Let the V Mart Era Begin

*Image courtesy of yahoosports.com*

Trade deadline day 2009 brought the usual feelings; upset stomach, frantic checking of the Internet to see who went where, and the brief moment of panic around 3:50 pm where I wonder if the Yankees are getting Pujols, Manny, and Doc Halladay for Johnny Damon and a rosin bag.

Thankfully, none of the above happened. Boston picked up Victor Martinez from Cleveland for Justin Masterson and a couple of prospects and other than the fact Doc stayed in Toronto, I'm pretty happy with what went down.

Vic is a hitting machine, sounds like an all around good guy, and can throw a guy out a second. I love me some Tek (as witnessed by my header) but when an old lady with a walker AND osteoporosis can steal second on you it may be time to look elsewhere. He can also play first and DH, which considering Mikey may need to borrow the old ladies walker sometime in the next few weeks is huge.

Sox win in Baltimore, Pap gets the save in a "doesn't give Ted an ulcer" sort of way, and the Yankees are loosing to the White Sox as I type.

Not a bad way to end a Friday night.

The Day The Music Died.

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

Let me run a scenario by you.

Say you are employed as a maker of yo yo's. You could put a yo yo together pretty fast, but 2 seats down from you is a dude who can assemble a yo yo 5 times quicker; throw in the fact you get paid by what you produce and not by the hour and Quick Draw is earning 5 times what you do.

One day you and quick draw are eating lunch in the cafeteria and he casually mentions he's taking a shot that let's him assemble yo yo's like nobodies business and if he can keep it up for the next 5 years or so him his kids, and his kids kids are set for life.

Now, you come from a poor line of yo yo makers; dirt floors, 1 bedroom house, not enough food for everyone, and all your life you've dreamed of being a yo yo maker so you can set your family up for life. You've got no education, no back up plan, and unless you make it as a yo yo guy you're resigned to selling shoes or digging ditches or making grade D porn for the rest of your life.

So you get Quick Draw to hook you up with his guy and 6 months later you get Employee of the Month (first one for 5 years running) and are making yo yo's faster than Brittany Spears gets married. Life is good, the money is rolling in, and you are basking in the glow of yo yo fans everywhere.

Then one day your boss, Mr. Needakick Inthe Gibleys comes up and informs you the muckity mucks at yo yo corporate want to do some anonymous, secret testing to see if the yo yo makers are getting some chemical help in the area of performance. Strictly for research and health purposes, mind you. Anything they turn up will stay secret and the results are only to try and help the workers and clean up the work environment. You, being the good employee, agree to this and for the next 6 years, after the work has gotten better and the employees have gotten cleaner and the yo yo business is enjoying unprecedented success, some dink sells the results to a local rag and your name is being posted for everyone to see.

I forgot to mention it's peak season in the yo yo business, the pressure is on, and they go and drop this in your lap right before you are going to show the world your latest ropeadope yo yo to try and push ahead of the competition.

What would YOU do?

I'm not saying David Ortiz didn't do 'roids. After Slappy, Manny, Roger, etc.. it wouldn't surprise me if Cal Ripken Jr. was shooting Winstrol and Cy Young was mainlining Dianabol. All I know is today's news made me more than a little sad; not because Papi got "caught", but because it was Papi.

What does bother me is the fact there are people who are ready to hang him from the local flagpole, when 6 to 7 years ago I imagine you'd be hard pressed to find someone NOT doing something that was considered cheating.

I love this game, and I love the Red Sox. I'm not naive enough to think that some of MY guys weren't juicing or using HGH or injecting antifreeze to get ahead; it is what it is and the entire game was affected, whether you lived in Boston, New York, or Kansas City.

I like to think if I saw a man hitting a woman I'd jump in, or if I watched someone steal an old lady's purse I'd chase after him, or if someone offered me something that would make me sell 110 times more furniture that I'd turn it down.

But if I'm being honest? I can't.

The good book say's before you take the splinter out of your brothers eye take the plank out of your own.

Me? I'm just a guy who is going to have to one day explain all the crap to my boys and just trying to make sense of it all.

All I know is I love my Red Sox and I love this game and I love Big Papi.

Right now that's just gonna have to be enough.

A Vacation from my Vacation

After half a week of vacation at the beach with the family, I'm not sure which fork to take.

On the one hand I've been in a 2 bedroom condo with 6 adults and my three hellions, er children where you couldn't turn around without bumping into someone. Throw in staying on the 11th floor, sharing the pool/beach with roughly the population of Paraguay, and a jacuzzi that gave Trot either another ear infection or the swine flu you could say I'm a tad stressed.

On the other hand, I spent the last 3 nights in a bedroom roughly the size of the visitors clubhouse at Fenway that had 2 full size beds; one was reserved for my brother and sister in law, the other for me, Ang and Ciera with Rakes on an air mattress between us. As you'd naturally assume, he ended up, around 1 am each night, wedging his way between us while I assumed the "protect your marbles at all costs" position and told sleep to screw it. I'll get around to it when I'm dead.

The result of all this mayhem is I averaged 3.2 hours of sleep per night while I've been gone; while I've never been much to get alot of rest away from home this may have broken my own personal record.

So while I miss my family something awful, it's nice to be home and knowing I'll be crashing in my own bed tonight.

Not having to wear a cup as I head to sleep?

Just a bonus.

I AM Clark Griswold

Against my better judgement, I ventured off to Myrtle Beach with Ang, Huey, Dewey, and Louise along with my in laws. Imagine taking 6 adults, 3 children (2 of whom may be certifiable) living in the combined space of a broom closet and a half bath while you try to keep one kid from peeing off the 11th floor balcony, one from taking off his clothes and using his underwear as a swimsuit in the ocean, and one away from every male over the age of 3.

Throw in our room being on the main drag side of the condo (you have no idea how loud a Kawasaki is at 2 a.m.), random numb nuts from the age of 12 down running around and acting like a crack addict in the throes of withdrawl, and pretty much the population of NYC confined in a 3 mile area and you get the idea.

Now, to top it off, I have no Red Sox baseball for the next 3 days. Or at least I didn't until my friend fla beck hooked me up with her MLBTV account; only my brother in laws computer and/or the wifi isn't fast enough and I can hear the sound just fine but I'm roughly 37 minutes behind.

Which isn't the worse thing in the world, considering how John Smoltz performed today. I had high hopes for the man, but right now it looks like he's throwing BP every time out. It may be time to fish or cut bait and either bring up Clay full time or get Doc Halladay or Doc Gooden or Dock Ellis to right the ship.

Screw it. Luis Tiant is hanging around Fenway most days; give him a uniform, stick a cigar in his mouth and point him toward the pitchers mound.

Betcha he can still bring it.

For that matter, we've got a 42 year old knuckleballer on staff. Is it THAT crazy to think Bill Lee and his ephus pitch couldn't help us out?

Probably not, though.

I think I may have finally lost it.

Tomorrow?

I take the kids to the beach.

Or as I like to call it, the 11th step in my 12 step journey to complete and utter insanity.

Let's Go Crazy

John Wayne.


Jon Lester.

'Nuff said.

What Would Eck Say

*Image courtesy of bostondirtdogs.com*

(Before anyone flips out, I didn't go to the above site; just googled "Images of Brad Penny" and this popped up. But in deference to my good friend Kelly O, I try to give credit for a picture where credit is due.)

As I watched Brad Penny do his best Cy Young impersonation tonight and listened to Ang pack for a week at the beach while wondering what household object Trot would find to whizz in this time, my mind, feeble as it is, wandered.

Being that I live 5 hours away from Baltimore and am in the Orioles home market, I was forced to watch the game on MASN with the always ear bleeding inducing Gary Thorne on play by play and Buck "I say his name David ORtiz" on color, (this is reason #4,671 I'm kicking Bud Selig square in the marbles whenever I meet him) I had no Don Orsillo and whoeveriscallingthegamewithhimuntilRemycomesback.

Turns out it was Gordon Edes, who I like as a writer but don't know if I'd want to sit through 9 innings of him stuttering and stammering his way through his points. Besides, I've already got Rakes for that.

So I imagined what Eck would say. And I'd hasten to bet there are countless middle aged men wh did the same thing, so stop looking at me like that.

Eck: "How do you not love a guy who looks like he rolled out of bed, branded 38 cows, drank a 12 pack of Busch Light, ate the 24 ounce T-Bone for lunch, and throws 98 mph cheese with no salad and kept Brian Roberts from going bridge."

Yes, I realize I need help. And yes, I'm not going to do the first thing about it.

But for the love of a Fenway Frank it was great to see the boys get a win tonight, even if the MFY won AGAIN. If you read about a "mysterious package" arriving at The Toilet in the next few days?

It wasn't me.

He'll Never Be President Now

As I'm eating dinner tonight, Ang is getting the laundry together and Ciera is making sure I have embarrassing pictures to show any of Trot's future girlfriends.

I'm not even sure what to say; he looks like some demented, miniature Polish woman with a mean streak 5 miles wide and a mega watt smile.

Just another night in Paradise.

At least I've made sure he can never spend his life as a public servant.

Baseball is back tomorrow and hopefully a win, no, a classless beat down of the Orioles is coming with it.

Dr. Spock Can Bite My Tweeter

Trot made it to the bathroom every time today.

I called the "Guinness World Record" people but they hung up on me.

Screw 'em; this is the equivalent of a 40th round draft pick making the show.

It's also made me do some deep thinking and I'm 99.9% sure the guy who invented the indoor toilet had Trot's doppelganger as a son.

I can see in my mind some farmer coming in from a hard days work and finding his boy taking a whizz into the horse trough.

When I said "I Do" I never imagined having to deal with a child who thinks he's a pit bull puppy and pondering buying stock in "Pee Away".

I'd write a book but they'd never believe me.

Happy 21st Birthday, Darlin'

Happy Birthday, Ang.

Thanks for putting up with a husband who has OCD and is obsessed with the Red Sox, a daughter in the throes of puberty and a obsession with Miley Cyrus, and 2 boys who have peed, pooped, flipped, flopped, jumped, and cartwheeled over every square inch of our home, garage, front yard, back yard, and foyer at church over the past 5 years.

Oh yeah? Getting a job teaching f0r next year?

You just took 7.5 years off my life. While I realize that wasn't the intent, I still gotta give you props.

And not for nothing? I love you today more than I did 17 years ago.

Another plus? You're still the prettiest girl in the room.

Bar none.

Sorry I couldn't make today the best day ever, but I did get to spend it with you.

So in the end it sort of was the best day ever.

At least for me.

Who Knew Fishing Was A Contact Sport?

Rakes and I went fishing with my brother-in-law Scott and my nephew Garrison today. 5 minutes after getting there, Scott landed a pretty good sized catfish.

As you can tell from the picture, Rakes was hardly impressed. I think his actual quote was "Get that thing away from me!"

For the next 1 1/2 hours we heard "It's just sucking the worm off!", "This bobber isn't any good!" and my favorite? After a fish had taken his worm for the 500th time he turned to me, and in a voice last heard spoken by Al Pacino in "Heat" when he yells "Gimme All You Got!" he turned around, stammering like Mel Tillis in the full throes of a stuttering fit and utters "DDDDDDAD. The problem is THERE IS NO WORM ON MY HOOK!"

Which of course reduced Scott and I to tears and a giggle fit that would make Remy and DO pine for.

So it was with great relief that, somehow, someway, after reeling and casting more times than the average Bering Sea Crab fisherman does in an entire season, Rakes actually caught a fish.

The fact that it was 3 inches l0ng and weighed less than your average lemon wedge hardly mattered.

The smile on that boys face was worth the gnats, bees, and the non-stop play by play over a 3 hour period.

Whoever said fishing was supposed to be a quiet day of solitude never went fishing with Rakes.

Be Afraid. Be VERY Afraid.

While I was hard at work trying to convince someone with no disposable income they just HAD to have that new sofa Brad Penny and the Red Sox lost 6-2 to the Blue Jays.

And while this makes me moderately unhappy the fact it was Game 2 of a 3 game series, which is now tied 1-1 and Jon Lester is pitching tomorrow helped me realize it's just one game in a season that has 162 games before you even GET to the one's that count.

Unlike some people I realize that a great hitter connects 3 out of every 10 a/b's and if a team wins 2 out of 3 games every series it's pretty flipping good.

However, those that don't usually have had some severe head trauma or can't spell Cat if you give them the C and the T so I don't take it to heart so much.

And from the look Beckett is giving in this picture, I imagine the entire Yankee lineup is wondering who is getting a 98 mph fastball to the ribcage in a future game.

The thought of this happening has me absolutely giddy.

Even with the fact Trot jumped on Rakes head at the pool tonight figured in.

It's amazing what I can overlook when the Red Sox are concerned.

Youth Gone Wild

*Image courtesy of, you guessed it, Kelly @www.sittingstill.net*

When you throw a no-hitter in your second start as a pro, expectations tend to, well, expand.

And if you happen to go 2-9 the next year in the bigs most folks label you a failure and write you off.

Fortunately, Clay Buchholz mentally told all the haters to Bite His Tweeter and kept his career in the middle of the highway. Which led him to Toronto tonight to make his first big league start of 2009.

Can I say the kid didn't let anyone down? 6 plus innings and 1 run later he turned it over to Bard, Oki, and Pap and before you knew it the Red Sox were high fiving each other and wondering where the best all you can eat buffet in Toronto was located.

4-1 Red Sox, Julio Lugo has been DFA'd, and Nick Green is currently trying to figure out how to slip a Mickie in Jed Lowrie's pre-game meal.

Papi is raking, Youk is sweating, and Beckett is swearing.

Sounds like it's time to signal the all clear and have Pedie, doing his best Quasimodo impression, to ring the bell signalling the start of the second half is official.

Sweet Mary and Moses have I missed baseball the last 4 days.

Lazy days of summer

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

20 hours, 23 minutes, and 39 seconds until the Red Sox play baseball again.

Not that I'm counting or anything.

The Day After. (The All-Star Game)

Both men got to meet the President of the United States.

Timmy's was typical Timmeh.

“I didn’t vote for him, but I respect him,” said Wakefield. “He’s our president, and I hope he does really, really well, because we all need our president to lead us in the right direction, and I think he’s capable of doing that.”

Just what you'd expect from the elder statesman of the Red Sox and the All-Star Game.

Pure Class.

I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what Beckett said but it's fun to let your imagination run wild.
From the looks of this picture from si.com Beckett looks like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Why does George Carlin's "7 Words you can't say on television" automatically pop into my mind?

2 more days until baseball is back.

::twitches::

My Crown for a Nanny. Or Something.

"Yes. I'll take you guys to the library."

As soon as they came out of my mouth I wanted to shove everyone of those words back in as fast as I could. Somehow, I'd momentarily forgotten the last time, roughly 3 weeks ago, where the highlight was Rakes, in an environment so quiet you could have heard a flies wings buzzing uttered "Hey Dad, listen to this" and then proceeded to rip one off that I can only describe as resembling a chain saw badly in need of a lube job.

So I found myself yesterday, on my day off, shuffling off to the local library with a bag full of books and Ciera and Thing One and Thing Two in tow.

It went south the minute we hit the front door; as I'm dumping about 300 books into the drop off Ciera strolls off to the kids section, Trot makes a beeline for the computers and Rakes stops in front of the Grandfather Clock transfixed, which was my only saving Grace. Who knew a clock would slow him down? I'd have bought one years ago.

After rounding them all up with strict orders to stay where I could see them, approximately .7 seconds passed before Rakes went right, Trot went left, and I had to make a choice; which one do I track down first?

Rakes won out, due to the fact he can cause the most carnage in the least amount of time due to better coordination. Trot is deadly, but in a Sherman Tank sort of way. Rakes is a Stealth Bomber going Mach 5 so I figured it was the prudent move.

To paraphrase that knight who was guarding the cup in "Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade"?

I chose.... poorly.

8 panic stricken minutes later, after I combed the library populated with some of the local homeless folks while I tried not to panic or completely lose my mind over the fact I couldn't find my 3 year old son, he came tearing around the corner hollering at a decibel level I'm pretty sure equals the Space Shuttle upon lift off shouting "I WENT POOPY, DADDY! IN THE POTTY AND NOT IN MY PANTS!"

I didn't know whether to hug him, hit him, or do an elaborate Orlando Cabrera/Kevin Millar handshake with him for actually going on his own. I settled for the "Angry Dad Face" for running off and gave him a high five in the car later AFTER I read him the riot act for running off.

We left with books in the bag, Trot fell asleep on the way home, and I promised Sissy that next time it would be just me and her and the boys just had to read what we picked out.

It's either that or I buy a portable EKG machine and just keep it in the trunk for when I need it.

Wonder how much they are asking for those things these days?

All Star Break Rumblings. Part 1.

Due to the fact I've now gone tone deaf listening to Chris Berman yell "Back, Back, BACK!" at the top of his lungs during the Home Run Derby, the Red Sox are off until Friday, and The Munchkin made the correct decision to stay home with his pregnant wife, the All-Star Game tomorrow is sort of out of sight, out of mind.

Yeah, it was great to see Prince Fielder and Nelson Cruz banging them off the second deck but watching Brandon Inge manage to hit 0 and Adrian Gonzalez (who I hoped would win it) only hit two sort of take some luster off as well.

So I turn to my next passion; Deep Sea Fisherman. I'm a HUGE fan of "Deadliest Catch" and today at the library picked up a copy of Sebastion Junger's "A Perfect Storm". I saw the movie years ago but have never read the book.

Now that I have I realize the men that fish on those boats and I have about as much in common as a Yankee fan living on Long Island and a Red Sox fan in Southie.

I head out everyday to my job selling furniture with only the fact I may throw a goose egg on the board as my biggest worry; those dudes head out and wonder if they'll make it home alive.

Fantastic movie and an even better book; if you're starved for something to do until baseball is back on Friday I can highly recommend a visit to the local library or video store; either one will do.

Tomorrow?

Who makes the best sausage gravy in North Carolina.

How in God's name do I get through the winter?

Red Sox Nation of Domination

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

Complete game.

3 Hits.

7 K's.

0 Walks.

0 Runs.

Sox win 6-0 and thanks to the Yankees losing head into the All-Star break with a 3 game lead in the AL East and the only two pitchers in the American League with 11 wins; Beckett and the ageless Tim Wakefield.

Pitching the entire game with a look I can best describe as "I'm Josh Beckett and you're the freaking Royals" he went about his business as if he was a butcher cutting up a steak.

Only if the butcher uttered a profanity every 2.7 seconds.

Throw in the fact that dude in the picture with him may be an even bigger bulldog than The Commander? It's almost not fair.

Now, take those two and put them with a guy who throws a pitch Bugs Bunny would say is ridiculous and add in a future Hall of Famer who JUST may be back on track and add a burly Oklahoman with a sour disposition and a 98 mph fastball?

It's gonna be a LONG second half for the rest of the AL East.

Next Red Sox game is Friday in Toronto.

I'm pretty sure I'll be in a straight jacket by Wednesday night but who knows.

It took awhile, but it was worth it.

Screw the locusts, frogs, and pestilence that has been thrown his way, John Smoltz got his first win as Red Sox tonight. Forget the fact it ended up 15-9 with me pacing the perimeter of the house and wondering who I had to gibley punch, my man got his first win in the American League.

Big props to Papi and Tek for their efforts and a bigger sit down and shut up to the Royals for theirs.... All's well that ends well and the Sox end the night 2 games up in first place.

If anyone with some stroke is reading this I need a full time nurse with a portable EKG machine to spend the next 4 months helping me read bedtime stories to Rakes and keeping me upright.

The pay sucks but I can promise you non-stop action and free laughs.

It's not much but it beats Enron.

LiveStrong is EXACTLY right.

*Photo courtesy of Kelly O and sittingstill.net*

8 innings. 8 K's. 4 hits. 2 walks. 115 pitches.

Sox win 1-0 in a pitchers duel between Lester and Brian Bannister (Hey. Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every now and then) that ended when Kotsay singled, Green bunted him to second, and the Munchkin drove one off the Monster to plate the run in the bottom of the 8th. Follow that with Pap being vintage Pap and the Red Sox stay in first place with a game that took less time than the average trip to the grocery store for Ang and the kids.

It was just on my screen less than 15 minutes ago, and I can't remember the particulars but I think that makes Lester a tad less than perfect and a smidge better than Sandy Koufax in his prime over the last 8 games.

At least that's my version and I'm standing by it.

Tomorrow, finally, it's not a FOX game which means I can get off work at 5 and still catch it all as opposed to getting home in the 7th inning and being subjected to Tim McCarver or, God help me, Kenny Albert braying like a donkey on meth while Jeannie Zalasko gives me updates from the studio with a hairdo Ray Liotta's wife in "Goodfellas" would envy.

Just the soothing sounds of Don Orsillo, The Eck, and Trot and Rakes yelling at "Batman Lego" on the PS2 in the background to carry me through.

Some days you're the bug and some days you're the window.....

Tomorrow I get to be the window.

Hayes meets the family. And lives. Alert the Media.

She came bearing Pop Rocks (Which I confiscated as soon as she brought them in) and something called "Floamy", which I didn't hide immediately and I'm sure I'll regret it later when I find it on the living room wall, but Hurricane Hayes blew through Casa de Dalton and left far too soon.

We had a nice dinner cooked by Ang, an awkward 20 or so minutes when my folks stopped by to make sure I hadn't invited a serial killer over for supper, and followed it up by watching the Sox lose to the Royals and Ciera sucker hayes into fixing the printer in the office.

In between we had Trot completely soak himself with the water hose outside, find hayes and I sitting less than 2 feet away and both of us on our phones checking SG, and tentative plans for her to come back on Monday to hang out some more.

I'm fairly certain she'll come to her senses between now and then and stay safely ensconced in her hotel in Charlotte, but it'd be awesome if she could make it happen.

It's not often my friends make it down to Mayberry, so when they do it's a special day.

I just wish it could happen more often.

Red, Andy, and A Prayer.

I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

Tim Wakefield is 11-3.

I hope he pitches in the All-Star Game.

I hope Joe Mauer has 3 passed balls.

I hope Derek Jeter trips over second base and sprains his groin.

I hope.

And hope, like Red say's, is a good thing.

I really need a nap.

---

I Love It When A Plan Comes Together.

Ang got a phone call tonight that basically confirmed she has a job teaching next year if she wants it.

In addition to extending 27 years on my life this also means I get to order Xtra Innings again next year, don't have to eat a Ham Sandwich 5 days a week for lunch, and can cancel that arrangement I had with that dude named Omar that involved my kidney and $5,000 for a 6 pack of Schlitz.

After 6 years of working on straight commission while my bride stayed home with Damien and his slightly less evil brother things are looking up. Someday in the near future I may be able to say "Go ahead and Super size that, Rakes. We can swing it."

I wonder if I can convince my cholesterol levels the last 6 years was a dream, sort of like that "Dallas" episode where Pam found Bobby in the shower?

The Wayward Son Returns Home

Video is the suck and I'm sure MLB will make sure it's foot soldiers have it taken down with no record of it anywhere by morning, but Nomie came home tonight.

And for JUST a minute there was no recession, war was an afterthought, and Rakes and Trot actually paid attention when I told them to stop terrorizing the neighborhood kid in the pool.



Woulda, coulda, shoulda aside, Nomar was at Fenway tonight.

And a Nation smiled.

Congrats, Timmy

*Picture courtesy of Kelly O at sittingstill.net*

Middle aged men with slight beer bellies, male pattern baldness, and more gray than black in their beard rejoiced today.

In one of the better "feel good" stories of the year and after 17 years in baseball, 42 year old Tim Wakefield made the All-Star game today. One of my all-time favorite memories of Wakefield is tied into the worst memory I have of his time in Boston.

One year after giving up the ALCS winning home run to Aaron Boone at Yankee Stadium Wake stood on that same mound, with tears running down his cheeks as Schill poured Budweiser on his head after they finally vanquished the Yankees.

Gives me goosebumps to think about it to this very day.

What Wake does off the mound is even more impressive, visiting sick children at local hospitals, giving his time and energy to various charities, and more than likely spending his off days helping little old ladies cross the street and getting the odd stray cat out of a tree.

Joining Wake in St Louis are Jason Bay, The Munchkin, Beckett, Paps, and Youk, all of them deservedly so.

But Wake getting the nod is truly special.

It'll be a little dusty at my house next Tuesday night when he tips his cap as his name is announced to the St Louis crowd.

Happy Birthday America

..On Parris Island
We held the coastline, they held the highlands
And they were sharp, as sharp as knives
They heard the hum of our motors
They counted the rotors
And waited for us to arrive

And we would all go down together
We said we'd all go down together
Yes we would all go down together

Lyrics courtesy of Billy Joel and "Goodnight Saigon".

Happy Independence Day everyone.

May we never forget the sacrifices of the men and women who have helped make this country what it is today.

I've got a new verse for "Butterfly Kisses".

Ever since Ciera left me for 5 days to go to church camp, the Red Sox have gone 1-1 in July, I've developed a stomach issue that resembles Motozuma's Revenge in many ways, developed a sty in my left eye, and North Korea has test fired missiles over Japan.

Coincidence?

I think not.

This is just one more nail in the coffin of proof that she is destined to spend her life living with me and Ang and never to marry.

That's my story.

And as God is my witness I'm sticking to it.

The Mayor Returns to Boston

*Image courtesy of Kelly at sittingstill.net*

He was only here for one season, but the man made an impression.

From laughing on a non-stop basis to talking to anyone who'd listen, to getting the award for "Most times being thrown out trying to stretch a single to a double", including one time he actually crawled to second base, Sean Freaking Casey became an honorary Red Sox Nation Lifetime Member.

So you can see why my excitement meter went off the charts tonight when I got home, read my good friend Cyn's most excellent blog, and discovered Casey will be joining Don Orsillo in the booth for this weekends series against Ichiro and the Mariners.

Let the giggle fest begin.

Anyone got a Time Machine I can Borrow?

Today, Ciera took another step toward becoming a teenager while I took one more step toward an early grave.

After 3 years of fighting it, I finally agreed she could go away to church camp for the next 5 days. Mind you, I called the Youth Pastor and asked him 349 questions and requested back ground checks, tax returns, and any late fees to Blockbuster for any and all adults who would be in contact with my baby girl over the next 120 hours. And by God if I don't get 'em I'm driving to that camp and dragging my little girl back home as fast as I can.

Before you think I'm being the typical over protective Dad, this is the first time she's ever been gone for more than a night without her Mom or myself being with her. To put it in perspective, this is like a Daddy Eagle lifting his child up, flying over the Grand Canyon, and letting go.

At least it feels that way.

Why didn't anyone tell me it would hurt this much to see my daughter, the one who has always lit up like a Christmas Tree when I hit the front door every night, willingly leave me for 5 days without so much as a backwards glance as she left?

There is no way on earth I'm going to handle watching her get married someday without completely losing it.

Boston came back and beat the Orioles today, scoring 4 in the 9th and the winning run in the 11th. If not for that bit of good news I'm pretty sure I'd be in the downstairs bathroom crying myself to sleep.

Whoever it was that told me years ago that I would have less stress once my children grew up is a complete idiot.