Mark Prior playing his favorite position.  Prone.

Timing in life is everything. Within the span of a couple of hours today, two overplayed, overblown and overindulged stories came to their conclusions. Chicago Cubs towelboy Mark Prior had to leave an extended spring training (little league for grown ups) start with a sore side. Don Imus got fired from his radio show.

The timing works out fine. Imus runs a ranch in New Mexico for terminally ill children. Prior will make an excellent camp counselor. He can piss and moan about his maladies and make the kids feel better about only having stage three cancer.

The Imus story just goes to show that if somebody decides they want to act morally outraged at anything, they can probably convince a lot of guilt-ridden white people to start apologizing.

The Prior story just needs to go away. Enough, already. We get it. Your body has decided not to allow you to play baseball anymore. Go put your USC degree to use and leave us all alone. There have to be dozens of Burger Kings in southern California that could use a general manager with really big calves. We all like Jeff Samardizja better anyway. And when he gets hurt in two years, we’ll have moved on to some other overhyped prospect. We’re Cubs fans. It’s what we do.

Back in my younger days, I allowed myself to fall victim to hyperbole. I once referred to a healthy (imagine that, such a species once existed–we’ve got pictures and everything) Mark Prior as the best pitcher we’ve ever seen. Truth is, that was ludicrous. But he was pretty damned good. He seemed too good for the Cubs to screw up.

Yeah, we know better than that. We always have. Once and while we just throw caution to the wind and decide to “believe.” It’s never rewarded.

So what do the Cubs do now? Do they keep rehabbing him and putting up with his inexplicable petulance? Well, yeah.

Lovely how a couple weeks ago he reacted to news that he was being demoted to AAA because he wasn’t ready to pitch in the majors with a sarcastic, spoiled-rotten display. He said he was “just an employee.” He acted as though the Cubs had morally wounded him by daring to send him to Des Moines to try to get himself in shape to throw a freakin’ baseball. He made it seem like he was ready to go. Ready to hop into the rotation and start pitching the Cubs toward their destiny. (Fourth place.)

Two weeks later he still hadn’t pitched again. Finally he did today. And he got hurt.

How typical.

He’s not just an employee. If he was he’d have run out of sick days long ago.

So what do we do? Do we watch the Cubs burn through fifth starters like Alyssa Milano while we cast a hopeful glance off to the west hoping that Prior rides in to save the day?

Not even we are that pathetic.

Chances are that some day the right field glory hole doors will fly open and Prior will walk in. Not like Randy Johnson marching in on no days rest to pitch the ninth inning of game seven of the World Series,  but more like Wild Bill Holden, pink legged, sweating and begging for a beer like he walked from Arizona to Wrigley.

The fans will rise and give him a standing ovation even though he hasn’t done a damn thing for years. He’ll throw out a ceremonial first pitch and the ball and most of his right arm will end up somewhere around the third base line fungo circle.

Then Jason Marquis will give up nine hits and 10 runs in the first inning and life will go on as it has for 98 years.