Halloween 2010. Part Duh.

Thanks to the fact the area I live in is bi-polar, half the people celebrated Halloween yesterday and the other half celebrated today. Which is all well and good, except for the fact my kids thought this was the GREATEST THING EVER and we did it TWICE.

Which is how I found myself wandering the neighborhood with my 3 kids plus 7 neighbor kids (Ironic considering one of the 7 had asked Ciera not that long ago why I was so grumpy. I told Ciera to say "Trot" and leave it at that.) as they pounded on doors and hollered at the top of their lungs.

Trot fell down 27 times, called some parent dressed up like a dummy "tupid" and actually went into the living room of some random senior citizen who had the poor sense to actually open the door for him.

Tomorrow morning about 7 pet owners will be scanning the yellow pages for "Pet Therapists" after Trot and Rakes met their beloved housemates, I'll have threatened for about the 20th time to throw all the candy away, and I'll spend the 3 hours Trot is at pre-school harassing the poor guy at Lowes about the latest in zip lock technology for the pantry and fridge.

I said it last night, but it bears repeating.

Thank God it's only once a year.

Or in this case, twice.

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.