He May Be Old. But He Ain't Dead Yet.

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

At about the same time today, three things happened.

39 year old Jason Varitek hit 2 home runs in a win against the Phillies, Rakes was crying in agony from water in his ear and was hopping up and down on one foot while slapping the side of his head and Trot, and I quote, "I dot this bump on my face when I was at the pool and tried to back-flip/cannonball into the water and hit my head".

If you had offered me 10 to 1 odds Rakes would cry over a sore ear, Tek would hit 2 home runs in a game, and Trot would hit his head on the side of the pool while attempting some idiotic dive I'd have put down $500 on the spot.

Ok, maybe not. But 2 out of the 3?

I'm pretty sure the Mayan's wrote about 'em when they did that whole "calendar" thing.

Not to worry. Rakes called me as soon as the game was over and let me know he, and the Sox, were all right.

"Sox won, Dad. 5-2. Who do we play next?"

It's a Long Season. And Trot makes it Longer.

Unable to capitalize on a 7 plus inning game by John Lackey in which he only allowed 2 runs and only once caused my blood pressure to elevate the Sox dropped the first two games against the Phillies. Losing game 1 to Cliff Lee? The guy is on an unholy roll of pitching right now and I'm not sure The Legends of Cooperstown on Rakes PS2 game could hit him right now.

Losing to a guy with a bad Mohawk and glasses like Charlie Sheen wore in "Major League"? Little harder to take, but it's baseball and it's 162 games and the best teams lose 60 to 70 games a year and to paraphrase Jim Leyland from the book "It'd Be A Shame If They Didn't Win" that I'm reading for the 8th time?

"It's all part of it".

Meanwhile my sister Sheri sent Rakes a big letter "R" to hang in his room and after Trot repeatedly tried to put his head through the hole in the R he laid it on the floor, pondered in deep thought for a minute or so, and looked up at his Mom and said.......

"I want to change my name, Mom".

"What to, Trot?"

"Rotaen".

Yep. Without knowing how to spell and without a clue that he was doing it he, if you substitute another t for the a, named himself..........

Rotten.

I couldn't come up with this stuff on my own if you gave me LSD, a crystal ball, and Dionne Warwick.

Tuesdays with Trot.

Apparently I now live in the rain forest as the last two nights have brought rains that have resembled what Noah saw back in the day or the storm I found myself driving in with the Amigos in Florida a year ago.

The result of these storms has been spotty reception from my DirecTv last night and the loss of innings 3-6 tonight. Which wasn't exactly a bad thing as Cliff Lee was dominant, Beckett wasn't, and the Sox squeezed out 2 hits in a 5-0 loss. But that wasn't what I was referring to as being not a bad thing.

For the entire time my Dish was "Looking for a signal" as Trot reminded me every 3 seconds, I sat on the couch with Heckle and Jeckle and we just talked.

Rather, Trot talked NONSTOP while Rakes merrily played his DS and I tried not to bust out laughing in front of them. Trot, worn out from the pool but due to bad managing from acting dugout chief Ang had fallen asleep BEFORE supper and not after, meaning he was recharged and ready to roll.

So for about an hour I listened to him pontificate on matters such as thunder turning Sponge Bob's arm into rocks, why did the Red Sox play in Boston, what time did I go to bed and when he turned 18 like me could he eat Tabasco sauce all the while poking me in the leg with a antennae Rakes had broken off of a remote control car.

It hit me about 25 minutes in that it would probably be a wise investment to install the house with security cameras in every room, rolling 24 hours a day, for that elusive $100,000 Funniest Home Videos moment that happens around here about a dozen times a day.

Shawshank for the temporary save.

Normally nights without the Red Sox are an exercise in frustration for me where I spend most of the time trying to figure out what in the world I'm going to talk to Ang about that doesn't involve baseball, how I'm trying not to let Rakes and Trot drive me insane, and baseball.

I must have done something right recently as last night I had Gus and Woodrow and "Lonesome Dove" to keep me occupied and tonight it was Andy and Red and "Shawshank Redemption", both of which are guaranteed watches if I happen to stumble across them during my 30 second run through channels 2 to 987.

However, much like Lucy always yanks the football away at the last minute from Charlie Brown a torrential downpour is passing over my house as we speak at the VERY point in the movie where, to quote Red, " Andy crawled to freedom through five hundred yards of s*&t smelling foulness I can't even imagine, or maybe I just don't want to" which turned my satellite into nothing more than a bouncing DirecTv icon periodically interrupted my a message letting me know it's looking for a signal.

I'm hoping it passes over quick.

'Cause hope is a good thing.

The Lost Cosby Show Episode

Back when these two were running around in capes and masks and hair cuts that made them look like Don Knotts when his hair got messy it never crossed my mind the things they'd come up with just a few short years later.

Admittedly, I never had kids, especially boys, before I had THESE kids but is the following situation a normal one with little boys?

Came home from swimming, dropped trou in the laundry room before going upstairs to change into pajamas, and Trot, for no reason other than apparently it was there, hauls off and whacks his brother square in the jimmy which was immediately followed by much hilarity on Trot's part and sheer agony on Rakes.

I'm seriously contemplating making both of them wear a cup during daylight hours for the next 3 years.

Dog Days of Summer are Here.

Ang is a week and a half into her 26 month Master's Education and I've seen her for approximately 3 minutes and 37 seconds over that time.

Trot honked off my saint of a Mother with the patience of Job so much today that she felt the need for all of us to have a "talk" when I picked the boys up after work tonight.

Ciera wore a bikini down to the pool the other day that momentarily had me contemplating sending her off to be a Nun and I'm not even Catholic.

Rakes has taken to quoting "The Sandlot" at all hours of the day, with his favorite line being "Is that your sister naked in the outfield? Wonder if she'd go out with me?"

And the Sox just dropped 2 out of 3 to the powerhouse known as the San Diego Padres.

Things can only go up from here.

Clark puts it all into Perspective.

*Video NSFW if you are employed by a church, monestary, school, or day care. Otherwise you'll be fine.*

Substitute "him" with "The San Diego Padres" and you get the point. After rolling off two weeks worth of brutal beatings the Sox came down to earth and dropped two out of three to the Padres.

Hope is still alive as they start 3 games with the Pirates tomorrow night and The Commander of the FYYO Brigade is due to take the mound on Saturday.

Baseball is a funny game; the same team that can sweep the vaunted New York Yankees in the House that Steinbrenner built can drop 2 games to the worse team this side of The Bad News Bears. Just another example, along with 3 out of 10 considered a great average, losing 1/3 of your games is an excellent mark, and how getting on base 4 out of 10 times is just as good as hitting a home run 1 out of every 12 a/b.

I. Love. This. Game.

Do they still do Lobotomies? And not for him; for Me?

Maybe the fact he's standing 2 feet away from a 48 inch tv at my parents house helps explain it, but while we were at the pool today Trot had to go to the bathroom.

So he did.

On the concrete.

4 feet away from the bathroom door.

As I was pouring water on the area he defiled and yelling my head off at him I was also pontificating on why he does these things. He KNOWS where the bathroom is, has been potty trained for around 2 years now, and by now should realize how serious the situation is by the color of my ears, sort of like the now defunct Homeland Security Terror designations.

I think by the end of my rant he realized we were at Defcon 5 with really nowhere else to go.

Thankfully I didn't have my Mom's blood pressure machine close by at the time 'cause I'm fairly certain I would have broken it.

Ang has 25 more months of Masters classes to take before it's all over.

If you are a betting sort of person, go to Vegas and take the over on me not making it 'til the end.

Today? Was a Good Day.

Most of the time when Rakes and I are watching the game together he's either reading or playing his DS while he's watching. Invariably, someone will crank a ball into the outfield that I'm pretty sure is gone and I'll tap him on the leg and say "Rakes, RAkes, RAKes, RAKEs, RAKES!", he'll look up, grin from ear to ear, and give me a high five.

Today, when Pedie hit his moon shot to center field I was doing a cross word puzzle and listening to DO and Remy. Rakes started tapping ME on the leg and going "Dad, DAd, DAD!!!" and it was my turn to give HIM a high five.

You may not get it from my various posts about peeing and teenagers and shots to the marbles but the greatest gift I've ever been given are my three little monsters. And being a Dad is the best job anyone could ever have.

Even better than playing for the Sox.

Happy Father's Day.

RIP, Big Man.

Another one gone far too soon.

At around 2:11 into the video you'll find one of the signature solo's of the 20th century, and it wasn't played by a guitar, bass, or drums.

We'll miss you, Clarence.

Where is Ed McMahon when you need Him?

Ang got a Mac Book today for her Master's classes she's taking. Apparently we can Skype now (whatever THAT is), can download some sort of songs off the Web, and can surf the net while using the toilet.

At least that's what Rakes and Trot told me.

So, to make the list official; my wife has a wicked nice laptop, Ciera has a flat screen in her room and the kids have a flat screen in the play room to play videos on while I'm punching the keyboard on a 5 year old desktop and watching Sox games on a 32 inch RCA television that we bought before Ciera was born.

I keep telling myself I'm sacrificing for my kids and I don't need to go into debt on something I don't need and ONE day I'll get that monster 50 inch LCD and that there are starving people in Timbuktu that have it far worse than I do, but there is this nagging feeling that keeps biting me in my non-existent rear end. (I'm not only a member, but I'm the President of the No Butt for Men Club.)

Something is SERIOUSLY wrong with this picture.

Taking the Good with the Bad

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


After spending the early morning hours of Wednesday trying to ignore what my body was telling me I went to work for a few hours, only to return home and barely make it to the bathroom before re-enacting some scene out of the Exorcist and then spent the rest of the day either laying down or playing a game of chicken with my stomach and the bathroom.

Come Wednesday night I was completely wiped out but in that sort of weird state of consciousness where I wanted to go to sleep but couldn't if I had taken a bottle of Ambien. So I piled about 3 blankets on top of me, prayed for death, and settled in to watch the Sox play the Rays.

And except for a few brief moments where my stomach sounded like Mount Etna at T minus 10 and one scary moment where I thought I'd dumped my Gatorade onto my phone I got to watch one of the most dominant Red Sox pitching performances by a guy NOT named Pedro Martinez I've seen in the last 12 years or so.

He may not make 15 wins and I may lose my bet with Jr but whether he gets there or not I know one simple thing.

The Commander is BACK.

Back To School. But Thankfully Not Me.

After much deliberation, angst, and crying (mostly by me. I don't do change well.) Ang started back to school today to get her Master's Degree. We both felt the pro's outweighed the con's and the extra money definitely won't suck.

On the flip side I'll be dealing more with the ins and outs of bedtime for the boys which of course means......

MORE POOL TIME!!!!

After 3 1/2 plus hours of reading and answering questions tonight she emerged from the bedroom and uttered: "This is going to be tougher than I thought".

Naturally, my husbandly instincts kicked in and decreed she had a new name, at least for the rest of the summer school session.

Rodney.

Or Thurston Melon if you prefer.

You're Looking Lovely Today Mrs. Cleaver

Today, in two short hours, I got a scary glimpse at my future in about 12 years or so.

See, around that time my youngest little maniac will more than likely be entering the dating world. Hopefully he'll have conquered that whole peeing thing by then, but I digress; he'll be driving a car, thinking he's the best thing since powdered donuts, and spinning his particular brand of shucking and jiving on any poor girl who agrees to go out with him.

We got a sneak preview of this at his "friend" Victoria, or Toria as Trot likes to call her, birthday party today. Seems like my little Romeo has got some moves already; went and got her food, her cake, her punch AND her gifts for her, repeatedly asked Toria if she needed anything else, helped open her presents, and did, and I quote, "A Reverse Cannonball 360 with a front flip" off the diving board.

He's already got a pet name, has his "Perfect Gentleman" act down cold, and is willing to do stupid, dangerous tricks off a board into 10 feet of water to try and get the attention of the fairer sex.

And he's the ripe old age of 5.

So not only do I have ahead of me Ciera dating, going off to school, and taking years off my life in the process, Rakes hitting puberty bearing the same "little man" curse that infected his Dad (hopefully without his Mel Tillis impersonation; thankfully, it get's better by the day, unless he's talking) I've got the distinct possibility Trot will be some deranged combination of Eddie Haskell/Johnny Knoxville/Don Juan by the time he's 16.

I don't who to feel sorrier for.

Me.

Or the poor father of the girl he asks out for the first time.

Technology comes to life.

*Thanks to Kelly O and sittingstill.net for the picture*

Back in the day when I didn't have 3 kids, DID have some free time and pre TPABTT (Trot peeing anywhere but the toilet) I used to play a lot of MLB on the Playstation 2. Naturally, I was always the Red Sox, and naturally, we beat EVERYONE.

Badly.

In fact, one season the top 6 Home Run hitters in the American League were Papi, Manny, Nomar, Trot Nixon, Tek, and Bill Mueller. I think Pokey Reese even had a dozen. It was, without a doubt, the most lop sided team in the history of video gaming this side of Bo Jackson in Techno Bowl or whatever it was.

Today in Toronto?

My PS2 team came to life in living, breathing color. 16 runs, 2,398 hits, John Lackey went 6 innings and only gave up 4 runs, and the 39 year old Captain hit a 3 run dong to put the icing on the cake. One minute I'm at the pool yelling at Trot for the 15th time in 15 minutes about why diving into the 3 foot end is a bad idea and the next minute Jr is texting me that it's 9-2.

Leaving Ang to deal with the whole "Get out of the pool, it's time to go" thing I meandered home to catch the last 4 plus innings and when Rakes got home he couldn't believe a baseball team could score 2 touchdowns and 2 two point conversions.

8 in a row and Crabby on the hill tomorrow.

It's just like I drew it up on the PS2.

Magnificent Seven

*Picture courtesy of Kelly O and sittingstill.net*

He may look a bit confused in the picture but Buch spun a gem tonight with 7 innings of 1 one ball and Bard and Pap finished it off for the 7th Red Sox win in a row.

THIS is the team Sox Nation expected coming out of the off season; lights out pitching to go along with an absolute force at the plate. Gonzy is leading the league in RBI, Papi is back to being Papi, and Carl Crawford is finally being.... well, Carl Freaking Crawford.

This, combined with Horse Face getting ticked about taking one to the ribs against Cleveland tonight along with Girardi going nose to nose with Indians manager Manny Acta (FWIW? I'd take Acta 6 days a week and twice on Sunday against a 42 year old guy who wears braces) and my 3 day weekend is starting off on a high note.

Happy Days Are Here Again.

*Pretty sure this picture is from Kelly. If I'm wrong, apologies all around.*

My co-worker John has an older brother who is a die-hard Yankee fan, and sometime back around the first of May I told him the Sox would be in first place by June 1st. Well, they actually beat me by a few days and of course I gleefully let him know that I was really sorry I missed my prediction but was in fact just a bit early.

On June 1st, the Yankees were back in the lead and I got a call that night that basically said "Ted, you were wrong about your &*($%^#()@*$ prediction!"

Today, he came in the store and I of course snuck up behind him and put my Sox cap on his head.

We laughed, shook hands, man hugged, and he uttered "They can't beat you *&^%#$!@#$%&S".

And this was BEFORE Papi went yard for the 15th time and the Sox took not only the first two games of the series but first place in the AL East as well.

The worm has turned and it's the aging Yankees pinning all their hopes on the Yokozuna-esqe CC Sabbathia tomorrow night against the revitalized Josh Beckett.

Honestly? I'll be happy to take two out of three in the Toilet, but if the boys can somehow sweep them AGAIN?

I've got a feeling it's gonna be a runaway in the AL East this year.

Even when you win, you lose. Or something.

They fall asleep at 7 p.m. and wake up at 5 a.m., which is totally NOT the way you draw it up as a parent.

But after a gut wrenching Sox win over the Evil Empire combined with me having to close the store tomorrow night at nine?

If Trot wakes up at 4 a.m. and asks me for a piece of cheese when I don't have to be at work until noon, there is no jury in this land that would hold me accountable if I stuffed him in a clothes hamper for a few hours.

Tied for first place and Old Man River on the mound tomorrow night.

It could be a lot worse.

Especially if Trot rises before the sun does.

It's not the YMCA but it's close.

Rakes, making a T for the state of Tennessee on his cross country trip to my nieces wedding.

I took the kids to the pool and they were both asleep by 7:15 so it's pretty much all I've got unless Trot forgets where the bathroom is during the middle of the night and goes in the plant again.

Sox/Yankees tomorrow night with first place on the line.

Let the havoc begin.

Calm Before The Storm

*Image from yahoosports.com*

Best thing about Carl Crawford getting one high and tight off his front shoulder today in his first ab after hitting a 3 run bomb?

The moment of near chaos that ensued as he walked down the first base line internally debating whether to charge the mound and stomp a mud hole in somebody. Why, you ask, would I be excited about Carl contemplating felony assault in the middle of Fenway Park?

3 games with the Yankees to start the week starting Tuesday, 1 game separating the 2, and my season long dream of hoping to see Slappy running in fear, knowing he has no chance of getting away, while Crawford chases him around Yankee Stadium carrying a Louisville Slugger and sporting the same facial expression Jack did in "The Shining".

What can I say?

Yankee games bring out the violent side in me.

Two Weeks Might Have Well Been Forever.

Two weeks had gone by and Trot hadn't uttered a word about his brother being gone. I think he was too busy thinking about going to the pool with Miss Raina from next door, playing with their dog Toto and plotting his eventual takeover of the world through the twin barreled action of urine and shattering everyone within a country mile's eardrums with his voice. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if he had just forgot he had a brother and was just happily content being the only male under the age of 41 in the house.

All my worries went out the window within the first 45 minutes of Rakes hitting the driveway.

According to Ang he spent the first 15 minutes Rakes was home yelling "I love you, Rakes!" and "You're my best friend, Rakes!" and quickly moved onto giggling like a maniac at everything his older brother said and by the time I got home from work was merrily trying to hit his beloved sibling as hard and as many times as possible square in the marbles.

On a related note, it was wicked nice to have my game watching little buddy back on the couch with me where he belongs. After I said his prayers with him, tucked him in, and kissed him goodnight I stopped at his door and told him I loved him.

His response?

"Tell me who won in the morning, Dad."

Welcome home, Rakes.

My Mini-Me

Minus the new era kicks, this picture of Rakes taken over the weekend is a virtual photo copy of a picture of me, circa 1977.

Poor kid hasn't got a chance.

Sox/A's tomorrow night at 7, and for the first time in over two weeks I'll have my running buddy sitting next to me watching the game.

Seems like 2 months.

2 More Days

In the two weeks Rakes has been gone and in the 6 days Ang and Ciera were also away at my niece's wedding, I've allowed myself to slip back into "Pre-Rakes Watching the Game With Me" mode.

Which loosely translated means I've been channeling my inner Redd Foxx this whole time and better get it under control before Friday, when my little buddy FINALLY comes home. It's been so long he's probably grown a Fu Man Chu and has learned Zulu since I last saw him.

And let's be honest; with Trot still trying to grasp the whole pee in the toilet concept, Ciera in the throes of teenagerness and Ang getting ready to start summer school for her Master's Degree the LAST thing I need right now is a call from the principle letting me know about Rakes teaching an entire 1st grade class the Seven Words You Can't Say On Television.