Second 5
continued
Riverside's very own clone-meister is the mad scientist just goofy enough to make "The Boys from Brazil" a frightening reality. The Seed-man landed in the headlines in 1998 when he announced to the world that he was going to clone a human being. After sending everyone to bed with nightmares straight from "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" Seed dropped his bombshell. He wasn't looking to duplicate just anyone. The bald, bearded quack was going to beaker-brew a spittin' image of himself in an ego massage bar none. The renegade Dr. Frankenstein unveiled further plans to set up cloning clinics around the world, with the high-hopes of shagging himself a shiny new Nobel Prize in the process. Outcry from the Christian right, and most religious organizations in general, was deafening. But the problem was science, not theology. Seed scared the shit out of everyone, not just playing on our fears of losing uniqueness to carbon copies, but with vague, freaky plans high on rhetoric and low on substance.
After President Clinton condemned cloning, calling for a moratorium, Seed threatened to take has scientific sideshow overseas - as if someone else, somewhere else would be more interested in hosting multiple man-made megalomaniacs. While Dolly the sheep was cloned in Scotland after 277 genetically failed attempts, the Seedster stands unflinching in his scheme to Xerox human beings. "You can't stop science," Seed said on National Public Radio. "God made man in his own image. God intended for man to become one with God. Cloning and reprogramming of DNA is the first serious step to becoming one with God."
Lord help us.
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MICHAEL JORDAN
How can the most beloved figure in all of Chicago sports history not inspire a little hatred too - or at least some begrudging resentment? When he was playing six days a week he was golden; he could do no wrong. We saw him everywhere and we didn't mind, because it meant he slammed-jammed his way to a win, even while down with the flu. But now that he's not flying through the air all the time, the image is beginning to pall a bit. Stories that seemed ridiculous in the face of all that scoring are creeping back into public consciousness.
Remember his promise to personally check-out conditions in the Vietnamese factories where his shoes are made? Even David Letterman jumped into the poke-a-joke-at-Mike routine with a "Top ten signs you're at a bad summer camp - number five: You spend your day sewing Nike labels onto a pair of Air Jordans." Right now, still basking in the glow of six championships, he's barely a blip on the hate-o-meter - and may never get that high. But the rumblings of oversaturation are there; he turns up on every channel as the omnipresent pitchman for Rayovac batteries and MCI 5-cent Sundays and Ball Park Franks and Gatorade and cologne and underwear and, of course, Nike. Where you can't see him is in Game Boy-land: his $25 million pricetag for use of his image has kept him out of NBA-licensed video games - which means kids will never get to play like Mike. Too much of a not-playing Michael might not be such a good thing.
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BILL WIRTZ
While lacking the high profile of Reinsdorf, the McCaskeys or even the faceless Tribune Company, Blackhawks owner Bill Wirtz is still no better than his millionaire peers; he just doesn't take as many media lumps. And he should. During the 1971-72 season, Wirtz did the unthinkable by refusing to pay Bobby Hull his market value, thereby punctuating Hull's departure to the Winnipeg Jets. Imagine if the Bears had dealt Walter Payton in 1984 and that about sums up the high stick to the chin Wirtz dealt Hawks fans everywhere. Without question, the Blackhawks - one of the NHL's Original Six - are one of the most fabled franchises in American sports. So why doesn't Wirtz doesn't treat them that way?
Wirtz is undeniably one of the kings of old-school hockey - he was elected nine times to the NHL Board of Governors and helped facilitate the big-time growth of hockey through the merger of the WHL with the NHL in the late 1970s. But he takes much of the blame for fan enmity and the current state of the Blackhawks - his family has held the purse strings on the team for forty-five years. With a roster made up of league remnants, the 1999 Blackhawks are the bottom-feeders of the Western Conference. Why? Because Wirtz is cheap. Thanks to his spendthrift ways and the direct corrolation of player quality, the Hawks have only cherished the Stanley Cup three times. Last year, the only award they earned was the distinction of scoring the lowest number of seasonal goals since the NHL went to an eighty-two-game schedule; at this season's pace, they're looking to break that record. Furthermore, Wirtz alienates fans everywhere by refusing to air Blackhawk home games on television because it might detract from United Center attendance. Hello? What Wirtz isn't considering is the entire generation of young Chicagoans who are not growing up with the Blackhawks on TV.
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JAMES "PATE" PHILIP
Thanks in large part to State Senate President Pate Philip, Chicago no longer plays second city to New York. Instead, the Windy City is taking on the role of second fiddle to the rapidly booming 'burbs. Los Angeles. Houston. Naperville? Philip, who shares Addison office space with U.S. Rep. Henry Hyde, is the biggest name in DuPage County politics. And with all of his clout, he's siphoning government resources away from Chicago, pouring then into the nether regions in order to build more schools and more roads for the cavalcade of minivans and 2.4-children households. Philip, in his six years as state Senate prez, has magnified the separation between city and suburb. "We're [suburbanites] hard-working," Philip said. "We pay our bills. We're not on welfare. We don't take public aid. We're the powerhouse of this state." And obviously suburbanites like this argument - they've elected him six times - and he's assembled a giant war-chest to fend off any would-be opponents.
Further fueling the feud between city and suburb, Philip has repeatedly frustrated our own irascible Mayor over the proposed third airport. While Daley has recently proposed more flights into O'Hare to allow Chicago to be an international travel powerhouse, Philip continues to jockey for a Will County airport where Republicans have far more political muscle.
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CHARLIE TROTTER
Chef Trotter is rapidly becoming Chicago's very own Martha Stewart, crafting creative delights that no one can afford, or, if they do cash out their Fidelity mutual fund, duplicate. And he's everywhere, from homegrown news shows, to the late-night talk circuit, hawking his high brow cuisine. Insider reports on his "meanness" aside, people like him - it's impossible to get a reservation at his downtown chowhouse or to even squeeze in the door on a Friday or Saturday night. In an Italian Beef kind of town, he's elevated the art of the high-class restaurant sky-high - there's nothing wrong with culture. But Trotter's culture obviously isn't meant for regular city folks - the high price on his talents are prohibitive for all but the so-called smart set, who gladly plunk down their platinum cards to join the current culinary rage.
When it comes down to it, we hate Trotter for the oldest reason in the book - petty jealousy. As the hot new thing, he's on the radar of the underpaid under-35 crowd, dissed over cocktails in chi chi bars by those who wish they could afford the trip to his joint. On the other hand, watching him stain nary a lapel whipping up "Napoleon of White Fraises des Bois & Golden Raspberries with Pink Peppercorn Meringues & Thyme?" is downright irritating. If Trotter is indeed on his way to becoming a Windy City Miss Martha, watch out for a line of Kmart cookware soon. On second thought, Charlie's too good for the Big K.
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