know when to say when.

Again, who needs it?

Certainly not me.

Ive got Steger, Illinois.

The house I grew up in at 3233 Sangamon St. in Steger.

It still surprise s me more than 65 years after the fact that so many people in the Chicago area still have no idea where Steger is. Jesus, it was founded in 1896. Ive more or less given up telling people thats where I was raised because the minute you tell them you get back the look that suggests they dont know what hell youre talking about.

But then, I get that look on a wide variety of topics.

And even if you go to the trouble of saying its about 40 miles due south of Chicago, they still look at you as if they dont know what south is.

Not that its surprising.

I learned a long time ago that people dont give a shit about much of anything south of Chicago.

With my cousin, Joy Kubancek, in 1956.

Behind the wheel as a toddler in the early 50s.

If you say youre from Highland Park or Deerfield or Winnetka or Lake Forest or any of the hoity-toity suburbs to the north, theres an immediate recognition.

Say youre from Hazel Crest or South Chicago Heights or Park Forest or Crete and youre generally considered to be white trash to some degree, depending on how many jacked-up cars can be found in your front lawn at any one time.

But I didnt know any of that when I was growing up. If I had, I no doubt would have told them to go fuck themselves. Ive never cared much for people whose apparent mission in life is to put on airs in the mistaken belief theyre somehow better than you because of an address.

So allow me to tell you about Steger.

As I grew up an only child in the 50s and 60s, we had two drugstores kitty corner from one another, a Kresges dime store, a laundromat, a liquor store, a corner tap, a couple of barbershops, an American Legion, a gas station, a shoe store, a paper store, a Dari-Whip, and a bowling alley.

I might be missing a few things, but you get the picture.

So yes, the term small town America certainly fits here.

I dont remember if the one restaurant we had was always there, but I never remember eating at it. Im pretty sure I wasnt missing anything.

And yes, there was an attached fire station and police station notable for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, the tiny cop house actually got plenty of attention because a prisoner perished in a fire, no mean trick since the fire equipment was within 5 feet.