It isn't necessary to have been a Cubs fan, born and raised in Chicagoland, to mourn what performance enhancement drugs have done to major league baseball, but it helps.  Once upon a time, there wasn't a better place to understand the big leagues than in the small pub in Chicago's Union Station where commuters gather to grab a beer, two when there's time, before boarding trains home. All eyes focus on the TV screen when the second game of a double-header is underway during rush hour.  Even the bartender listens to Jack Brickhouse when all the cups are good.  The only eye contact comes when a drink is ordered; that's just Midwestern politeness.There's room for about ten people to have front row seats leaning at the bar.  No stools, because no one stays that long.  When a commuter throws back the last swallow and heads for the track, the spot at the bar fills quickly.  Every time that happens, the same conversation repeats.  The new arrival asks, no...(Read Full Post)