Somebody get Hollywood on the Horn

The more I think about it the more it makes sense. ('Course I just got home from a 6th grade band concert so I may be disoriented and out of my ever loving mind)

NESN should make Tito room Beckett and Lackey on the road next year, assign a camera man 24/7 and go ahead and write the FCC a check for $3 million dollars as a sign of good faith, then just let the good times roll.

Seriously.

This could make "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle" look like an after school special by the end of the year.

Seperated at Birth and $85 Million

If you believe what's being reported (it's on the Internet, so it's GOT to be true, right?) you're looking at the Red Sox new $85 million over 5 years pitcher John Lackey. He's 102-71 with a sub 4.00 era over the last eight years with the Angels, he's a bull dog who cursed his manager out when he had to come out of a playoff game last year, and combined with Josh Beckett may set the world record for F Bombs dropped by a duo in a single year, previously held by Richard Pryor and Redd Foxx.

Commander, Lester, Daisuke, Wake/Clay, and Lackey as your starting rotation?

I'm so freaking happy I can even forget he looks just like Marty McFly's mortal enemy.

I'm Pretty Sure They Are Trying To Make Me Have A Nervous Breakdown.

*Image courtesy of my good friend Kelly and her site www.sittingstill.net*

Just when I've mentally resigned myself to the fact that Mikey Two Bags and his award winning facial hair are gone from Fenway forever, I go and read THIS story on ESPN and all of a sudden my head is spinning around like I've got the Bubonic plague.

What's even more amazing is it's his thumb they're worried about. Forget the arthritic hip of a 98 year old with a calcium deficiency, they're worried about his thumb? Granted, it was an issue but I'd be more concerned about him hitting a ball off the LF wall and getting thrown out at first than his ability to imitate Arthur Fonzerelli.

Throw in the Red Sox eating most of the $12 million owed on his contract and this makes as much sense as me entering "People Magazinest Sexiest Man" contest next year.

Somebody wake me up when Truck Day gets here.

And pass the Prozac.

THIS is the Hot Stove?

The off season is in full swing, the Yankees have traded for Curtis Granderson, and so far the Red Sox have signed a Marco, a Tug, and a Boof.

If nothing else, the headlines in the Globe and the Herald next year should be a lot of fun.

Throw in Jason Bay and his agent flat out rejecting the Sox initial offer combined with Senor Doubles getting shipped off to Texas and I'm left wondering when the fun is going to commence.

All that said?

In Theo I Trust.

He just doesn't make it real easy sometimes.

All My Heros Keep Slipping Away

I call myself a fan, they tell me it's a business.

I call it a business, they tell me to be a fan and support the team.

In yet one more "Don't get too attached to these guys" moments the guy who has manned third base for the past 4 years and who was World Series MVP back in '07 is gone.

I don't know of a man who didn't admire his skills and his toughness and a woman who didn't think he was gorgeous, my own wife, Mom, and sister included. Shoot, even I think the guy is the epitome of a man's man.

But a pressing need for a young catcher and the fact his hip resembles one of Micky Rooney's combined with what I'm REALLY hoping is some blockbuster deal Theo is saving for Christmas Eve as a nice present to all of us made Mikey Lowell disposable. Mind you, as much as I love the guy, watching him limp his way down to first base or display the range of your average wildebeest at third last year was painful to watch. That said, it's gonna be a little bit weird not to see him digging balls out at third while displaying the most awesome facial hair since "Sonny Crockett" patrolled the streets of Miami.

God Speed, Senor Doubles.

Fenway Park won't be the same without you.

I'm Josh Beckett. And You're Not.

With the Yankees trading for Curtis Granderson and the ongoing drama of the Jason Bay saga combined with Christmas coming just around the corner and the angst of Red Sox Nation over the possibility that Mike Lowell is bound for Texas or God knows where, I figured we all needed a gentle reminder.

A reminder that we've got a beer swilling, nail chewing, expletive spewing, 98 mph fastball throwing honest to God Texan as the ace of our staff.

And if you think he's not good and tanked off at how the season ended last year, then by God you don't know Josh Beckett.

If I know the Commander (and I don't, but bear with me) he's been lifting like a maniac and shooting men in Reno just to watch them die since the last game with the Angels in the post-season.

'Cause that's just how he rolls.

God help the poor first batter who has to step into the box in Spring Training.

Congratulations. You Made Another Birdie.

I've got a question.

When did the concept of marriage become a running joke and why can't men (not all of us, but a growing majority) just keep it in their pants?

I'm using Tiger because he's just the latest and most famous in an increasingly and disturbing long line of men who somehow decide it's OK to cheat on the woman you vowed to honor for THE REST OF YOUR LIFE and screw up the lives of your kids, who never asked to be here in the first place.

Now I realize I'm fundamentally lacking in the three areas most likely to lead to an affair; 1. I'm not rich. 2. I'm ugly. 3. I have no discernible talent other than the ability to recite lines from movies I saw 10 years ago seemingly at will.

But still. How can you look someone you supposedly love in the eye, swear a lifetime of devotion to that person, decide to bring innocent children into the mix, and then go out and chase anything with a pulse? When did being a man STOP meaning honoring your word and your commitment and evolve into chasing women, apparently as many as humanely possible?

And it's not just famous, rich dudes. I see it every day in my business; guys who own restaurants buying new living room suites for the 19 year old hostess or in the one instance a guy brings his wife in one week for a new bedroom suite and the very next week his girlfriend in for a new mattress.

What in the name of Ward Cleaver happened to "For better or worse" and "till death do us part?" Maybe I'm just some old fashioned romantic or maybe I just think that when you give your word you should, you know, keep it.

All I know is I don't have any idea how Tiger or the guy who came in my store or any other man can do that to his wife, then manage to look into the eyes of his kids and not feel like he's less than 2 feet tall.

When I die, if I'm lucky, the following will be on my tombstone.

"He loved his wife, loved his kids, and did the best he could everyday to prove it. And he may have been a tad bent when it came to the Red Sox."

If it happens, I'll go off to the great beyond a happy man.

Call me crazy but it sounds a lot better to me than "He could hit a golf ball like nobodies business."