He Fought The Law. And The Law Won.

Today was the annual Fall Carnival at our church, so after work I threw on my Portland Sea Dogs sweat shirt (courtesy of the ever lovely DB) and my Sox cap and flew the 5.8 miles it took for me to get from my store to the carnival.

After finding out where Ang and The Judge, Kojak, and The Convict were located, we proceeded to hit every game, ride, petting zoo, and hot dog stand we could find. After spending around 3 hours there, we headed home for Trick-or-Treat. Being that Halloween fell on a Sunday this year, half the neighborhood was ready tonight while the other half is waiting for tomorrow night, which means double the candy for the kids and the fact I'll yell "TROT! GO UP THE DRIVEWAY AND ON THE SIDEWALK AND NOT THE YARD!" over 1000 times which will set a new world record in case you were wondering.

Other than everyone we know giving a knowing laugh over the fact Trot is dressed like he's headed to Alcatraz, the highlights of the night were Rakes giving a polite "Thank You" to everyone who gave him candy and Trot running pell mell into a storm door around the corner because he thought it was open. I was two houses down and STILL heard him hit the thing, but in his defense it wasn't covered in fingerprints like ours is so how could he know?

Although the fact he was perfectly willing to run into a total strangers house without a second thought does sort of give me pause.

Sweet Moses am I glad Halloween is only once a year.

Clemente Would Approve.

*Image courtesy of Kelly O and www.sittingstill.net*

The nicest guy in the game of baseball just won the award for, well, being the nicest guy in baseball.

He's 44 years old, throws a pitch Bugs Bunny would say was goofy, and he's been the heart and soul of the Red Sox pitching staff for the last 15 years.

I don't care what anyone says; I hope he's back for one more run next season.

They may call him "The Bull" someday.

Rakes got his progress report from school today, and amazingly enough, he's doing pretty good. Knows 75 or so sight words, adds like a CPA (but subtracts like his Dad unfortunately), is reading, and hasn't pantsed anyone or clogged up any toilets so far. (That I'm aware of anyways).

As I said his prayers and kissed him goodnight I told him how proud I was of his progress so far this year, he slipped up. It happened so fast I almost didn't catch it, and considering 3 minutes beforehand Trot ALMOST knocked over the sofa table in the living room by treating it like a wrestling ring I wouldn't have blamed myself.

But as I got up to leave his room he uttered "Mr. Agner told Mom that I have to stop laughing so much and stop making Mary laugh too." Mind you, none of this was on the progress report, nothing was mentioned to Angie at the time, and to be honest with you this was the first I'd heard of any "Mary" person and the school year is almost 3 months old.

Maybe he had an attack of a guilty conscience. All I know is this is a kid who wouldn't admit to setting the woods on fire if you caught him with a pack of matches, a can of gasoline, and his clothes black with soot. He'll walk out of the restroom and swear he flushed the toilet with me standing 2 feet away. I once saw him walk up to his brother, rear back and kick him square in the marbles and immediately holler "I didn't do it, Dad!"

So I'm going with total exhaustion as his reason for coming clean tonight.

I've thought and thought about it and can't come up with any other conclusion.

Or he could just be yanking my chain.

I wouldn't put it past the little heathen.

Monday with Trot.

I wish I'd have had the presence of mind to get my camera out. In fact, I've given serious thought to strapping one to a Red Sox cap and putting it on every night when I get home from work and just record everything, sort of like "The Blair Witch Project" on steroids.

But it was 8 a.m., I'd just gotten out of the shower, and frankly I don't really function all that well until I've downed at LEAST 2 Mt Dew's and my daily allowance of Vitamin B12.

There was my youngest son, wearing nothing but his Spiderman underoos and a smile with an entire dryer's worth of laundry heaped on top of him while he giggled like a raving lunatic at Patrick Starr dressed up like a girl, complete with lipstick and a halter top. Patrick, not Trot although that wouldn't have totally surprised me either.

His answer to my obvious question of "What are you doing and why don't you have any clothes on?"

"I'm told, Dad. And dese are WARM."

If those morons from "Jersey Shore" can get a television show then I'm sitting on a gold mine.

The Greatest Series Nobody Will Watch.

As a fan of the game of baseball, I'm stoked about this years World Series. Or as stoked as I can be considering the Red Sox didn't make it.

Two "Cinderella" teams that knocked of the big boys from each league, both teams stacked with pitching and young hitters and old vets led by 2 old school managers that play in beautiful ball parks.

Me? I'll watch every inning, read everything I can about it and get goosebumps when they bring out Willie McCovey and Willie Mays in San Fransisco to throw out the first pitch.

That said, if this series beats out the WNBA, re-runs of "Webster" and CSPAN's "This weeks roll call in Congress" in the Neilson ratings I'll eat my hat.

Looser.

Fittingly, Slappy strikes out to end the ALCS.

LOOKING.

Congratulations to the Texas Rangers and to all the Yankee fans?

No worries.

You've only got 7 more years and roughly $200 million dollars left to pay Alex.

There always remains the slim hope he can somehow come up clutch when it counts.

Although I wouldn't bet the mortgage on it.

From Paris Island, South Carolina.

Sgt. Slaughter came into my store this afternoon.

All of a sudden it was 28 years ago and I was 12 years old watching Mid-South Wrestling on television and reading Wrestling Magazines with this giant man wearing camo and calling everybody a "maggot" every chance he got.

As he tried out recliners and I kept asking my buddy John "Do you think he'd mind if I asked for a picture?" all I kept thinking was "Ciera is going to totally flip out over this". Granted, the only time she'd seen the Sarge was on Youtube but he was a wrestler and she loves wrestling. So I gathered my intestinal fortitude up and said "Hey Sarge. Do you mind if I get a picture with you? My little girl loves wrestling and she'll totally eat this up."

He was more than gracious and actually stood around and talked about the old days with us for about 15 minutes. Granted, it wasn't a famous actor or musician or anything like that but to a 40 year old man who cut his teeth living, breathing, and sleeping professional wrestling today was a pretty sweet day.

Thanks for letting a middle aged man be a kid again, Sarge.

America's Game? More like America's Con.

I was driving back to work today after renewing my tag at the DMV (which is an entire post all on it's own. The ER and the DMV remind me of the set of a zombie movie; you never see these people ANY other time yet every time you go to one of those places, there they are. Do they live there? Is that the ONLY time they leave the house? You wanna see some extreme weirdness? Go take a seat at the DMV, bring some popcorn, and be ready to be astonished.) I caught some local sports talk out of Raleigh.

Which normally means NCAA basketball, ECU football, a little bit of NASCAR, some whining about how much the Panthers suck, and more basketball.

Today, though, they were talking about the NFL and the MLB playoffs. Specifically about how the NFL was beating baseball in the ratings, no matter who was playing or where, specifically the Jaguars/Titans game out ranking the Yankees/Rangers game last night.

Some pretty good theories were tossed about, like the NFL only being 16 weeks and baseball 162 games, Fantasy leagues, the fact the average Americans attention span is roughly that of a 3 year old hopped up on Mellow Yellow, and the "video game" culture we live in.

All fairly good points.

Then, some good old boy called in and said he couldn't tell you who was playing baseball, who pitched, who won, etc.. and that football was, and I quote, "The best sport around. The reason I stopped watching baseball was because of all the steroids and drug use and it just isn't the wholesome game I grew up with. Football is still pure."

I don't know what floored me more; the fact he actually said that or the fact the host just agreed with him and moved on.

Are you freaking KIDDING me?

I realize baseball has had and still has it's issues with PED's. But if you think a 300 pound man is supposed to be able to run the 40 in 4.2 seconds, should be able to bench 325 25 times in a row, and the average NFL player looks like he could be in a body building contest by the weekend is NORMAL? I've got some ocean front property in Idaho and some prime coastline views of the Pacific Ocean in Toledo I'd like to discuss with you.

Watch an NFL game this weekend. If most of the players look "normal" to you then I'm 6' 4", weigh 200 pounds, and will be joining MENSA next month.

Why hasn't the NFL been raked over the coals, called before Congress, and been vilified by the public? Who knows, but usually at the bottom of every scandal there is one common factor.

The all-mighty dollar.

'Cause if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck?

Pretty good odds it's a flipping duck.

At my age... rarely does a lady faint on me.

Maybe it's the fact I've been sick for the last week.

Or it could be I've finally gone off the deep end dealing with these borderline psychopaths I call children.

Behind curtain number 3 is the possibility that the low grade fever I've been fighting is messing with my mind.

But when Clinton say's "There is nothin' the rest of you can do so pay attention to me" I lose it every time. It's like he's saying "I've been impeached, served 8 years as President, almost died one time, and I've sort of seen it all. Screw it, I'm just gonna say what I think at this point".

Rangers up 2-0 in the top of the 5th.

I'm hoping the fever breaks soon 'cause I'm pretty sure I just saw Cliff Lee in my kitchen, which is pretty much impossible considering he's in New York making the Yankees look silly.

But I swear on Johnny Pesky.

I just saw him getting a juice box out of the fridge.

A Sunday to Forget.

As Sunday's go, it was par for the course.

Or not.

Missed church for the first time since I can remember with whatever this plague is I've been fighting. No fever today, but my stomach was doing the Basso Nova all day long. Rakes and Trot spent approximately 4 hours today alternating between running in our back door and running outside to play with their buddies.

All this while I'm doing the very best I can not to fall off the end of the couch into the floor. 'Cause I'm fairly certain I would have just stayed there until tomorrow morning.

To top the day off Ciera and her Mom spent an hour in the bathroom trying to get the infection out of her ears from the sterling silver earrings she was wearing today. A child with a low pain tolerance and a Mom straight out of the old school combined with Rakes' morbid curiosity of anyone else in pain made for interesting closure to the night.

Here's something you won't hear often.

I can't wait 'til Monday.

I've got $500 that say's Dusty Rhodes isn't a Yankee fan.

Surfing around the web tonight I came across a column written at Fanhouse where they linked this promo of Dusty Rhodes.

Let's face it, it's not every day you see an overweight guy with a bleached blond curly perm wearing a suit jacket, vest, tie, and pink shirt over a pair of Wranglers.

Throw in the lisp, the glasses, and the sing song lilt to his voice as he compares himself to John Wayne and this is an all-time CLASSIC.

If I had to take a guess I'd say Dusty is sitting in a bar somewhere drinking a Natural Light, wearing a Texas Rangers cap, and telling anyone who'll listen about the time him and Nolan Ryan painted the town red in Dallas back in the day.

'Cause you can't talk about Hard Times like THIS and ever be a fan of the Yankees.

One Moment in Time.

It's week 6 and somehow, someway I'm in first place in my fantasy football league.

I figured I'd better document it somehow since the odds of it happening again fall somewhere between never and the next time Haley's Comet comes around.

Be it ever so briefly, it's good to be the king.

Tales from the Furniture Store. Part Duh.

Actual conversation between me and a customer today.

Customer: "I really like this one; I'll take it."

Me: "Great. Let's go write it up and get you on the delivery schedule".

Customer: "I'd like to finance it. Ya'll offer 12 months same as cash?"

Me: "No problem".

Customer: "Uh, that's not based on credit, is it?"

Me: "..............."

Thank God I've got my loving, sane family to go home to and help me forget about the day.

Sweet Mother of Mary.

I'm totally screwed.

A Public Service Announcement.

Look, I realize times are tough. Bad economy, high unemployment, and most of us can't afford to grab a value meal at McDonalds, much less take the family out for a steak dinner every weekend.

But if I get one more person come into the store and ask me if we have any USED MATTRESSES I'm going to grab them by the shirt (male or female, young or old, healthy or using one of those scooter things to get around), slap them 3 times, and tell them if they want to die a painful, hideous death from some mysterious disease they should just save themselves a lot of headache and just stick their head in the oven at home.

Maybe it's just me; I have to give myself a pep talk just to get in a motel room bed so I may not be the best example.

But it it's either sleep on the floor or sleep on some random persons mattress covered with God only knows what I'm taking the floor every single time.

Why didn't I pay attention in that economics class back in the day?

Dr. Spock is an idiot.

Technically, Monday is my day off. Although with 3 kids you're never really off, just in various states of calm depending on when, where, and how they get home from school and when, where, and how they are supposed to get to practices, church, school events and the next birthday party one of them is invited to.

Most Mondays (unless it's the week I drive Ciera and her cousin to school) I chain the door behind Ang so Trot can't escape, make sure the pantry, fridge, and medicine cabinet are locked up so Trot can't wreak havoc, and lay back down in the bed for another 30 minutes of rest. I don't sleep because I'm afraid I'll wake up with a dead bird, Trot, and a block of Cheddar next to me.

Yet even with all the planning, locking, and fervent prayers he somehow finds a way to circumvent the system.

As soon as I heard the ice maker rattling out cubes I shot out of bed yelling his name at the top of my lungs and as I came out the door he bolted into the dining room, leaving the dish rag and the approximately 5,389 ice cubes he was holding to fall onto my brand new hardwood floors and scatter to the Four Winds.

I have no idea why he was trying to put ice cubes in a dishrag or what he was planning to do with them.

All I know is as I was picking up ice cubes in my boxer shorts at 7:45 in the morning on my day off while Trot hid himself somewhere it occurred to me that I'm about one more day off away from completely losing whatever is left of my sanity.

And to think.

At one point I actually wanted FOUR of them.

Is there an age minimum for MMA?

We've had a first tooth, first step, first Christmas, first Birthday, and first word.

Today we had our first banishment from a neighbors house.

Due to the fact he decided to practice some judo moves on an 8 year old girl who was visiting with our neighbors down the street, Trot was sent home with the phrase "Not welcome until he can play without resorting to violence".

He had to stay inside the rest of the day, read the riot act 4 times by his mother, and made to walk back down the street to apologize to the little girl, our neighbor, the neighbor kids Mom, and the U.N. General Assembly.

After I got home I sat down and calmly explained to him that we can't hit or kick or in general maim ANYONE, ESPECIALLY little girls. And if he wanted to get invited to play at his friends house he had to understand that most people really don't like getting hematomas in the course of playing in the backyard.

To his credit he was contrite, humbled, and really, REALLY sorry for doing it.

But I gotta say, girl or not, it's not everyday a 4 year old can make an 8 year old cry uncle.

Don't know whether to ground him for a week or buy him a pony.

Being a Dad can be a riddle wrapped around an enigma sometimes.

I Live for This.

Maybe it's because I turned 40 this year.

Or it could be the fact I'll celebrate my 18th wedding anniversary this December after 3 kids, 1700 arguments, 3 Presidents and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

The fact that I may have finally grew up is still 3 or 4 years away from being a viable option so it may just boil down to there are only so many hours in a day and only so many things I can pass the buck to but I'm having a hard time pinpointing the reason I'm really into the baseball playoffs considering the Red Sox are lining up tee times at Pebble Beach right now.

Doc throwing a no hitter and the Rangers going up 2-0 over the Rays and Bobby Cox retiring are playing a part, no doubt about it.

My opinion?

It's that lil' fella I'm holding in my lap, along with his brother and sister that have caused me to morph into Ken Burns/Bob Costas all of a sudden. All of a sudden they are all three old enough to get the fact Dad is a raging lunatic when it comes to baseball; and all three are spending more and more time sitting next to me on the couch while the 2010 Post-Season unfolds.

And as I answer question after question about who is that and who are they and is Manny going to play for the Braves next year I get more and more invested in what is going on.

Finally I GET how a guy heading hard and fast toward middle age can somehow relate to a pre-teen, a 1st grader, and a future head of the Gambino family all at once.

Sweet Mother of Mary do I love this game.

I Love this Game.

I had several different topics on tonight's blog post banging around inside my head today. First and foremost was when I was watching "Four Day's in October" last night and the fact that Curtis Leskanic pitched meaningful innings in the '04 ALCS and it didn't hit me THEN that that team was destined for greatness.

How else do you explain Curtis Leskanic NOT giving up 10 runs? Apparently my lack of sleep combined with my stress level prevented me from seeing the obvious at the time but I gotta tell you that even knowing how it turned out I still got nervous when I saw him in there.

My second topic was the ongoing mystery of why my kids cannot grasp the concept of flushing the toilet. Everything else up until that point they've got down pat, but that final yet REALLY IMPORTANT part just won't sink in. Which turns every visit to one of my 3 bathrooms into a really, REALLY bad treasure hunt.

Real life interrupted all that when I got home in the middle of the 4th inning of Game 1 of the Reds/Phillies game and proceeded to watch history unfold before my very eyes.

It's not every day you get to see a no hitter thrown in the playoffs.

Congrats, Doc.

Good Times Never Seemed So Good.

God Bless Dave Roberts.

As I watched "Four Days in October" last night I was reminded, for about the millionth time, just how much man love I have for Dave Freaking Roberts.

You Either Ride or Die

Tonight at 8 p.m. on ESPN.

Other than my kids being born, the 4 greatest days of my life.

One More Word on The Professional.

If you've got about 5 minutes this is a nice re-cap to "Mike Lowell Day" from Saturday.

Thanks again, Mikey.

Next Year Can't Get Here Soon Enough

Scenic Lowell has ridden off into the sunset.

Tek was pulled off the field by Tito in the 9th inning so he could get his moment in the sun, just in case today was the last day with him wearing the C.

Papi, after BUNTING his way on for his 3rd hit of the day was brought off to a standing ovation and then gave Fenway a curtain call.

After a BUNT. (It's been a weird, weird year).

Throw in Wake possibly not coming back, Beltre and V Mart are free agents, and question marks surrounding the health of Pedie, Youk, and Beckett along with the realization that the Sox gave John Lackey a gazillion dollars and got 14 wins as a thank you and the off season has more questions than the average episode of "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?

To say this team has "issues" is a massive understatement.

Today, though? All I could think about was there will be no more Red Sox baseball until next February, when pitchers and catchers report to Florida and it all begins again. Sure, I'll have the NFL and Gordon Ramsey to keep me company and I'll catch up on all the tv shows I've missed here and there but that one constant, a game nearly every night, that I've had since the first of April is gone.

I'll let Trot, in a photographic illustration, sort of sum up how I'm feeling right about now.

#25 in your program. #1 in your heart.

*Image courtesy of Kelly and www.sittingstill.net*

The shirt sort of tells it all.

Tomorrow is Mike Lowell's last game in Major League Baseball.

The game will be the worse for it.

It's a crawl to the finish line.

Not only were they eliminated from the playoffs and have to watch the Yankees AND the Rays play in October, you can add insult to injury with the fact just when I was ready to watch Lester get his 20th win the White Sox lead 8-2 in the 6th.

The season ends Sunday, the last 3 games are with the Yankees, and Mike Lowell is retiring 4 days from now.

Yet I sit here at 10:09 p.m. watching a game that unless a miracle happens is going to result in another loss.

And I coulda watched "The Big Bang Theory".

If anyone knows a good shrink?

Well, I'm all ears.

Better Days

Watched Ken Burns' "The Tenth Inning" tonight and when they got to the 2003 ALCS I got a knot in my stomach the size of Pluto. Yeah, I knew the Boone HR was coming but it still doesn't stop hurting no matter how many times I see it.

And when they got to the 2004 ALCS the knot magically reappeared. Even though I knew they won. And I'd swear that every time I see the Roberts steal of second it gets closer and closer.

What always gets me? Is watching Wake, head hanging down, walk off the field after giving up the home run to Boone. And then I remember him standing on the mound in New York one year later, tears coming out of his eyes while Schilling dumps a beer on his head and then I start getting misty eyed. 'Cause out of every guy who played on that '03 team that had a part in shocking the world I've always felt the best for Timmy.

And tonight, while I watched the same footage I've seen hundreds of time over the last 6 years I realized something.

I realized my kids will never know of a time when the Red Sox HADN'T won the World Series. And so far, not once but TWICE in their lifetimes.

I gotta say.

That is one awesome feeling.

Your 2010 Manager of the Year.

*Image courtesy of Kelly and sittingstill.net*

Honestly?

I have no idea how he did it. Ang and I need pie charts, a laser pointer, 4 leaf clovers and divine intervention to figure out how to get three kids to school in the morning and Tito took a team of castoffs, also rans, and the walking wounded and somehow made it until there were 5 games left in the season before they were eliminated in possibly the toughest division in baseball.

Now mathematically, officially eliminated all the Sox have left to play for is pride and based on how they've played up until this point?

Wouldn't surprise me one bit if they ran the table.

Inconsistent (to say the least) starting pitching, more injuries than the entire filming of "Day's of Thunder" and practically the entire Pawtucket roster making appearances throughout the year and they STILL hung until the final week.

Other than the band of Idiots that won it all in '04 this may be my all time favorite Sox team. Gritty, unknown, and written off for dead by many people (including me) they flat out refused to die and in the end? The numbers game finally ran out.

Unlike 2006, I'm not sad it's over and I'm not sad they won't make the post season. Deep down I knew it when Beckett went on the DL and then Youk and Pedie were gone for the year; but they never, EVER quit.

And there aren't too many teams who could say they would have responded the same way.

So I'm left hoping that Lester gets his 20 wins and Buchholz gets 19 and Beckett can gnaw Posada's larynx out with his bare teeth at some point this weekend. I'll worry about them resigning Beltre and V Mart and if they'll pick up the option on Papi and if Tek will be around another season.

And on Mike Lowell night this coming Saturday it's gonna take everything I've got in me not to cry like a freaking baby when I think about the fact that after this weekend there will be no more cries of "Mikey Two Bags" or "Senor Doubles".

But that's a post for a different day.

Congratulations, fellas.

Job well done.

6 more days until it's Winter.

I admit it. I'm a sucker for the long shot, feel good story.

From the Sox coming back in '04 to the Saints winning the Super Bowl to Trot's quest to finally pee only in the toilet yet come up short every time, I've got a soft spot for the perennial also rans and never was.

Which is why, unless a miracle on the lines of Moses parting the Red Sea or FOX suddenly realizes Ryan Seachrest is the Anti-Christ and the Sox somehow make the playoffs I'll be rooting for the Texas Rangers this fall.

If for no other reason than Ron Washington. If you haven't read about what this cat has been through over the past couple of seasons, you need to give THIS a read.

Yes, I find it somewhat dubious that a middle aged man all of a sudden decides to do cocaine. That is the equivalent of Rakes and Trot deciding to stop hitting each other in the marbles and take up knitting instead.

But like I said, I'm big on second chances. And not only do they have Washington they've got Josh Hamilton and Vladdy and Nolan Ryan and Michael Young and if nothing else?

I want them to send Slappy into the off season with his $300 million dollar contract and go on to win it all without him while he tries to convince himself that HE wasn't the problem there all along.

What can I say?

The thought of the Sox playing Golf in October makes me vindictive.

Sue me.

Nurse, I've got a pulse.

*Image courtesy of Kelly O and www.sittingstill.net*

She may be warming up and ready to go?

But today at The Toilet Jon Lester let everyone know one thing.

They ain't ready to hear The Fat Lady sing just yet.

You're KILLING me, Smalls.

"Sir, I served with Josh Beckett, I knew Josh Beckett, Josh Beckett was a friend of mine. Sir, you're no Josh Beckett."

A 10-1 lead morphs into a 10-8 nail biting, ulcer promoting, pre-heart attack inducing 10-8 win with me sitting in the Lotus position in the bathroom while I create new and unique curse words in between banging my head on the sink.

In other words? A typical Josh Beckett start in the Year of our Lord 2010.

I think for Christmas I'm gonna ask Santa for the Commander of the **** You Brigade to return to Boston in 2011.

If you need me I'll be breathing into a paper bag for the next hour or so.

This? Is What Happens in a "Bridge Year".

Maybe it's because the Red Sox are, in every logical and practical sense, out of it.

Or it could be Trot finally pushed me over the edge and I've at long last lost the final vestige of my sanity.

Worse case scenario? I finally grew up and realized there's more to life than baseball games and beating the Yankees.

Nah, it's either #1 or #2.

For the last couple of years I've been TRYING to keep up with current events that don't involve a box score. (Don't get me wrong; the box score is still the FIRST thing I check each day; I'm just trying to be a little more well rounded.)

And typically my comments on politics have usually been "they're all crooks" and left it at that. But as my kids get older I wonder about what kind of world they'll be living in a few short years from now and are they better off than I was at their age. And the one big thing that scares me to no end is the absolute hatred, racism, bigotry, and class warfare I read about every stinking day.

Two years ago this country elected an African American as President. Yet there are still those who are trying to convince people he's Muslim. In a country, that IN MY LIFETIME had separate water fountains for different races, where there are people screaming to the mountain tops that he was only elected BECAUSE he is black. (Think about THAT one for a minute.)

"Ship 'em all back to Mexico where they belong!" Where my store is located, our clientele is about 50% African American, 25% Hispanic, and 25% white. Yet I actually had someone call me today and ask if the Tea Party candidate for Senate could stage a rally IN OUR PARKING LOT. On a SATURDAY. My first inclination was to ask this person if they were under the influence of heroin but thankfully I thought better of it.

Personally, I could care less if you are a Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Independent, or from Mars. One of the greatest things about this country is everybody has a right, a natural right, to have their own opinion. If Red Sox and Yankee fans can sit down and break bread together and not end up beating each other into oblivion then anything is possible.

What I DO have issues with is this; to those who trumpet the "Close our borders" anthem while draping themselves in the American Flag and the Bible while they holler about Family Values and scream themselves hoarse about the virtues of America?

A. Do you ever stop to think that OUR ancestors, and not that freaking long ago, got on a boat, in ANOTHER COUNTRY, and sailed across the sea to get here? And that there were people ALREADY LIVING HERE AT THE TIME?

B. The Bible is pretty clear about how God views this whole "Immigration" issue. With many thanks to my buddy Josh for the Scripture (those of you who know Josh? Buy some smelling salts. I'm just sayin'. And don't click on his link if you are easily offended.)

//Leviticus 19:34 (NIV): The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt. I am the LORD your God.//

//Exodus 22:21 (NIV): Do not mistreat an alien or oppress him, for you were aliens in Egypt.//

I really don't have any idea what my point here is. It's late, I'm exhausted, and I've been sitting here for the last 10 minutes wondering if Trot is going to wake up at 3 a.m. in a puddle of urine and then ask me if he can have a piece of cheese.

What I do know is this; history is littered with examples of the terrible consequences of blindly following the herd and most of the time the squeaky wheel may get the grease.

But it don't mean the grease fixes the problem.

2010: The Year of the Mulligan

Due to massive amounts of injuries, Theo's proclamation last winter about a "bridge year" and good old fashioned bad luck I hereby declare the 2010 MLB season to be one massive DO OVER.

The Sox will be golfing come the playoffs and strangely enough?

I'm OK with that.

But this guy?

(Thanks to Kelly and sittingstill.net for the pic)

And THIS guy?

(Again, thanks to the ever awesome Kelly O' for the shot)

I'd REALLY like to see them come out next year spitting fire, crapping brimstone, and doing their best impression of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday.

If it's not to much to ask.

Woulda, Coulda, Shouda.

I may be totally off base and talking out my rear end, (This is usually the case, btw.) but if we'd had this guy?

(Image courtesy of Kelly O and www.sittingstill.net)

Not to mention this guy?

(Again. Thanks to Kelly and sittingstill.net)

I'm pretty sure the Sox wouldn't be on the outside looking in at the playoffs.

Not to mention the fact I'd probably be able to deal a lot better with THESE guys.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

11 more games until the start of a long, cold winter.

I wonder how many days it is until Pitchers and Catchers report?

Yet Another Example of Inbreeding Gone Bad.

I just heard about this.

Whenever I read about these morons jumping on the field I always wonder one thing.

What would Manny do?

Pals.

There are a few constants in my life. Throw out Death, Taxes, and the sun coming out tomorrow since they apply to all of us.

My top five are as following:

1. Trot will do SOMETHING over the course of a given day to give my ulcer and ulcer and cause me to ask him "What is WRONG with you?"

2. Ciera will make me laugh. Not smile or smirk or giggle, but full on laugh out loud, usually during her monologue about what happened at school that day when she calls me at 4 p.m.

3. Rakes will ask "Dad, can I tell you something?" This usually involves a question about wrestling or Sponge Bob, but occasionally can include the serious "Why doesn't the Bible mention Dinosaurs?" I usually respond with either "I don't know" or "Ask your Mom".

4. I'll spend at least 5 minutes trying to figure out how the Red Sox can acquire a big bat without giving up anyone more significant than the bat boy. Still working on that one.

5. I'll talk to my buddy Jr every day and my buddy JB at least twice a week.

Funny thing is, I "met" both these guys online at www.survivinggrady.com. And as a parent of a pre-teen I'm very much opposed to "meeting" strangers online. In fact, in her case I'm downright militant about it, going so far as "adopting" a kid from church who most closely resembles a bus as an honorary Dalton to crack some heads if the need should arise.

But when it comes to the other two Amigos?

Let's just say I'm guessing there aren't too many 40 year old's who meet their two best friends online and consider them a brother walking around out there. Especially when one of them is 25 years old and you want to kill him every so often and the other is an 87 year old stubborn mule trapped in a 37 year old's body and they both make you laugh until you have tears running down your face every time you talk to them.

Throw in driving basically across country in a Volkswagon GTI for 5 days and if we didn't kill each other after that?

Fellas? I'm extremely grateful to call you both "Pals" in the strictest "Young Guns" sense of the word.

Here's to next years Road Trip.

May it NOT involve The Trop. Or a micro storm on the highway.

But Arby's is good with me.

40 and Counting.

Found another gray chest hair today.

I wonder why?

Maybe I Should Teach Him The Superkick.

Trot had his first official soccer game this morning and even though I was late to work I made sure I was there for it.

In the span of 40 minutes we covered more ground than Usain Bolt does in the average 100 meter race. There was his first ever goal paired with him laying prostrate on the field at one end while EVERYONE else was down at the other goal. I'm pretty sure he gave every male on his team a shot to the gibleys for some reason, leading his buddy Noah to loudly yell "Would you PLEASE quit hitting me?".

At one point I made him come off the field due to the fact he was trying to do a headstand while the rest of the kids ran right by him, leading to the grand finale of him standing at mid field, clapping his hands and singing Shawn Michael's theme song.

If you don't know this catchy number it repeats, over and over, "I'm just a sexy boy... Boy Toy. I'm not your Boy Toy."

There is absolutely NO WAY I will ever be able to coach any of this child's sports teams.

And the Academy goes to....

http://mlb.mlb.com/video/play.jsp?content_id=12117903

Looks like Captain Intangibles isn't Snow White after all.

I can sort of ignore the incredible acting job Jetes does after the ball HITS HIS BAT and not his arm; in fact, if any professional wrestlers saw this? THAT is how you sell an injury to the public.

It's his complete selling of the injury, to the point the TRAINER comes out and Girardi looks like he's about to toss his cookies over the possible threat his .260 hitting short stop may miss ANY time. I haven't seen acting this good since The Rock told Mick Foley to check himself into the Heartbreak Hotel on Jabroni Drive.

Yes, I just compared the Captain of the vaunted New York Yankees to Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Undertaker, and The Gobbley Gooker.

Lou Gehrig he ain't.

Reality? It bites.

I gotta admit, turning 40 and having Rakes look at me like he is in this picture make me more than a little nervous. It's like he's saying "OK. You're the Dad, I'm the kid, and you're responsible for me being here. Don't screw it up."

Meanwhile, on most days I'm just doing everything I can just to make it until 7 o'clock, where I then rely upon my old standby of just winging it and hoping everything works out.

So tonight, amidst the chaos that is bedtime around here and while the boys were splashing enough water out of the tub to fill up Lake Eerie, I googled "things people accomplished at the age of 40".

Courtesy of www.personalfinancebythebook.com are a few things I found out.

• John Glenn became the first American to orbit the Earth.
• Harriet Beecher Stowe, a mother of six who occasionally wrote for magazines, published Uncle Tom’s Cabin, an antislavery novel of such force that it is generally recognized as one of the causes of the Civil War.
• Jean Eugene Atget, now considered one of the greatest photographers, took up photography.

Glenn orbited the earth and I'm just hoping Trot doesn't decide to take a whiz in the carton of blocks at school. Stowe writes the definitive novel on slavery and Rakes is obsessed with the WWE. Atget takes up photography and I'm freaking out over Ciera someday realizing she likes boys and then I've gotta buy a gun and then I'm pretty sure me, Rakes, and Trot all end up on www.smokinggun.com and Kevin Smith buys the movie rights while I'm in jail and I end up on Maury pleading my case.

Can I just go back to 30 and get a do-over or something?

It's Hard to Say Goodbye

I came to the decision today that I had to bid farewell to an old and dear friend.

This wasn't a decision I came to lightly; it was made after many hours of agonizing, meditating and prayer and it wasn't easy.

My friend and I had been through a lot. Trials, tribulations, road trips to Boston (twice), long nights together agonizing over another Red Sox loss or rejoicing over some late inning comeback win that sent us both to bed deliriously happy. It rode right along with the Three Amigos on our Road Trip adventure and it helped me read books to the boys and put the kids to bed at night.

In fact, when I'd talk about my friend I used the same quote the Bandit used in that all-time classic that if there were any justice would have won the Academy Award in 1977:

"I take my hat off for one thing, one thing only."

I gotta get a new hat. It's got stains on it's stains, FEMA would render it uninhabitable, and I'm pretty sure I saw it move on it's own the other day.

So long, old friend.

I'll never forget you.

Another reason why "Coach Ted" won't be heard anytime soon.

As I watched Trot kick a soccer ball halfway across a baseball infield at practice tonight while his coach blew his whistle like he was trying to stop traffic, I had an epiphany. Or a mini stroke. Not really clear yet, but you get the point.

There is no way, and the Rock means NO WAY I could ever coach him in any athletic endeavor. Until he gets to the point he's not asking his coach about the moon or asking him why his belly was so big or shouting "Hi YAH!" every time he kicked the ball (all three of which happened tonight, by the way.) it's all I can do not to run onto the field and promptly tie him to the goal.

I could care less if he scores a point at this juncture. I just want him to stand still and listen for once. To be fair, Ciera and Rakes spoiled me. Ciera has always gone along to get along and Rakes is so competitive he wants to do well, even if it means knocking down some old lady who happens to get in his way while he's maniacally running through the frozen foods section at Food Lion.

Trot? Well, imagine what Manny Ramirez was like playing little league as a child.

Then give Manny ADD, a pre-disposition to urinating in public, and a voice that the guy who used to host "Soul Train" would envy and THEN give him a pair of shin guards and cleats and all I can say is Good Luck.

His coach is half-way to Sainthood already, and the first game isn't until Saturday.

Let the Mike Shannahan era Commence.

They could go 1-15 for the rest of the year and I'd be a happy man.

Redskins 13, Cowboys 7.

Factor in the Red Sox won and the Yankees AND Rays lost today, and to quote Ice Cube?

Today?

Was a Good Day.

Never Forget.

9 years.

Seems like yesterday.

I don't have any answers. Shoot, I don't even know the reason why it happened but it did. And in the face of one of the greatest tragedies this country has ever seen we rose up. Together.

"Faith, Hope, and Love were some good thing's He gave us. But the greatest is Love".

I'm not a real smart guy. But it seems to me if we'd all practice those three things, maybe, just maybe, things would get a little better.

It sure couldn't hurt.

Hair Metal Never Dies. It Lives On In My Wedding Tape.

I realize by posting this I'm subjecting myself to several round of verbal abuse from Jr and Josh, but I've already rode half way across the country with them in a GTI so I figure it can only go up from there.

This was Ange and my "song" and it was played at our wedding.

Sue me. I'm a child of the '80's.

Besides, it's still true 18 years later so maybe we were on to something.

And yes, the fact the game doesn't start until 10 and Trot and Rakes managed to go the whole day without breaking any laws, destroying any property and made it another day without bringing the whole Mid East Peace Process to a grinding halt definitely played a part in this post.

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

When it comes to politics I usually try to stay quiet and keep my opinions to myself. Nothing ruins a good talk quicker than getting into a whizzing contest about the Democrats vs the Republicans, UNLESS it involves religion.

It's not a secret to anyone who knows me that I'm a Christian. I don't announce it with a bull horn or carry a 15 pound Bible around 24/7 but I definitely don't hide the fact that I'm a believer.

I'm not a real smart man, and I'll be the first to admit I spend 99.9% of the time thinking more about how the Red Sox are doing than I do about current affairs, but this wing nut in Florida has been the final straw. From the "Ground Zero Mosque" wackos to the Tea Party people, followed closely behind by Newt Gingrich and Glen Beck I've been amazed at the seemingly rational folks who believe whatever comes out of these peoples mouths.

Look, I'm not here to tell you how to think or what to believe. All I ask is that you actually research stuff a little more and get some different perspectives before you blindly go off following a person or a movement or state a fact. 'Cause the guys that founded this country would want it that way.

What got me thinking about this seriously was a conversation I overheard last night where a gentleman gleefully exhorted "The Democrats are on the run and that d****e is too!" I was too stunned to actually say anything, and Trot was sitting in the middle of somebody's table at the time for me to reflect on it much, but the more I did the more it bothered me. Is it any wonder the rest of the world looks at us like we're the Devil incarnate?

I could care less whether you are Republican, Democrat, like Rush Limbaugh or think he needs a lobotomy. This country was based on FREEDOM, not "Freedom if you agree with the majority". And part of what makes this the best country in the world is our ability to agree to disagree.

Anyone ever see the movie "A Time to Kill"? Remember that summation to the jury he gave at the end of the trial? Here it is to refresh your memory.

"I want to tell you a story. I'm going to ask you all to close your eyes while I tell you the story. I want you to listen to me. I want you to listen to yourselves. Go ahead. Close your eyes, please. This is a story about a little girl walking home from the grocery store one sunny afternoon. I want you to picture this little girl. Suddenly a truck races up. Two men jump out and grab her. They drag her into a nearby field and they tie her up and they rip her clothes from her body. Now they climb on. First one, then the other, raping her, shattering everything innocent and pure with a vicious thrust in a fog of drunken breath and sweat. And when they're done, after they've killed her tiny womb, murdered any chance for her to have children, to have life beyond her own, they decide to use her for target practice. They start throwing full beer cans at her. They throw them so hard that it tears the flesh all the way to her bones. Then they urinate on her. Now comes the hanging. They have a rope. They tie a noose. Imagine the noose going tight around her neck and with a sudden blinding jerk she's pulled into the air and her feet and legs go kicking. They don't find the ground. The hanging branch isn't strong enough. It snaps and she falls back to the earth. So they pick her up, throw her in the back of the truck and drive out to Foggy Creek Bridge. Pitch her over the edge. And she drops some thirty feet down to the creek bottom below. Can you see her? Her raped, beaten, broken body soaked in their urine, soaked in their semen, soaked in her blood, left to die. Can you see her? I want you to picture that little girl. Now imagine she's white. "

For those of you who agree with that idiot in Florida and whole heartily endorse his burning of the Koran, I'd like you to do one thing for me.

I want you to picture that Koran he's gleefully told the world he's gonna burn.

And imagine it's a Bible.

From the Desk of Miss Hathaway

*Image courtesy of Kelly @www.sittingstill.net*

From: Miss Hathaway

To: The Powers That Be (My employer made me address this letter as such. I have no idea why)

Dear Wing Nuts, (Again. His insistence. I do apologize.)

Since none of you silver spoon born morons have responded to my previous FIVE letters (I'm afraid this is my fault; he wrote them but I never sent them. 4 contained language that would make a sailor cringe and I was afraid the 5th one would attract the unwanted attention of the Secret Service, PETA, and The Tea Party and decided discretion was the better part of valor.), I'm writing this as my final mea culpa on the 2010 season.

With the unbelievable amount of injuries and "bad luck" the Red Sox have had this season my inner Oliver Stone has gone on high alert. Throw in the Rangers actually being good for the whole year, Jose Bautista morphing into the second coming of Micky Mantle at the plate, and the Padres on the verge of making the playoffs and I'm already in contact with Stone's people to get the screenplay written.

If this is the last rational thought I EVER have, (you have no idea how hard it was for me to write this. He hasn't had a rational thought since Bush Sr. was in office) if I've gotta watch Joe Girardi and his stupid braces grinning like some backwoods hillbilly on FOX this October hoisting the WS Trophy after they've beaten the Phillies or suffer the eye burning, nausea inducing sight of Joe Maddon and the Rays wearing Sansabelt slacks and white loafers as they arrive in San Fransisco to play the Giants there is going to be hell to pay.

You think the Mitchell Report or the Warren Commission was tough to sit through?

I've got that guy whose under the ethics review in New York, Bill Lee, the guy who played Kevin Costner's "JFK" role in an off, off, off Broadway play and the cousin of a guy who knows a guy whose sister is dating the unpaid intern of Howard Stern is down as well.

Not Howard. The intern.

If Ron Washington and his Nolan "I can still throw smoke and give you an atomic wedgie anytime I want" Ryan's Texas Rangers don't finally bust through and get to the dance the next time you see me will be on CNN or The Maurey Povich show, whichever one ponies up first.

Anyways, this shall be my last manifesto until Spring Training, 2011 although I hold the right to change my mind should a miracle happen and they somehow make the playoffs.

Sincerely,

Red Sox Dad

P.S. Tell Selig he can go pound sand where the sun don't shine. I'll never forgive that mumbling dink for not letting Buck into the HOF before he died.

P.P.S. If Timmeh doesn't win the Roberto Clemente award these contests are as fixed as the WWE.

(My sincere apologies for this recent rant. He hasn't been well since that nice young man Dustin got hurt and when that large, bearded fellow that plays first and yells a lot followed him? Let's just say that his morning coffee had a little friend I added to try and keep him calm. Only 13 more years and I can retire and go live in a box to live out my final days.)

Tanner Boyle Speaks the Truth.

In the wake of tonight's train wreck at Fenway Park (It's 14-3 Rays in the bottom of the 8th inning) I decided I needed a little inspiration.

Naturally, I turned to The Bad News Bears.

Put Tito in Buttermakers role, Pedie as Tanner Boyle, and Wake as Lupus and you get the idea.

And due to the fact he's gutting out a busted rib over the last month?

I give you Mike Lowell as Kelly Leak.

Minus the chain smoking and the fact he weighed 120 pounds soaking wet wearing all his clothes, a kevlar vest, and combat boots.

He starts school tomorrow. May God have mercy on his teachers soul.

While I was working on Labor Day (No, the irony isn't lost on me) Trot was terrorizing the pool by stealing the fins of some college kids and apparently trying to pants everyone under the age of 50.

By the time I got to the pool around 5:45 I had 3 teenage girls, 2 pre-teen boys, and one really angry blue haired Grandmother waiting in line to remind me of the merits of a military school education.

Thank God the Red Sox are up 11-2 over the Rays in the 7th inning right now or I'd be calling "Dr. Phil" to see if we could get a booking.

Gamers.

Turns out Scenic Lowell has been playing with a busted rib since August 20th.

Of course he has.

If there is one guy who embodies the 2010 season for the Boston Red Sox, it's Mike Freaking Lowell.

After all the injuries, all the pitching issues, all the blown leads and extra innings losses combined with the Yankees and Rays seemingly never losing I'd have totally understood if the boys had just packed it up and started planning vacations to Hilton Head a month ago.

But they didn't.

Especially Mike Lowell.

No matter how this season ends up?

They packed a lunch and showed up every single day.

There aren't a whole lot of other teams when faced with the same circumstances would have done the same.

If you're gonna screw up, screw up BIG.

As I opened the door leading outside to the garage this morning I was greeted with a smell that sent me back to the days of changing diapers and my first thought was "Trot killed a squirrel and put it in the garage to show me".

Sort of like a dog does if it catches some random animal with it's pants down in the backyard.

After a cursory look around the garage I chalked it up to some bad garbage in the trash can and headed to work, where I was when Ange called me about 30 minutes later.

Turns out when I used the air compressor to blow up Ciera's bike tires on TUESDAY night I unplugged the freezer in the garage. Sue me; I thought it was the battery to Rakes' go-cart.

I'm sad to report that a frozen chicken, a package of bacon, several containers of my Mom's home made soup and a bag of Pizza Rolls didn't make it.

After spraying 2/3rds of a can of Lysol and leaving the garage door up along with putting the can outside you can actually go into the garage now and your eyebrows don't immediately singe off your head.

You can see my boys get it honest.

Annoyance? Thy name is Earl.

Thanks to Hurricane Earl, the return of one Manny Ramirez, Esquire was delayed one day 'till tomorrow. So instead of watching Manny and Ozzie Guillen in the same dugout at Fenway (This has to be one of the Unintentionally Funny pairings since Tom Cruise and Anthony Edwards in "Top Gun") I'm stuck watching the weather reports on the Weather Channel and hoping Rich didn't follow through on his promise to tie himself to a tree with a bottle of cheap whiskey and ride Earl out as it swept through Cape Cod.

Lt. Dan wasn't REAL, Jr.

So it's a double header tomorrow and I'll be at work for Game 1 and Trot will probably decide to pee on the toaster during Game 2 and then I've gotta be back at work on Monday since it's Labor Day and I've come to the following conclusion.

I HATE HURRICANE EARL.

And who names a hurricane Earl anyways?

The Papelbot strikes again.

*Image courtesy of Kelly O and www.sittingstill.net*

When I finally shuffle off this mortal coil and go to the great beyond, I'm pretty sure my tombstone is gonna read the following.

PAPELBON KILLED HIM.

That, or HIS SON WAS TROT. YOU DO THE MATH.

Sox win 6-4 and if you put a mirror underneath Tito's nose?

I see Fog, baby.

It ain't over yet.

Hello September.

All that crap I wrote last night?

Forget I said it.

After finding this picture from Kelly @www.sittingstill.net and about .4 seconds later Scutaro sent one into the LF bleachers at Camden?

I'm BACK, baby!

All we gotta do is win 2/3rds of the time and the Rays have to go about 1-29 and WE'RE IN!

Being a fan of the Red Sox is like going to the Hotel California.

You can check out but you can never leave.