Blessed courtesy of SI's Andy Gray comes the following image, which is sublime in its implications ...
The gentleman you see prominently above -- shorn of Van Heusen yet filled with lager, sirloins and romance -- is Harry Caray.
I must assume that the medallion burrowed in his cleavage is a gold-plated rendering of his zodiac. And although he appears to be holding a mere fountain pen, it should really be a wholesome, restorative cigarette. He called her "toots," I am sure.
For Harry Caray, the belt around his waist is surely unnecessary, as is any advice on the good life -- where to find it, how to live it.
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