Hello Canada, and Stinquey fans in the United States and Newfoundland! Welcome to October, referred to here in Chicago as “Hockey Season.”  But also: welcome to a special, 0-dark-30 liveblog of the Chicago 2016 presentation to the International Olympic Committee and Chowder Club.  (I will be out of action once the vote gets called.  Ah, work.)

The big guns are out in force, of course, trying to sell Chicago on the world.  Everybody’s looking to see if Barry and Michelle can close the deal, or if Dick Pound jumps on Oprah’s couch.  (NB: Dick Pound = Canadian IOC member, anti-doping crusader, Montreal lawyer, and guy with the BEST NAME EVER.)  That’s the sideshow.  The real story here is that the stakes could not be higher for Richard M. Daley, Mayor.  Dude’s basically put all his chips on this one day.  If Chicago wins, he’ll be Benevolent Monarch For Life, doling out millions upon millions of Olympic dollars to his pals.  If not, his days as Mayor are just about done — his career effectively nailed to a cross of discarded parking meters.

So: showtime for Chicago is set for — oh God — about 0130 (CT).  Will Mayor Daley be able to Make The Connection?  Let us watch, try to stay awake, and ponder.

PRE-SHOW: The voting process is intriguing.  Majority rule, with the last-place town getting spiked after each round.  Everyone figures that of the four, Toyko will get tossed at the start.  Which brings up an interesting prospect — Japan and Brazil seemingly have a history, with many Japanese immigrants going to Brazil in the early 20th Century.  Madrid is likely to go next, with sympathies possibly going to Rio.  So for all the talk about how Chicago has a leg up, the process might cut against Chicago, hard.

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Let’s get this straight.  I am in the tank for Sport.  Season ticket holder to the Blackhawks, constant attendee at Wrigley (and in the minority of fans who actually watch the damn game), etc.  Further, I really dig the Olympics; notwithstanding American teevee’s obsession with gymnastics, beach volleyball, and figure skating for no legitimate reason, I am a devoted viewer.  But: actually having the Olympics handed to us on Friday afternoon?  Do me a favor.

Two reasons.  One: The Bid Committee and other boosters are claiming the price tag will hit $4.8bn.  Anyone who buys that is stoned. Try twelve double-extra-large for 2016.  At least.  London 2012 is at £9.35bn ($14.8bn-ish) right now.  And this is Chicago.  Five guys, two shovels, and a smiling alderman.  Come the hell on. 

Two: we got other problems.  Last week, a kid on the South Side got beat up by a bunch of other guys, right in the street.  Reportedly, he was just an innocent bystander.  The fatal blow apparently came from a railroad tie.  Novel.  Usually, it’s a second-hand gun. 

Look: one or two kids a week are getting shot.  There are square miles that are totally blighted out.  The CTA is perpetually within a few months of meltdown, or catastrophic failure, or both.  And so on.  Having the Olympics over will paper over these festering problems, and many others, while spending desperately needed money on… a real estate development.

COME ON, RIO.  BAIL US OUT.  PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

We neglected to mention last week that in addition to team political contributions, the NFL also maintains a lobbying office in Washington, D.C. As well they should, since they have a Congress-approved monopoly to protect.

Some may call that Socialism — in America, no less! — but we’re more concerned about league regulations that strangle the ability of teams to compete on a free gridiron. If we want a sport that really reflects our values as a nation, we should just throw twenty-two dudes onto a field and let them score touchdowns by any means necessary. Heck, we might even contribute to their charity healthcare to maintain purity of excellence.

Just a thought as we enjoy some refreshing Belgian Pisswater during today’s Stinque Tailgate. Go Local Corporate Scumbags!

“Nebraska to celebrate 300th straight sellout,” reports the AP. Imagine our crushing disappointment when we discovered the story wasn’t about Ben Nelson refusing to commit to blocking a healthcare filibuster, but rather something regarding the Cornholers’ ability to fill seats with butts. That’s enough to make us cry in our beer, and thankfully the kegs at the Stinque Tailgate are never empty.

Sandy Eggo’s Chargers may be the suckiest team in the NFL, with just one Super Bowl appearance in 43 years (and the wrong side of 49-26 against Frisco at that), but there’s one statistic where they put the rest of the league to shame:

Team owners, officials and players have combined to contribute more than $2.4 million to political candidates and committees since the 1990 election cycle.

Take that, Houston Texans and your measly $623,000. For that matter, 98% of Charger contributions have gone to America’s Other Losers, the Republicans.

Which is why we’re going shirtless to today’s Stinque Tailgate. With a giant dollar sign painted on our chest.

Politicians Score Significant Cash From NFL Owners, Coaches and Players [OpenSecrets, via Rachel]

A few weeks back, a player from our hometown college team got in the first punch of the season following a loss to the Famous Potatoes of Boise State. Big deal — Oregon’s mascot has been in better fights than that. And Stanford’s band puts them all to shame.

So you’ll forgive us if we don’t cry in our Disney-licensed Duck Towel. Especially when we’ve been spending the morning figuring out the damn keg tap for today’s Stinque Tailgate. We have no idea who’s playing who. And with luck, by noon we’ll be too drunk to care.

OK, everybody.  Stop dying.  Now.

Fred Cusick, voice of the Bruins — dead from cancer, age 90.  When I was a mere cubicle, me and Pa Bureau gathered around the set and watched hockey.  And Fred was there with us.  For those behind the Chowdah Curtain, he was hockey’s version of Walter Cronkite — no joke.

I learned a while back that a paralegal (since departed to greener pastures) was from New Hampshaah.  He had a Bruins tattoo on his arm.  So I played a little word association.  I said, “Fred Cusick.”  And he said instantaneously — “SCORE!!”  (Examples in Youtube clip below.)  Everybody in New England would have that come to mind just as quickly.