6 of the best years of my life.

He was supposed to have Down's Syndrome. At least according to the dink doctor who called us one Saturday afternoon demanding we get in ASAP to have an amniocentesis. When I informed this idiot that whether he did or didn't have it he was our son and we were having him I got a prolonged silence as a response.

Which makes it the only time since he's been conceived that Rakes and silent were used in the same sentence.

If you've read this blog you are fully aware that while Rakes has a lot of things, Down's isn't one of them.

During delivery the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck; didn't even slow him down. For the past 6 years he's provided more joy and more chaos and more noise than anything that small should ever be able to produce.

He's my first born son who lives his life at 95 mph and 1000 decibels every minute and every day and even though he'll kill me someday for posting a picture of him in a wife beater with a taco sauce stain on it during his birthday, I told him 100 times to go change and he ignored me every time.

Which is classic Rakes in a nutshell. One thing I'll never have to worry about is Rakes following the crowd. He's a proud member of the "Dance to the beat of my own drum" crowd and it's reason 5, 698 that I love the little guy.

Happy 6th Birthday tomorrow, Rakes.

I love you little man.

Rudolph may need a better agent.

Every year the small town I live in holds a Hanging of the Greens on the Friday before Thanksgiving, complete with a picture with Santa, Rudolph and Frosty roaming the main street and every teenager in a 5 mile radius clogging up the main thoroughfare.

Amid worrying about Jason Bay rejecting the Sox original offer of 4 years and $60 million and wondering why in the name of all that is holy did I let Ang talk me into getting Rakes a trampoline for his birthday (more on that at a later date) I found myself walking down the closed off street of my own personal Mayberry trying to keep Trot and Rakes from mowing down some unsuspecting passerby.

We saw Frosty (Rakes and Ciera jumped at the chance to see him while Trot burst into tears. Not sure why but I'm just grateful he didn't kick the poor guy in the gibleys before running off), Rudolph (for some reason a guy in a reindeer costume didn't frighten him while a guy in a snowman suit may cost me thousands in therapy fees) and managed to get a picture with Santa.

This ALMOST didn't happen as right before it was our turn, Trot went positively bonkers about "WHERE ARE THE REINDEER AND WHY CAN'T I PET THEM?" while Rakes did his best to diffuse the situation by reminding his brother that the reindeer were probably in the barn pooping and Ciera kept asking if she could go into the boutique store and browse while we were "just standing around". Meanwhile I'm wondering whether it'll be my heart or my mind that is eventually just going to say "Screw all this. I'm taking a vacation to parts unknown".

We made it through with no casualties, unless you're gonna count Trot running into Frosty's groin at full speed when we saw him 30 minutes later; in my opinion, dude brought in on himself for agreeing to wear that ridiculous thing in the first place.

Get ready.

"Tis the season.

Just Trot being Trot.

I'd like to think that way back when the Pilgrims and the Indians sat down for the inaugural Thanksgiving feast there was a young child who spent the entire dinner talking incessantly, antagonizing his siblings, getting more food on the floor than in his mouth, and needing to be hosed down afterword.

That would REALLY help me mentally.

A LOT.

Wearing his camouflage pants, his light up Buzz Lightyear shoes, and a rebellious streak a mile long, Trot's pre-school had it's annual Thanksgiving program today where they sang songs, did a skit, and just looked cute in general.

Naturally, Trot didn't sing a word, turned around at one point with his back to the audience and put his hands on his ears (I'm guessing to show his displeasure with the actual singing but it could've just been his form of protest for not getting to be an Indian. With him, who knows?) and spent about 3 minutes furiously digging with his right pointer finger in his left nostril for every child, parent, grandparent, and disgusted onlooker to witness.

Me?

I was just happy he didn't drop trou at some point.

It's 50/50 at this point whether we're allowed to come back next year.

With Apologies to Bono, I need Baseball like a needle needs a vein.

I just spent the last 2 hours watching the movie "Alien Nation". James Caan is the grizzled, whiskey drinking cop and Mandy Patinkin (Idigo Montoya from the Princess Bride) as the goofy alien, and a plot straight out of Miami Vice.

And the answer is yes; I love this movie.

THIS is why I need baseball. Without it, I spend countless hours revisiting the 90's and all the bad movies, music, and tv shows that helped make me the total idiot I now resemble.

Forget 3 months. How am I gonna make 3 days?

*Image courtesy of www.fotosearch.com*

It's Tuesday November 17th. The boys are asleep, Ciera and Ang are downstairs watching something called "The Duggars" (I think it involves self-absorbed idiotic parents who decided to have an entire 52 man football team and thought it was a good idea to put on tv but I'm too scared to ask) and I'm lost.

Fenway Park sits cold and empty, the season is over, and it's around 3 months until the sound of a ball landing in a mitt is going to come from Florida. There isn't an NFL game until Thursday and I've got "NCIS: Los Angeles" on in the background, starring Chris O'Connell. Dude went from sharing the big screen with Al Freaking Pacino in "Scent of a Woman" to working a spin-off tv show with LL Cool J; 'course I sell furniture for a living so who am I to criticize?

All I know is if I didn't have a family to love over and try and keep out of reform school, I'm pretty sure I'd lose my sanity during the winter; I have no idea how my friends who are single actually make it to Spring without ending up on the evening news for completely losing it at the checkout line in Walmart.

Throw in the Hot Stove heating up and every liquored up yahoo from Massachusetts to Los Angeles is speculating on who the Sox are going to give up to acquire Adrian Gonzales, Roy Halladay, or the bat boy from Oakland and I've got a headache that a morphine drip couldn't touch.

It's times like these I remember that "fan" is short for "fanatic" and remind myself I'm not alone.

Wonder if Santa Clause keeps his eye on the free agent list?

Top 5 Sports Stories of the Day

1. My previously inept Redskins somehow manage to beat the Broncos. This ranks right up there with the Jets over the Colts in Super Bowl III, Taylor Swift over Kenny Chesney at the CMA's the other night, and me over Einstein in a battle of the wits. How does this sort of thing happen? Personally, I'm giving all credit to the voodoo dolls I had Trot make last night before he went to sleep.

2. Word coming out that Billy Wagner may consider returning to the Red Sox in a non-closer role. Nothing would make me happier than having his 98 mph, left handed throwing fastball sitting out in the bullpen come the 8th inning. Ranking only slightly behind that are his post-game interviews, complete with half a can of Skoal in his lower lip and him looking like he'd rather stuff the interviewer on his office wall than answer "So, Billy. How do you feel?"

3. The Hot Stove. Somewhere in a top secret location Theo is trying to figure out how to fleece the Padres for Adrian Gonzalez, what exactly Jason Bay is worth, and is it possible to get a Short Stop made of titanium, solid steel, and impervious to injury and the dreaded throw into the 5th row behind first.

4. Is it remotely possible that a meteor can hit the Yankees spring training site in February and while not causing any deaths, still create an atmosphere of chaos and mayhem that will last the entire 2010 season?

5. If everything plays out I could be 6-4 and sitting in fourth place in my fantasy football league come tomorrow morning. You could go to Mars and find some wet behind the ears alien baby and it would still be better in Fantasy Football than me, so when I tell you this is big you're just gonna have to trust me. In fact, this is entering the Rocky beating Apollo, The Bad News Bears beating the Yankees, and the Red Sox coming back from three games down in '04 territory. Years from now, songs may be sung about this very era.

More than likely I'll end up on the outside looking in and wondering what if but it's still pretty flipping nice.

When is Truck Day again?

Missing You

Is it April yet?

I Feel The Need. The Need.... For Speed

My co-worker John let me borrow his PS2 game, "The Need For Speed. Underground 2" today.

I should have known when I called Rakes when he got home from school to tell him, and got this for a reaction it was gonna get hairy.

"REALLY? Are you bringing it home TONIGHT?!"

So the 10 minute running commentary once we started playing the game while Ang took Ciera to her sleepover shouldn't have caught me sideways; but it did.

I'm in the middle of the sofa with Rakes on my right and Trot on my left; Rakes and I have controls that are actually hooked up to the system while Trot is holding one that isn't hooked up to anything, yet he's hollering and yelling at the top of his lungs "WHERE IS MY BLUE CAR?" while Rakes is screaming at me because his car is stuck against the retaining wall and he can't figure out how to go in reverse, all the while I'm sitting there trying to read the manual and not go deaf or lose my cool dealing with these raging maniacs next to me.

Topping it all off is the fact both of them just got done eating Wendy's and an ice pop while sucking down Apple Juice and are tweaking more than any meth addict I've seen on "Intervention" and I'm seriously debating whether I should just go lock myself in the bedroom until Angie gets home.

Imagine my surprise when I give Trot the working controller, and except for a few times where he gets turned around and goes the wrong way he actually does better against Rakes than I did.

All this has only made me more determined to get involved in the political process and try and get the "No Drivers License Before Turning 18 Law" passed in the next 10 years.

I could really use a hug right about now.

Trot and Miss Raina

When Ang decided to go back to work this fall, the biggest question in our minds was what would we do with Trot. Ciera would be in Middle School, Rakes would be starting Kindergarten and beginning his long career of driving teachers and school administrators up a tree and Trot would continue on in pre-school 3 days a week.

We didn't want to put him in day care and figured there was no way we could convince anyone who was legally sane to watch him the rest of the time; I've got him on Mondays, my Mom watches him on Friday, so that left Tuesday through Thursday up in the air. I called the local kennels and was informed they DID NOT accept 2 legged animals, no matter how hard I tried to convince them otherwise and we even checked with the local McDonalds to see if they needed any extra help in the afternoons. Something about child labor laws and threatening phone calls to DSS made us switch course.

Enter our next door neighbor, Raina. Raina is the sweetest woman you'd ever meet, who lives with her daughter, son-in-law and Granddaughter, and because she doesn't drive is always at home. She also LOVES Trot, Trot loves her, and she readily agreed to watch him on those three days until Angie gets home from work.

I should mention that Raina is from the Dominican Republic and speaks Spanish half the time; which is why I came home tonight to find Trot sitting on the couch going "Miniminiminiminimini" over and over again. When I asked him what in the world he was talking about?

He said, and I quote: "Me talking like Miss Raina, Dad!"

I'm pretty sure we're violating some Politically Correct something or 'nother, but it cracked me up all the same. And knowing Trot, Raina is inadvertently teaching him some epic curse words in Spanish just by watching him everyday.

Which is sort of making me jealous. I've gotta mutter mine under my breath while she can just blurt hers out without fear of reprisal.

Is it Spring Training yet?

A Milestone. Or another sign I've got 1 foot in the grave.

Word by word, a replay of my most recent text conversation with Jr. (Jr is my buddy Rich, who is 23, calls me Sir, and talks faster than a guy running an auction with a deadline to get it all done in 5 1/2 minutes)

Rich: "Boras will not settle for three." (In full disclosure, I had no idea at first what he was talking about. Rich is what Rakes is going to turn into someday. And yes; that scares the crap out of me.)

Rich: "Still not signed, Sir." (See? One day he'll be old and even though I'll be older and may not recognize him, I'm still planning to make fun of him for being old.)

Me: "It'll get done, Jr." (Note the confidence of the wiser, older person in this conversation.)

Rich: "He signed it." (He couldn't see it, but I was doing the "I told you so dance" when I read this.)

Me: "Told you so. I'll expect your apology on my desk in the morning." (Not really since A, I don't actually have a desk and B, Jr is probably still trying to figure out a way to wiggle out of this.)

So while I may have jumped the gun a few days ago, it's now official; Tek is back for one more year and I can count on roughly 30 calls next season from Rich about how Tek as the back up catcher is either killing us or the best move Theo made since signing David Ortiz. It could go either way.

Finally, yesterdays post was my 1,000th. When I started this thing, it was more of a lark that evolved into some demented form of therapy that allowed me to communicate with some friends I knew, some more I made along the way, and the occasional random dink dropping his/her two cents in.

If you've been here since the beginning (Tex, I'm looking at you) or just stumbled in sometime completely at random I appreciate you reading and if you've ever commented? Thanks for your interest and seek help immediately.

Here's to the next 1,000.

And thanks the these guys?

I'll never run out of subject material.

Time Keeps on Slipping, Slipping, Slipping into the Future

He's turning 6 in a few weeks and he's caused me to age 4 years for every year he's been alive.

I love all my children equally, but Rakes is the one that both pulls at my heart and wishes I had a bottle of Absolut on standby at all times; he's 2 feet nothing, almost 40 pounds, and is as much of a force of nature as someone his size can be.

With a built-in megaphone and a voice that sounds like Lucille Ball after she's burned a Lucky Strike he's sort of like a tornado; you hear him before you actually see him. He's probably ADD or DSS or MTV or whatever the current thing is, makes Taz from Looney Tunes look like he's on Lithium, and the only time he's still is when he's sleeping. And even then he's twitching and twisting and burning energy at a level where you can put your hand an inch away from his body in the dead of winter and feel the heat coming off him.

Today we went on a field trip to the Lazy 5 Ranch, which is a huge drive through sort of zoo about an hour and a half from home; he jumped around, talked until I was fairly certain his tongue was gonna fall out and I set the World Record for saying "Rakes, sit down" in a 75 minute period.

But just like he always does, when I'm JUST about ready to sign the papers to ship him off to military school, he goes and breaks my heart and makes me realize that one day he'll be grown and gone and all I'm gonna have left are the memories that somehow I manage to retain and photo's like this one.


He's 6 going on 26 and I'm trying like crazy to make it all just slow flipping down.

One More Time Around The Dance Floor

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

Looks like The Captain is going to be tripping the light fandango for one more year. Today it came out that Tek is picking up his player option for $3 million next year on the same day the Sox declined their $5 million one.

Now, just because they declined it didn't mean they didn't want him back; it just means they weren't willing to pay him that much to back up V Mart, spit Copenhagen in the dugout, and be Josh Beckett's personal catcher. 'Cause how else do you explain them letting him have the $3 million option in the first place?

Look, I realize the guy isn't the second coming of Pudge Fisk; what he IS though still should count for something. A leader, a consummate pro, a guy who knows more about catching and calling a game in his pinkie finger than most guys playing the position know combined.

He's won 2 World Championships, caught 4 no hitters, and he punked Slappy out in 2004. That ALONE makes him worth $3 million.

Yes he's not what he once was. But just like Toby Keith said, he's as good once as he ever was. And as far as backup catchers go, who'd you rather have? Greg Zaun? Benji Molina? Benito Flipping Santiago?

Besides, if Josh Beckett thinks having Tek behind the plate means the difference between him being average or the scowling, cursing, spitting strike out machine he's capable of being?

Who am I to argue?

PS: I told you so, Jr. Now quit arguing with your elders.

I've got a new take on "Sunday at the Park"

It was a Chamber of Commerce Fall day in North Carolina, so after church I took Huey, Dewey, and Louie to the park. 5 minutes in, Ciera was complaining she didn't have anyone to play with, was bored, and asking if she could call her Mom to come get her.

After I spent several wasted breaths reminding her she WANTED to come and that I gave her ample opportunities to stay home and she STILL decided to come I gave up arguing, took out my phone, and took her picture.

3 minutes later she ran off to play with one of her friends from school who showed up with HER little brothers and 2 hours later she was arguing with me about having to go home.

I learned something from this discussion today.

The next 6 years are going to drive me straight to the nearest shrink I can find.

And in one of those "This could only happen to Rakes" moments?


His buddy from school showed up with two lightsabers to go between him, Rakes, and Trot.

If they paid me for saying "You just be a Storm Trooper and shoot him" I could have retired at 2:30 this afternoon.

The Week in Pictures

Monday started off with a year-end Soccer party for Rakes, a picture with coach Wendell, and Ciera and Rakes having a bang up time with the car racing games at the restaurant that night.

On Tuesday, Chase Utley tied the original jackass Reggie Jackson for the most Home Runs in a World Series with 5 and at the same time gave millions of us Yankee hating, upright walking, plus 70 IQ having humans hope that maybe, JUST maybe, the Phillies could pull off a miracle.

Much like a Chuck Norris kick to the marbles however, the best team money could buy finished off the Fightin' Phills in 6 games on Wednesday and celebrated with the richest dog pile in history. One can only hope that somewhere in the bottom of this celebration ARod was impaled with a cleat upon his money maker, ensuring the family line of blue lipped egomaniacs died on the pitchers mound at Yankee Stadium.

Thursday brought us a huge wake up call that baseball is really just a diversion from real life. 13 lives were lost at Ft. Hood, Texas in a senseless tragedy. I gave up trying to make sense of this kind of stuff a long time ago; all I know is this. The men and women who serve this great country by way of the military shouldn't have to worry about dying at the hands of a gun at home. Hopefully the powers that be will learn from this horrific incident and try to figure out a way to protect some of the last real hero's we have left.

Thankfully Friday returned us the land of the sublime when the Yankees had their victory parade, millions of unemployed Mensa graduates lined the streets of Manhattan, and the team with the biggest payroll in the HISTORY of sports was celebrated as a vaunted underdog. Don King had it right; Only in America.

Saturday consisted of me shucking and jiving my way through another day of sales while Ange and the kids travelled to my niece Hannah's 1st birthday. I'm happy to report nobody ended up in the hospital, Hannah destroyed her birthday cake, and Rakes somehow managed to not set the house on fire.

Finally, as the day drew to a close and the house settled down, I set about reading the boys their bedtime books. Rakes, although fading fast, managed to stay awake until the end.

Trot was an entirely different story.

In 15 years he'll be able to drive, vote, and join the Army.

God help us all.

It's Funny How Things Change

5 short years ago watching these dinks jump around hugging each other and grinning like morons, I'd have punched holes in my sheet rock, broken anything made of glass within a 3 mile radius and followed it up by punching myself in the cherries with an anvil.

Today? I'm actually pretty calm.

Amazing what two world championships plus the fact they spent the equivalent of the budget of Saudi Arabia over the past 9 years to win it. Truth be told? You spend $400 million dollars for 3 players? You'd better win or you look like the baseball version of Dan Snyder.

Look, they've got a good team. Yes, some of them took so many PED's they'll be dead before they are 50 and impotent before I finish this post, but they are what they are. They have the best closer of all time, a future Hall of Fame shortstop (who is more overrated than DeNiro at this point, but still a Hall of Famer), a guy who was cruising toward Cooperstown before admitting he was juiced up during his best years, and more guys with career years than you can shake a stick at.

But they did it. So I tip my cap, tell them all to bite my tweeter, and hope Theo is firmly ensconced in a top secret location trying to ensure this doesn't happen again next year. (Although the Jeremy Hermida acquisition earlier today isn't exactly making me tingle.)

Much to the chagrin of some, I'm not freaking out and curled up in the fetal position; it's baseball. Some years you win, some you don't. The team I love finished with the 3rd best record, made the playoffs, and just didn't get it done. There's always next year.

It really is amazing what winning it all does to one's perspective.

Some Days It Doesn't Pay To Get Out Of Bed.

Ange and I fussing, Rakes narrowly avoiding Red for his card home from school, and the Yankees currently beating the Phillies 7-1 in Game 6.

This picture of Trot is a perfect snapshot of my mood at the current moment.

When do pitchers and catchers report again?

Some things you just can't explain.

Par for the course, I have no idea what to write about tonight. Red Sox are playing golf, the kids have been relatively calm the last few days, and thanks to a travel day I can't even vent about how much it pains me to be watching Slappy playing in the World Series for the first time in his career.

So I've passed the last hour and a half watching "Law and Order" on USA Network and surfing the internet. And I've been thinking. (Which is always a dicey proposition.)

What I've come up with is pretty simple; if you're a parent, hug your kids. If you're married, tell your spouse you love 'em before you go to bed tonight.

And if you've got some issues, tell somebody before it's too late.

My brother, who teaches at a Christian school in Fayetteville, NC had to deal with this today.

I have no idea what would drive a man to this extreme and I don't really care to try and figure it out. All I know is life is too short and if I think about all this crap too long I'm pretty sure I'd go insane.

I'm Willing to do Whatever it Takes.

Tonight, I decided that sporting events such as the World Series were meaningless. Especially ones that include the Yankees.

So I decided not to watch any of the game and instead put on "Two and a Half Men" and "The Big Bang Theory" and didn't think twice about the game.

OK. I lied.

I did it out of desperation. Somewhere in the back of my demented mind I figured that MAYBE, if I didn't watch the game and instead watched some mindless sitcoms instead that somehow, someway the mojo would change.

And lo and behold it did. It's currently 6-2 Phillies (I never said I wouldn't flip back and forth during commercials. For God's sake, all I've watched is baseball for the last 6 months. You can't expect me to quit cold Turkey.)

I'm currently scouring the DirecTV guide for what is coming on Wednesday night. And I'd like to punch the creators of "LOST" and ABC square in the marbles for not scheduling any new shows on Wednesday until next year.

Dinks.

Just Another World Series Game

Judy Blume can go pound sand.

Dear God?

It's me. Ted.

It's 2-2 in game 4 of the World Series.

Can you please give CC a plague of locusts?

Thanks.