Live Long. Laugh Often.

Tonight after work I took the kids to the pool.

This is just about a nightly event from Memorial Day weekend until Labor Day so it's usually the standard stuff; Ciera swims, Rakes dive bombs the water looking for stuff he's thrown to the bottom, and Trot swims/doggie paddles/drinks in roughly 2 gallons of water per 5 minutes he's in the pool while I alternate between yelling at him to stay in the little end and asking him if he's gotta pee.

After several rain showers today I sort of figured we'd have the place to ourselves, but our neighbor's 7 year old daughter and her friend apparently don't mind freezing cold water either. 5 minutes in and Trot had climbed into their float with them while Rakes did everything short of capsizing them in the water to get their attention. Honestly, I don't think they realize they're doing it; it's just some built in thing that boys/men have that makes them want to try and impress any female within 100 square yards.

At some point they decided they'd make a fort out of the pool chairs, and it was at this point the comedy level ratcheted up about 75%. Both the girls have divorced parents, and as a result, a cell phone. This led to 15 minutes of Rakes asking the Mom if the phones were real, finding out they were INDEED real, then begging me for a phone, followed up by another 10 minutes of him telling them he had an IPOD touch at home, along with an I Phone and he was getting, and I quote, "a Blackberry Ipod touch" tomorrow.

Meanwhile Trot becomes enraged when one of the girls tells him she heard him "toot". Why, I don't know, since I asked him if he did and he said "Yes". Multiple cartwheels, manly shouts, and Trot chasing Rakes around the pool after Rakes punched him in the stomach (it would remind you of watching the monkeys at the zoo) later the girls packed up and left for home.

As I'm counting to 10 under my breath and trying to keep it together, Rakes tells Trot to say goodbye over the fence to "Hannah and Carlos".

Only her name is Carson.

My life is a Monty Python skit.

Remember

I wake up every morning in a nice home with a beautiful wife and 3 fantastic, slightly insane children. I go to work, watch baseball games, get to go on a road trip with the other 2/3rd of The Three Amigos in a month or so and never think twice about how I can have these freedoms.

Every Sunday morning I take my family to church. Other people I know don't take their family to church, but take them to the mountains or the beach or the ball game or the park. Every 4 years I get to actually vote for who is going to lead this country and I can get online and do a 30 minute diatribe about how bad an announcer Ken Harrellson and if I wanted to I could stand in my driveway holding a "I Hate Ryan Sechrest" sign and wouldn't get arrested. Maybe blacklisted from the annual neighborhood pool party but definitely not arrested.

In short, I have every freedom available to mankind. The fact I own a car, much less a house, makes me one of the richest people in the world. Throw in three televisions and 4 pairs of jeans and in most countries I could move in and be pretty close to the top of the pecking order.
But all this isn't free. I didn't pay for it, but countless other men and women have.

So tomorrow when we're all grilling out and swimming at the pool and enjoying a 3 day weekend, take a minute and remember the people who have given their lives defending this great country and it's way of life who made Memorial Day happen.

3 Saturday Night Thoughts

1.I watched the last 3 outs in Doc Halladay's Perfect Game against the Marlins tonight. If you're a baseball fan, this never gets old; 27 up and 27 down and until the last out was made Roy showed about as much emotion as peat moss, then he actually smiled. Which may be the first time I've ever seen him do that. And even though the Sox lit him up pretty good last weekend? I'm really, REALLY glad he's not in the AL East anymore.

2. It's been about 6 months since our community pool was last open and since I'm perpetually in a state of panic/frayed nerves/constant confusion I'd sort of forgotten what 4 hours in the sun, water, and sheer frenzy will do to two whirling dervishes. After coming home from work and finding the following scene, I've made this vow; we're going to the pool as often as humanly possible over the next 3 months.

3. Kevin Millar may be the best thing to happen to television since it was invented. As best as I can tell, he's on the MLB Channel, NESN, and possibly FOX but it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he ends up with his own sitcom deal and replaces Simon Cowell on American Idol next year. Dude is HILARIOUS. From pretending to get Jim Ed and TC to drink Jack Daniels to getting "thrown out" of Fenway last night to spending an inning in the booth with DO and Remy tonight (Where he told stories of Remy "stealing a heater" in the back of the plane and busted on the physical shape of Mike Lowell and Trot Nixon) the man is a walking riot act.
Hopefully somebody with some stroke will realize the potential pot of gold they've got sitting in front of them and get him an agent, manager, and entourage ASAP.

Can you imagine THIS guy walking around Hollywood with Manny, Kenny Chesney, and 15 random guys wearing cowboy boots and "I went to Spring Break at Padre Island and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" shirts?

'Cause I can.

Seperated at Birth?

Rakes and Trot got haircuts today and stopped by the store afterwords to show me their new 'do's.

Rakes.

And the kid from Sling Blade, Lucas Black.

Dennis the Menace.And Trot.

Don't tell me you can't see the similarities.

Maybe I'll drop a line to Billy Bob and see if he's planning a sequel.

How YOU Doin'?

We found this in Rakes' book bag today.

His friend Ally gave this to him at school today, and even though Rakes swore he didn't like her he was grinning when he said it.

6 years old and already getting love notes.

To say I was proud really wouldn't do proud justice.

'Course if I ever find a love note in Ciera's book bag I'm getting a pitchfork, a torch, and a rocket launcher and making a house call..

Rakes. Being Rakes.

Rakes has always been a bit, well, eccentric. From his unruly cow lick to his propensity to stammer whenever he gets excited (which is around 93% of the time according to the scientific study I did with a hand timer and some tooth picks) to his innate ability to spot B.S. from a mile away.

He's also a tad messy. So not only does he look just like me, have the same little mannerisms as me (crossing his feet watching tv, twirling his fingers even when the rest of him is at complete rest, and he's gonna be lucky if he reaches 5 ft 6 inches in height), he's also cursed with my tendency to be disorganized.

I hate clutter. Always have. Nothing hanging out of a drawer, or laying on the floor, and absolutely no dishes in the sink when I go to bed. However, don't open a closet door without wearing a crash helmet, don't think you can close my drawers on the dresser without standing on it first, and for the love of all that is holy, don't open my glove box 'cause if you do? It'll take a jackhammer, a crow bar, and some WD 40 to get it closed again.

Apparently my first born son has inherited more than my quick smile, small stature, and loud voice. The following is an email conversation between Ang and his teacher, after it was brought to our attention Rakes was having some difficulty keeping his desk area clean.

Ms. *****,
Did Rakes do well with keeping his desk neat? Please let me know if you had any problems. We are working on a week by week reward from now to the end.

Thanks,
Angie Dalton

Today he had all of his new pencils left on the floor and glue stick and a crayon or two left on the floor. I noticed this after school. Usually I notice before we leave and he will pick them up. I also noticed the new black bag you bought for him was empty laying on another child's desk. I also put in his book bag the red piece that goes into his shorts to make them smaller. He pulled it out on Friday and could hardly keep his shorts up. I just looked at his desk and all his crayons are out of the box and sitting inside on the edge of his desk ready to fall out. I'm sorry to write so much for one day

Thanks,

Mrs. *****

I know I shouldn't have, but I laughed until I cried when I read it.

Best part? He pulled the elastic out of his shorts. When I asked him why?

"It was itching me, Dad."

I gotta write a book.

Tick, Tick, Tick

In the span of roughly 24 hours three significant events happened in my life.

I turned 40, LOST ended it's run and tonight 24 does the same.

Out of the three?

Losing Jack hurts the most.

Getting LOST one last time.

At 9 p.m. tonight, I'll settle down to watch the series finale of LOST.

As someone who's been watching since the beginning it's sort of bittersweet. On the one hand, I'm glad it's going to end on the producers terms with the ending they want and not dictated to them like most other shows when they stay on just a bit too long. On the other, besides "24", which also ends it run tomorrow night, it's one of the few non-baseball things I actually watch.

Which means I can't ignore my wife on Tuesdays anymore.

Going into this season I was really hoping that all the questions to all the wacky stuff that I've seen over the years would be answered and told myself I'd be bent if it didn't. But as the year wore on and it got closer to the end I sort of had a change of heart.

I decided I'd just enjoy it for what it was; an extremely well done, well written, well acted show that at times was more confusing than the Stimulus Package for Greece.

Sometimes that just has to be enough.

History was being made and I'm outside looking in.

Daisuke Matsuzaka took a no hitter into the 8th inning tonight, which would have been an awesome 40th birthday present for me.

IF Bud Selig wasn't the Lord of the Dinks and struck a deal with FOX to get exclusive rights to certain Saturday nights, forcing me to watch the Yankees/ Mets game while I missed a chance at seeing history happen. And not only me, but several of my Red Sox friends across the country. Apparently the morons that run FOX assume we'd all rather watch a game from New York instead.

To say this has aggravated me is like saying the Oil Tanker explosion off the Gulf is a minor situation. I pay over $160 dollars a year to watch the Red Sox and because MLB and FOX think THEY know what game I'd like to watch better than I do, I missed tonight's game.

The fact he gave up a hit is beside the point. In fact, in my feeble mind I'm convinced that if I HAD been able to watch the sheer will of RSN positive vibes would have given him the no hitter.

Yes, I'm aware that sounds crazy. And frankly? I don't give a flip.

Tomorrow morning, I'm starting the site www.firebudseligbecausehe'samoneygrubbingdink.com.

Is www.makethedhforbothleagues.com taken?

I gotta admit, since the beginning of Inter-League play I've been a fan of it. Watching the Sox play the likes of the Dodgers, Giants, and Astros over the years has been fun, since the odds of them meeting again anytime soon are slightly better than me suddenly becoming a fan of Madonna. Throw in the fact that the Red Sox are usually MUCH better than the National League team they are playing and who wouldn't like a nice 20 game stretch against the equivalent of a AAA club for around a month?

Starting Inter-League off with the Phillies is a totally different story. They've got an American League team in an NL uniform, with a lineup that would make Cy Young a little nervous; Rollins, Utley, Howard, Werth, Victorino, Ibanez, etc... could mash in the AL East all day long. Throw in the fact it's in an NL Park and Papi has to ride the bench COMBINED with the painful sight of watching the pitcher have to hit and I'm ready to take a ball peen hammer to the gibleys to make it stop.

Game One? Sox lose 5-1 and Daisuke is on the mound for tomorrow.

I may need a valium drip to make it to Sunday.

On a positive note, Trot went to the bathroom IN THE BATHROOM for an entire day.

Gotta take my moral victories wherever I can.

Do you hear what I hear?

Our house?

Is a very very very loud house.

Take one pre-teen girl combined with a 6 year old with a voice box set on 11 and a deranged 4 year old. Then throw in me, with the game on at about volume 30 just to hear the stinking thing plus the fact I'm usually hollering "Get Out, Ball!" every time the ball leaves the bat and poor Ang trying to get a word in edgewise and you could land the Met Life blimp in our back yard and none of us would hear a thing.

So tonight, in the latest in a series of lame ideas that Ang and I come up with to reduce the chaos level, even just a bit, we had Ciera in her room, Trot in ours watching tv, and Rakes in his room practicing his reading.

All was quiet and serene. For about 3 minutes; then, seemingly at once, Ciera came out of her room to discuss whether Caroline Keane (who wrote the Nancy Drew books) was still alive. This was followed by Trot, who had somehow hid a Batman and a motorcycle in his pajama shorts, LOUDLY having a fight to the death with The Joker, while Rakes totally destroyed my office with toys while singing "Fiddly Dee". Not just singing it; he sounded like Snoop rapping "Gin and Juice" only if Snoop was 6 and was missing a front tooth.

It was surreal. And all I could do was just chuckle under my breath and think about how much I loved my kids.

Then I turned the tv up a few levels more so I could hear the game.

Let's just say I've learned when to pick my battles.

This?

Wasn't one of those times.

Wednesday night at Fenway

Watching the Sox play the Twins tonight and I had a couple of epiphany's.

Or something.

One, Clay Buchholz has put on some weight. He now resembles a bulimic male model rather than a meth head looking for copper to steal. And this is coming from a guy who is heading full bore into 40 and wears 28 inch jeans. Dude needs to hit the all you can eat buffet at Golden Corral about 3 times a week.

Skinny or not, he was DEALING tonight. As I type? 7 plus innings of 1 run ball and he's far and away been the ace of the staff so far this year. Really glad Theo didn't go with public sentiment and deal him and half the farm system for Santana a few years ago.

Two, Ron Gardenhire looks JUST like the Burl Ives snowman in "Rudolph" or "Frosty" or whichever Christmas cartoon he was in.

All he's missing is the umbrella. And why exactly did a snowman in the middle of winter even need an umbrella in the first place?

Three, Papi is back. Dinger over the Monster and all of a sudden it's 2007 all over again.

And I feel fine.

Going Deep

Dear God?

It's me.

Ted.

See those three beautiful children in that picture? You know I love 'em. And wouldn't take a billion dollars for them.

But if the Red Sox are going to have one of those "bridge" years could you see if you could help me by making Ciera NOT a teenager, Rakes suddenly lose the whole Mel Tillis stammering thing and put a light bulb in Trot's head about what a toilet is actually for?

And while you're at it, that whole "Me turning 40" in 5 days?

Not really excited about it, just to be totally honest.

I'd trade it all for a 10 game winning streak though.

Thanks for listening,

Ted

P.S. I read where you never give us more than we can handle. I think you have a higher opinion of me than I really deserve.

If that kid pees on the floor one more time I'm fairly certain I'm gonna be meeting Nurse Ratchet in a matter of days.

How you can tell it's Monday

I've come a long way since Ciera was a baby. Back then, she'd drop her pacifier and I'd boil it in water before I gave it back to her, every fall she had was a near emergency and NOTHING was allowed in her mouth except her milk and baby food.

Having Rakes, and then Trot come along and you just get busy and hectic and stuff that used to make you crazy just sort of gets put on the back burner. Somebody falls? Long as there aren't any bones sticking out or need of a tourniquet it's ok. Get whacked with a light saber? Grab a pack of frozen peas, duct tape it to their head, and send them on their way. As the years have passed by I've realized patience and a bottle of iodine are your best assets when it comes to raising kids.

Today, however, something happened that made me realize just how far I've come. On our way to each lunch with Ciera, Trot and I stopped off to pick some soup up at the store. En route back to the car he jumped into a water puddle that had to be 6 inches deep, splashing water all over his shoes and his pants.

3 minutes later, as I'm driving to the school, he proudly tells me "I'm drying my shoes, Dad". At this point, I turn over my shoulder to look and he's licking his shoe like a cat licks it's fur.

5 years ago, I would have driven straight to the nearest ER to have his stomach pumped; today, I just turned back around and pretended I didn't even see it.

Not sure if that means I've grown up or just grown numb.

Everything has to sleep. Eventually.

Out of bed early + hiking The Appalachian Trail + Rakes actually getting still for longer than 15 minutes?

Serenity Now.

Had a great day off with Ang and the kids and as far as I know we did no permanent damage to a National Landmark and nobody broke anything.

If the Sox can hang on and win it'll be just about a perfect day.

Country Roads, Take Me Home.

In what can only be described as a moment of temporary insanity I suggested to Ang that we take the kids hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains tomorrow.

Due to my awesome boss and his new "everybody gets a Saturday off each month and I'll sell for you when it's your day" I've got a three day weekend staring me in the face.

So tomorrow we're packing a cooler filled with hot dogs and juice boxes and heading roughly 2 hours north where we'll spend the day hiking the Appalachian Trail.

Nearly 40 years ago I was born in the foothills of these beautiful mountains and remember my Pop taking us hiking when I was about the same age as Rakes. So maybe it's nostalgia, or senility, but tomorrow I'm taking my 3 babies walking on the same trails my Dad took me on a long time ago.

Trot combined with Mother Nature and no safety net.

What could possibly go wrong?

Is it June yet?

The Three Amigos Wandering Down South Megaspectacular Epic-Palooza details have been ironed out, thanks to JB and his schedule.

Those of you in the Orlando, FL area are hereby forewarned; we'll be there on the 26th and 27th of June and if you see the guy with the cowbell or Brian Knobbs leaving on a stretcher?

You'll know who to thank.

Atlanta is on target for the 28th, but considering we're going to South of the Border, Dillon SC for Josh to take "a picture", whatever that means, and will be in the land of the Mouse for a few days calling Atlanta a given at this point is sort of like throwing a penny down the wishing well.

It's nice in theory but we'll see if it actually happens.

I. Can't Wait.

And no, I have no idea why this whole post is in bold. I've tried everything I can think of to get it to go away but no luck.

To paraphrase Marty McFly's dad in "Back to the Future"?

It's Density.

Psalm 40

Since I missed the game today due to the fact it was played at 1:30 in the afternoon and I was at work at the time (Should point out here; I LOVE day games. When I'm off.) and the Red Sox lost, I've spent the evening watching "The A-Team" and looking at videos on Youtube.

Back in my youth, I used to listen to a lot of music; mostly hair metal, which makes me an unabashed Bon Jovi, Crue, and AC/DC fan but these days it's my local morning show on the way to work and NPR radio on the way home. But my band of choice?

Bono and the boys from Ireland.

I'm linking my all-time favorite U2 song "40" tonight.

Welcome back my friend.

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

Maybe he though Darnell McDonald was going to take him out.

Or he was ticked off about the fact that former President Logan is behind the Russians on 24.

Or maybe, just maybe, he remembered the Red Sox have committed to him the budget of Camaroon and would like to see a return on their investment.

Whatever it was, Daisuke came out tonight and went 7 innings, gave up 1 run, struck out 37 batters (I'm ball parking here, so this guess may or may not be totally accurate) and in general? He rocked.

Or it could have been today was my brother from another mother Josh and his beautiful wife Amy's 7th anniversary, they were at the game tonight, and brought the good luck mojo.

Whatever the reason, the Sox won 6-1, are breathing down the necks of the MFY and the Rays and the 2010 season?

It's officially on.

What doesn't kill us......

Monday is my day off from work. Well, Sunday and Monday but since we're technically closed on Sunday I don't really count it.

It's also a day off from pre-school for Trot, which means he and I spend the day together. Usually we hang out at home or go to the library and eat lunch with either Rakes or Ciera, depending on whose week it is. Under no circumstances do we go to multiple places and get ourselves in any situation involving the general public.

Unless Ang gives me a list of stuff I've gotta do. Then? All bets are off.

So me and Tweedle Dee headed off to Wally World this morning to pick up her medication. After answering multiple questions about how long it would take and him yelling at every stop light to "GO DAD!", even when it was on red I was fairly agitated when we walked into the store.

It was half way to the Pharmacy when I realized I'd left my wallet at home.

Back to the car we went, and after another 20 minutes back home to get my wallet and make our way BACK to Walmart we arrived at the counter. Where the nice young lady behind the counter, even though I dropped the prescription off YESTERDAY at 10:30 a.m., told me it'd be another "Five minutes".

10 minutes later, after Trot had treated the free blood pressure machine like some video game (during which a man I'd estimate to be around 87 years old with a cane sat down and commented "I can't get my arm in" while I hid behind the display of antibacterial soap and tried to get Trot to climb down off the shelf with the Feminine hygiene products) I once again approached the counter, only to be told "It'll be another few minutes."

It was at this point Trot discovered the "Dr. Shoals" machine. You know the one; you put your feet in the drawing of a pair of feet and they give you your perfect match.

Apparently Trot thought it was like the dancing game at Putt-Putt where you follow the blinking lights and stomp your feet accordingly. I chose to ignore the stares at Trot by the numerous blue haired people waiting in line to pick up their medicine and instead sent mind waves to the girl behind the counter to please hurry this whole process up, all the while trying to figure out how much a new Dr. Shoals machine was going to cost me.

Mercifully, about 5 more minutes later they called my name, I grabbed Trot up like he was a fumble on the 50 yard line with nothing but daylight in front of me and off we went.

To the bank, where Trot hung upside down on the line dividers while I did my business. Then? We went to our other bank; thankfully this one has a candy dish which kept him otherwise occupied. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was actually only around 50 minutes, we made it to school to eat lunch with Rakes.

What followed was roughly 30 minutes of eating mixed with Trot trying to drain the water fountain dry. Once we left school it was off to church to pick up some eggs for Ang. (Long story short? We know an organic dairy farmer who attends church with us and Ang is under the impression that eating organic dairy products will calm the boys down. 5 minutes with either one of them will tell you this is NOT working but if it keeps her happy I'm all for it). We then arrived safely at home.

Where I proceeded to help Rakes with his homework, Trot peed on himself outside which led him to eat dinner in his shirt and a pair of socks, and I flipped between the game and 24 while reading the boys their bedtime stories.

Oh yeah. I had a 10 minute conversation with Ciera about the WWE and why she couldn't EVER marry a wrestler mixed in there somewhere.

Just another Manic Monday.

Worth Billions of dollars and THIS is the best they can do?

Calling the final game in this most recent 3 game set between the Yankees and Red Sox are these two Mensa candidates.

Personally I'd rather have Wolverine and Freddy Krueger having a contest to see who could scratch their hands down a chalkboard the length of Rhode Island with Madonna playing in the background while Chris Berman screams "BACK, BACK, BACK, BACK" at the top of his lungs.

Between Morgan going on and on about 1975 and Miller pronouncing everyones name completely wrong (I'm almost convinced it's an inside joke. How anyone who's been in the business for as long as he has can be that ignorant about pronouncing someones name is beyond me.) while Oral at least tries to provide some common sense to what we're watching and it's just flat out painful.

Imagine how annoyed I'd be if the Red Sox weren't currently winning 9-2.

Happy Mothers Day

It's an old picture, but the sentiment remains the same.

There's always Tomorrow.

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


Once upon a time not that long ago, I thought there were three irreversible truths.

1. Turning 40 wouldn't bother me one bit.

Not quite true. I've been alternating between denial and rage for about 3 months now and tonight on my way home from work I actually thought about buying a Harley Davidson.

2. Trot will eventually, one day, sometime before I die learn how to actually use the toilet everytime he needs to go to the bathroom.

As much as I can tell this will happen sometime in the year 2050. But I'm still holding out hope.

3. There is no way, and the Rock means NO WAY that a pitcher can strike out 8 batters and hit roughly 43 members of the opposing team in the same game.

Yet tonight? This apparently happened. The Commander went from unhittable to BP pitcher in roughly the same time it takes Bill O'Reilly to make a complete dink of himself. One minute he's making Nick Swisher look silly on a cut fastball and before you can blink he's tossing up a breaking ball that doesn't quite break and the rout is on.

Yankees 10, Sox 3 and I'm left hoping two things; Clay Buchholz can work some magic tomorrow and CC hears about an all you can eat special at the Dunkin Donuts on Commonwealth Avenue tomorrow morning and loses his mind.

Whoever created the unbalanced schedule that makes the Red Sox and Yankees play 18/19 times a year instead of the 12/13 that it was before will hopefully be walking North when the next South bound train comes by.

'Cause this almost 40 year old REALLY doesn't appreciate the added drama.

Trot. Being Trot.

The original Dirt Dog returned to Fenway last night to help celebrate Cinco de Nomar and still looked like he could bang one off the Monster or maim some helpless pitcher if needed.

My Trot is now 4 years old.

Hard to believe it's been that long, but I can't ignore it.

And with every bathroom related incident, epic meltdown, or just some random moment where he's covered with dirt in desperate need of a bath yet has that serene look of someone at peace with their place in the world I'm more convinced I named my youngest child perfectly.

If that isn't a Dirt Dog I don't know what one is.

Anyone ever says baseball is boring needs to watch a game at MY house.

In most of the free world, watching a baseball game is considered a leisurely activity.

3 hours of relaxing viewing, occasionally interrupted by a brief flurry of excitement due to runs being scored or a pier six brawl breaking out between the two teams.

At my house? It's part MMA, part WWE, and part riot, only without the cops. Although at times I'm tempted to call them in.

Tonight? I got to watch the first hour by myself, due to the fact Ang and the kids were at church. Silly me, I was under the delusion they'd hit the door calm and relaxed.

15 minutes later, after playing our weekly game of Tickle Monster I herded the boys upstairs to the bathtub and before I could say "STOP!"? Rakes had peed.

In the bathtub.

While I erupted like Mt. Olympia and Trot repeated "I didn't do it this time, Dad." Ang was hollering something about "Don't kill him!" from downstairs and Ciera was muttering "You two are GROSS." in the background behind me.

Somehow managing not to stroke out on the spot, I bathed the boys and got them dressed while John Lackey was spinning a 7 inning, 1 hit gem. While Ang distracted them with water and a snack I got to see Bard pitch a scoreless 8th.

However, in the bottom of the inning I missed Beltre going yard because I was having to put Trot back in the bed for the 5th time in roughly 10 minutes and only the threat of me locking him in his closet allowed me to see Pap pitch a flawless bottom of the ninth to preserve the 3-1 win.

I keep telling myself it'll all calm down in a few years.

I'm just not sure I can make it until then.

Bottom line? Sox win, Trot eventually went to sleep, and I'm still alive and kicking.

Everybody wins.

You don't save a pitcher for tomorrow. Tomorrow it may rain.

*Photo taken by my friend Kelly @ www.sittingstill.net*

*Quote courtesy of my friend Cyn @www.toeingtherubber.com*

And Leo Durocher of course.

Crabby was FILTHY for 8 innings, giving up 1 run and in the bottom of the 8th the bats came alive and thanks to a Jeremy Hermidia bases clearing double and a spotless 9th from Pap the boys won 5-1.

In the bad news department, Papi went 0fer with a few DP's and a few K's and much to my utter chagrin? More than a few boos at Fenway.

Look, like I said last night I'm not one to pile on. I LOVE the Large Father and for the rest of my life will be forever grateful for what he's done for this franchise and it's fan base. Retire his number and erect a statue next to Teddy Ballgame on the back side of the park.

But for right now?

Let Mike Lowell be the DH.

Yes, I've seen 80 year olds with better lateral motion and I'm pretty sure Benji Molina could paste him in a 40 yard dash.

However, this is baseball. See the ball, hit the ball.

And Senor Doubles can DEFINITELY still do that.

Love Hurts.

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



Let me get this out of the way right off the bat.

I love me some Big Papi. LOVE the big guy.

In fact, I once had an hour long argument with Ang about how we NEEDED to name our child Papi. (In full disclosure, this argument happened right after Trot was born and I was SURE I wanted another one.)

So I'm not someone who wants to bench him, DFA him, or send him to Iran as the new U.S. Ambassador.

But at the very least, for right now, he should be on the Cop Schedule.

1 day on, 2 days off.

'Cause I don't care if Scenic's hip makes Mickey Rooney look young or a 157 year old turtle could beat him down the line or even the fact that he looks like he's in pain just walking to the box.

Mikey can still rake, the Sox won 17-8 with him in the DH role tonight, and every morning when I get up to shave my beard it looks more and more salt than it does pepper.

All that aside? I'm a firm believer in the motto "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

And right now?

Senor Doubles is far from broke.

It's the End of the World as we know it. And I don't feel fine.

They are having to boil water in Boston tonight. Iran is apparently THIS close to obtaining nuclear weapons. Kate Gosslin is a television star, and for some reason television executives continue to give Ryan Seachrest a job.

So it shouldn't surprise me that the Red Sox just finished the weekend getting swept by the Orioles.

But it does.

Throw in the fact I had to listen to Gary Thorne and Jim Palmer the past 3 days and it's a minor miracle I haven't had any bleeding from the ears, unexplained seizures, and my head hasn't spun around 3 times REALLY fast.

We're a month into the regular season, the Red Sox are 11-14 and the Yankees and the Rays are on a serious roll. Yes, it's early. And yes, I will continue to Keep the Fair.

But a 10 game winning streak, with a few donnybrooks and some 5 HR games mixed in sure wouldn't hurt.

The Silver Lining in a Dark Cloud.

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

I'm less than a month away from turning 40, have boys sniffing around my door looking for Ciera, and Rakes apparently attempted a Stone Cold Stunner on Trot tonight which fortunately didn't result in any broken bones but it wasn't for lack of trying.

I've got a mortgage I'll pay off sometime around the time pigs fly, moderately high blood pressure (not helped by my recent addiction to Tabasco flavored Slim Jims) and I found a new gray hair in my beard today. That makes 23 now but who's counting?

Yet I'll go to bed frothing about the fact Big Papi woke up from his month long slumber to hit 2 bombs, Youk launched one that looked like it came close to dinging Sputnik, and Adrian Beltre is doing his best Pete Rose impression at the plate for the past 8 games but the Sox STILL lost to the O's 12-9.

It's the Barney Fife rule of "If you give 'em 35 they'll take 40", only in baseball terms. Right now, if the pitching is good the bats are dead. If the bats are on fire, the pitchers are throwing BP. If the starters are cruising, the pen is going to be shaky. If the starters are impersonating a gas can, the pen will be lights out.

Up is down, left is right, and Ted is having deep, meaningful conversations with the bottle of TUMS on my left shoulder and the bottle of Valium on my right.

Let me add it's May the 1st and we've got 5 more months to go.

'Course a 7 inning outing by The Commander tomorrow would go a LONG way toward helping with things.