Another Day, Another Check Mark

"Relax, all right? Don't try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring; besides that, they're fascist. Throw some ground balls. It's more democratic."
- CRASH DAVIS (Kevin Costner) in Bull Durham (1988)

Is it Spring yet?

New Year, Same Result

I've made my official 2011 New Year's Resolution.

I pledge to have no more children!

That being said, I fully expect my first two Grandson's to be the re-incarnation of Jesse and Frank James.

Look at that picture and tell me you see otherwise.

Animal Planet meets THE Animal Planet

They named the new fish Pedroia and Tigger.

Tigger is the little one, and Pedroia, ironically, is the bigger one.

Turns out Tigger seems to love chasing after Pedroia incessantly and irritating the crap out of him.

Where have I seen this phenomenon before?

I got enough animals to take care of already

Ang and the kids have been after me for the past couple of years to get a pet. Before we moved into the house we're in now, we had a great Chow/Golden Retriever mix named Marino who was, in my humble opinion, the Best. Dog. Ever.

After we moved she ran away, which she'd never done before, and since then we've been pet-less. Unless you count Trot.

Naturally at first we talked about a dog. But with Angie's insistence it be an outdoor dog and the fact our neighborhood will only let you have a certain kind of fence combined with my insistence on hanging the Red Sox B on said fence which would violate said neighborhood ordinance, we moved on to cats.

It took approximately 3 minutes of discussion about cats to rule them out. Cats are high strung creatures of habit; 5 minutes with Rakes and Trot and the cat would need shock therapy and be on a lifetime supply of Prozac just to make it through each day.

So I somehow let Ang convince me to get the fish tank out of storage and tonight we spent 3 months salary on a heater, thermometer, some kind of drops that eliminate chlorine, and 2 months water bill to fill it up. Once we've reached 76 degrees, it's ready for some fish. Which is why after church tomorrow I'll be at the pet store buying, and I quote, "A Tiger Fish, one that looks like Dory, and this REALLY cute small one that is pink".

Which is all well and good. Fish are relatively low maintenance; feed 'em every other day, clean the tank once a month, and you should be good.

However, can you imagine what this lunatic is going to do when I tell him he can't take them out of the tank and carry them around the house?

Sometimes they surprise you.

Thanks to two couples who popped in the store at approximately 6:55 p.m. tonight and a quick drive to my Mom's to say goodbye to my sister and her family before they headed back to Oklahoma, I got home a little after 8 tonight.

Surprisingly, Rakes and Trot were actually sitting still on the couch watching some Charlie Brown special and not re-enacting the final 7 minutes of the Undertaker vs Mankind "Hell in a Cell" match and I was told Ciera was spending the night with her friend across the street.

It wasn't 2 minutes later the doorbell rang and Ciera was on my front porch. Letting her in, I gave her a big hug, asked about her day, and inquired why she was home.

Remember, she's 12 going on 30 and full of raging hormones. Her reply to my question?

"I was watching to see when you came home. I just wanted to come give you a hug and tell you I love you."

Sometimes?

They go and do something that breaks your heart.

In a totally great way.

Reflecting

I had my picture taken with Red Auerbach in Boston back in June.

It was that kind of year.

Unexpected trip to my favorite place on earth thanks to the kindness and generosity of JB and countless other great people combined with the Three Amigos Wandering Spectacular to Florida and Georgia helped make 2010 one for the ages.

It also greatly lessened the sting of turning 40 and the inevitable collateral damage of also turning officially middle aged.

My wife still loves me, my kids haven't killed me yet, I've got 2 great friends (one being a certifiable lunatic and the other just plain certifiable not withstanding) and the Red Sox have loaded up the Gatling Gun for the upcoming season.

Here's to 2011 being even better.

Coming Soon.

As the chaos know as the Christmas Holiday finally winds down and all the gifts have been open and dinners have been eaten and Trot has had, hopefully, his last epic meltdown of the Yuletide season I find myself taking a moment to reflect.

My family had a fantastic Christmas. I got to see friends from Boston and family from Oklahoma and got cards from all over the country that were sent by people who thought enough of me and my raging band of lunatics to take the time to send us a note saying they were thinking about us.

My kids got pretty much everything they wanted (Except Rakes and the elusive I Pod. I keep having to remind him he's SEVEN.) and while I didn't get Peace on Earth I at least got Nobody Went to the ER.

Yeah, my house is sort of a mess still, and yeah that is kicking my OCD into overdrive but I'm pretty sure by Sunday it'll be back to normal, the kids will be fussing about having to go to school, and I'll be back to debating with myself whether I should go ahead and buy that home Heart Attack Paddle kit I saw in the L.L. Bean catalog or just let it ride and hope for the best.

But as I sit here with snow on the ground, my driveway packed with ice and the sounds of Trot yelling like a banshee some 4 hours before echoing in my mind, there is one image that I found that reminds me better, warmer days are ahead.

I'm not sure how many days it is until pitchers and catchers report, but I do know it's closer today than it was yesterday.

And that's good enough for now.

*Image courtesy of boston.com*

Christmas Day Diary

5:30 a.m.

Trot wakes me up by coming down the stairs like a strung out Himalayan elephant and running into my room screaming "Santa came last night" while I do everything in my power not to throw the pillow my head is laying on at him.

5:31a.m. to 6:30 a.m.

I lay on my side and pray for death or the final present to be opened, whichever comes first. (Side note: I stayed up until 1 reading the new Dennis Lehane novel so I sort of did it to myself.)

6:30 a.m. to around 10 a.m.

Ever tried to sleep with 3 kids hopped up on Christmas Day adrenaline and remote control cars?

10 a.m. to 1 p.m.

Nana bought them the Wii Fit, and after several attempts to figure out why the remotes wouldn't work I realized you had to "sync" it. I was about 2 minutes from throwing it out the front door before figuring this out. Turns out reading the directions actually DOES help. Go figure.

This thing is wild; it tells you your Body Mass Index, how much weight you need to lose or gain, and your "Wii Fit" age. Turns out I'm really 48, which surprised me; due to my lack of any type of physical activity and questionable diet I was figuring on about 67.

1 p.m. to 6:45 p.m.

Late lunch with family at my Mom's house, followed by a couple of hours playing some card game called "Hand and Foot" which I'm pretty sure my brother in law made up on the spot just to screw with me. Throw in Trot doing SEVERAL renditions of Christmas Carols while sounding eerily like the Chinese waiters at the end of "A Christmas Story" and Rakes running around wearing a wrestling title belt and we were one turkey catching on fire away from an episode of COPS.

6:45 to 8:30 p.m.

Trot, Rakes, and Ciera playing the Wii while on 4 hours of sleep while Ang and I tried to read. Somehow Trot slipped through the defense lines and snuck an ice cream sandwich into the toy room, yet when found with chocolate all over his face and the wrapper STILL IN HIS HAND he had the marbles to yell "I Didn't do ANYTHING!" This is what happens to 4 year olds on Christmas Day who slept less than your average tweaker the night before, had sensory overload with free toys all day and hopped up on gum, ice cream, and roughly 2300 M&M's.

8:30 to present time of 9:46 p.m.

Ang and Ciera are curled up watching a movie, Trot and Rakes are sound asleep, and I'm desperately trying to get my heart beat back to normal after Ciera yelled out 30 minutes ago that she had a leak in her ceiling and the snow was coming through the roof.

Turns out her lava lamp went all Rosemary's Baby and was spewing whatever that liquid is in a lava lamp out all over her while she was reading.

I now know how Clark Griswold felt when he realized Cousin Eddie was, in fact, standing on his lawn.

Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Man, and Opening Day can't get here fast enough.

Christmas, however, is still in December

From my loud, deranged, and chaotic corner of the world to yours;

Merry Christmas.

Blue Christmas

It's been a few days since I posted, but that was due to the fact we got the Blues for a few days. JB and Amy came to visit and as usual it went by too fast and they left too soon.

We've got a day's worth of memories, along with some wicked awesome Sox stuff and speaking for the entire deranged crew?

We can't wait until they visit again.

My biggest wish for everyone who reads this blog is that there is someone in your life that you think as much about that you get to spend a little time with over the Christmas Holiday.

Up is Down and Down is Up.

My Mother in Law bought me Dennis Lehane's new novel "Moonlight Mile" for Christmas. But no matter how much I turn on the charm or beg or plead, she won't let me have it until Christmas.

Too lazy to go the library and too cheap to actually buy a new book, I'm reading Bill Simmons "Now I Can Die in Peace" for about the 3,694th time. Much to my amazement, I find something new each time I turn the page.

Tonight, I found this little blurb that not only made me smile, but in light of the Yankees chuckle inducing off season of missing out on Cliff Lee, Carl Crawford, AND Zack Greinke and due to the fact their biggest signs have been 41 year old Mariano Rivera and Jeets this is even MORE poignant.

Simmons, talking about Tom Gordon flipping out over Dave Roberts dancing off first base in Game 5 of the ALCS and giving up a single to Trot Nixon (regular readers know how much I love me some Trot) and causing Torre to bring in The Fruit Bat who then gave up a sac fly to Tek that tied the game:

"One of the most unfair blown saves. Then again, f*** him".

Other than the whole "One of the most unfair blown saves" thing, this was EXACTLY what I was thinking when it happened.

I have no idea how I'm making it through the next 4 months.

But the 2011 baseball season is gonna be one for the ages.

18 and Counting

Today marks the day Ang lost her ever loving mind and actually said "I do" and when she did I was as shocked as anybody. Her actually agreeing to spend the rest of her life with me ranks right up there in the "Holy Crap" Hall of Fame. J.R. Ewing getting shot, the Red Sox winning the '04 ALCS and Jack Bauer chopping his partners hand off in order to save the world are about the only three moments that actually top it.

Somehow we've made it another year without killing each other or the kids sending one of us off the reservation and Trot gave us the best anniversary present we could have asked for; he's finally completely, totally, 100% potty trained. No more diapers at night!

So we head into year 19 with Ciera on the threshold of teenager-land, Rakes edging ever so closer into "Hey Dad! Watch me ride my ripstick off the roof and onto the trampoline!" territory, and Trot.......well, let's just say it's gonna take a lot of Band Aids, super glue, and Prozac to get to a year from today.

Thanks to the prettiest girl who'll ever walk in the room for the best 18 years of my life.

Jerry Remy Stunk

Christmas is almost here and pitchers and catchers reporting is right around the corner.

Thank God.

El Gringo Guapo

I gotta give credit for the title to Jr, who texted me the news of the Bobby Jenks signing while I was at work today.

The fact that behemoth of a man with the pink paint brush hanging off his chin and the chest Dolly Parton would envy is now the Red Sox 7th inning set up man has me positively giddy.

Throw in the caveat that Theo signed him for TWO years and you've got more potential comedic situations than the average Three Stooges episode.

Let the Bobby Jenks Era begin!

When I dream, I dream BIG

//"It's plenty of money," Lee said. "When you hit a certain point, enough's enough. It's just a matter of where you're comfortable, where you're happy, where your family's the most comfortable, what team gives you the best chance to win."//

The more I think about this whole "Cliff Lee left a crap load of money on the table and basically told the Yankees he'd rather play in a city where they boo'd Santa Claus AND Mike Schmidt than take their money and deal with idiot reporters every day" thing the more amazed I get.

Look, the fact he's gonna be part of one of the best starting rotations ever factored in his decision, along with the fact he loved the manager, his teammates, and the city. And the Phillies are one of the top 5 teams in the game and figure to stay there for the foreseeable future. But what Lee did is completely opposite of what every other player the Yankees set their sights on has ever done; CC, Burnett, Slappy, Rogah, Kevin Brown, Damon, etc.. all paid lip service to listening to other teams offers only to bolt to the Yankees when they opened up the vault.

I jokingly referenced the scene in "Training Day" on Facebook the other day about how all of a sudden it's like the rest of the league has turned into the project residents that Washington's Alonzo Harris had crapped on for years and the Yankees were now Alonzo Harris. They've bullied and bribed and spent their way to the top for so many years that it's almost like the league is as sick of it as everybody whose not a Yankee fan walking the streets are. And they turn a deaf ear to his yelling and ordering and intimidating and simply walk away.

Like most things I come up with it was completely grabbed out of my rear end with no basis on fact and was, predictably, wrong. Lee is the exception, not the rule and I'm sure they'll be plenty of players in the near future who will follow the all-mighty dollar. The Yankees will always be the lead dog in the race to sign any big name free agents and it'll be a pier six brawl in the AL East until the day Gabriel blows his horn.

But for one brief instance in my addled, sleep deprived, Sponge Bob Squarepants saturated brain, it was Training Day all over again.

Thanks, Cliff.

How about that?

*Image from www.waitingfornextyear.com*

Eat it, Hank.

Lee goes to Philadelphia for 5 years, leaving roughly half the U.S. deficit on the table, and sends the collective Yankee fan base over the edge.

Merry Christmas Red Sox Nation!

The NFL: Not For Long Term

According to the Associate Press, concussions are up 21% this year over last year. After all the new rules and fines and general freaking out by the league, concussions have gone UP.

Watch the video I linked. There is the equivalent of a car wreck on every. single. play. After they reach the age of 45 I would bet you there aren't too many men who played professional football who don't need 30 minutes, a pie chart and an algebra teacher to figure out the physics of putting on a pair of pants in the morning due to chronic pain. Yes, they choose a violent way to make a living. And yes, they get compensated extremely well to play the game. Nobody put a gun to their head and told 'em to do it and most go into knowing they are giving up years on the back nine to play the front.

Saying all that, the NFL wants to INCREASE the number of games from 16 to EIGHTEEN next year.

The NFL is a printing press for money; the league, the owners, the players, the television networks and the advertisers all profit. And if they have a work stoppage or lock out or whatever they want to call it next year I'll be as ticked off as the next guy.

UNLESS it's over the players refusing to play those 2 extra games.

When it comes to their long term health?

I'll take their side every time.

I LOVE the Winter Meetings. Especially THIS year.

*Image courtesy of newyork.cbslocal.com*

Quote courtesy of my brother from another mother.

"[Bleeping] Theo," one GM said of Boston general manager Theo Epstein. "What a brilliant move."

To paraphrase the great Hannibal Smith?

I love it when a plan comes together.

It's a Beautiful Thing

Trying to wrap my mind around the past few days hasn't been easy; all of a sudden the Red Sox have gone from talking about things like "fiscal integrity", "bridge years" and fretting about the Yankees spending the equivalent of the budget of Bulgaria each season to what we've seen the past week or so.

The formerly conservative front office has turned into the baseball version of Richard Pryor in the all-time classic "Brewsters Millions". If I didn't know better I'd swear Henry told Theo he had to spend a gazillion dollars before Opening Day or his 2011 salary wouldn't kick in. They've given an 8 year and a 7 year contract that combined are worth around $300 million, made an offer to Mariano Rivera, were in on the Jason Werth deal, told Cliff Lee they'd give him a 7 year deal, are trying to sign Russell Martin, are rumored to be in on every available relief pitcher out there. At this point it wouldn't shock me if they brought back Pedro to pitch just Opening Day for $25 million and then have him coach third the rest of the year.

Don't get me wrong; as a fan, I love this stuff. And they're doing it the right way; giving long term deals to guys hitting their prime, locking up their young players to team friendly contracts, and keeping the fan base invested while at the same time causing the Yankees and their acolytes to go completely bats***. I'd give Jr's left marble to be a fly on the wall inside THEIR meetings right about now; Theo has ensured they will give idiotic money and idiotic years to try and get Cliff Lee, and they'll probably offer their entire farm system for Zack Greinke, who has to be at least 50/50 odds to totally go Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" after 3 months in that zoo.

Basically, this is better than that Christmas I had as a kid when I got a Redskins helmet, an Atari 2600 and my sister got a whipping for doing something terrible to me. I can't quite remember what she did, but I'm sure it was big time awful. However, that doesn't answer the question of "Why?". Why now, and not last year or 3 years ago or whenever you want to pick did they decide to do this? I don't KNOW why, but I've got as good a reason as any.

My guess? One day after the season ended and probably before he decided to buy a soccer team in England (Yes. John Henry bought a soccer team. Don't ask me why; could be as simple as he just can.) I think he had a come to Jesus moment.

He woke up, looked in the mirror and did what I imagine he does every morning; marveled at the fact he looks just like Crispin Glover in "Back to the Future" when Marty comes back home and his Dad and Mom are super cool and the guy who tried to rape his Mom back in the 50's is now washing his Dad's cars. (Think about THAT for a minute.)

Then he said "I'm John Freaking Henry. I own the Boston Red Sox, I've got more money than Thurston Howell III, my wife is smoking hot, and I haven't had to tie my own shoes in years. I'm the proprietor of one of the most revered and loved sports franchises with one of the national treasures of ball parks, have more boats, cars, homes, and pocket protectors of anyone I know. Sure I'm a little bit nerdy, and yeah I'm about as comfortable in front of a camera as The Elephant Man but I freaking OWN THE BOSTON RED SOX! For years I've let those thugs in New York throw money around like they print it in the basement of Yankee Stadium while I acted like I owned the Kansas City Royals instead of the FREAKING BOSTON RED SOX!"

"It's time to make the donuts!"

He probably immediately called Theo, told him to stroll into the winter meetings smoking Cuban cigars lit by $100 dollar bills while dressed like Sherlock Holmes and declare to the
entire throng in attendance "Gentlemen. The game is afoot."

I am officially GIDDY about the 2011 baseball season.

Moments in TIme

John Lennon died 30 years ago today.

Is it just me, or is the fact Howard Freaking Cosell was the guy who broke the news the height of irony?



6 years prior he had that conversation with Lennon.

The fact it was a Pats/Dolphin overtime game when he broke the news about Lennon's death only piles on to the issue.

One of the best musicians of all time died and Howard Cosell is the dude who announced it to the world.

That is the modern day equivalent of Chris Berman saying Bono died.

Only without all the inevitable "Back, back, back to the Joshua Tree!" crap.

RIP, John. And hopefully the rest of us will someday give Peace a Chance.

I'm only smiling to keep from crying

Ciera is as excited as I am about Gonzo arriving in Boston.

And if you plan on showing up on my doorstep one day wanting to take my baby girl out for the evening?

You better have a plan, a graph telling me where you're going, and her home by 10:30. And not in my driveway at 10:30 but in MY living room at 10:30.

BTW? YOU will be in your car on the way home at that point.

'Course this is 20 years in the future so you've got some time.

Sweet Holy Moses where has the last 12 years gone?

And is it too late for her to join the convent?

You call it weird. I call it Monday night supper.

*Image courtesy of my sister Sheri*

While I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Ciera was prattling off about her day, and Trot was mangling his roast beef and asking for the 4,000th time if he could be done, Rakes and I had the following exchange.

Rakes: "Dad. Is bench a bad word?"

Me: "What?"

Rakes: "Is bench a bad word?"

Me: (Thinking some kid taught him some Snoop Dog lyrics at school today) "Is bench a bad word? No. What are you talking about?"

Rakes: (Clearly annoyed) "Is BENCH a bad word?"

Me: "How do you mean?"

Rakes: "Like, you are a bench. Is it bad?"

Me: (Thinking, thinking, thinking.....) "Where did you hear it?"

Rakes: "In a book about Justin Beiber I read."

Me: (He can barely read I am Sam. How is he reading a book about Justin Beiber? Where did he get it? How fast can I burn it? What is he talking about?) "You read a book about Justin Beiber? Why would you do that?"

Rakes: "I don't know. Hey Dad. I got to the next level on Mario Brothers."

Me: (Thank God. I really didn't want to finish the road we were heading down.) "That's great, son. Keep up the good work."

In an unrelated note, the Adrian Gonzalez deal is official.

Jr, you can come inside off the ledge now.

Next?

Gonzo is in. I think.

Jason Werth took $126 million to play for....... The Nationals.

No, really. He signed with the Washington Nationals.

Rivera and Captain Intangibles are back in the Bronx, I'll be seeing Buzz Lightyear and Woody in my dreams, and I paid $30 FOR THREE ICEES IN A PLASTIC BOTTLE today.

Yep. Sounds about right.

Gonzo

Looks like Youk is moving back to Third Base and the Adrian Beltre era in Boston lasted approximately 1 year, which I gotta admit; sort of sucks. No more home runs hit from a kneeling position, no more defensive plays at third that looked like something out of "The Matrix", and no more demented looks while chasing some teammate who thought it would be hilarious to rub the head of an insane person.

Let the Adrian Gonzales era commence.

Check out his career stats here, playing close attention to 2007-2010.

This is gonna be fun to watch.

In an unrelated note, I'm taking the kids to THIS tomorrow afternoon.

God help me.

Cue the Music: Welcome Back.

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

Looks like the Captain is gonna be around for at least one more year. 1 year, $2 million base salary with another $300,000 possible with incentives are the figures that keep Jason Varitek in Boston, at least for next season.

I gotta admit; my stomach was in knots at the prospect of seeing him in a Dodger, Blue Jay, or Oriole uniform. The fact that he probably won't hit his body weight at the plate next year doesn't bother me.

There are still 3 certainties left in my life.

1. Trot is more than likely going to do SOMETHING tomorrow that would result in imprisonment in a foreign country.

2. Rakes will work the word "nuts" into a conversation at some point in the next 24 hours.

And 3? Jason Varitek will be wearing a Red Sox uniform with the letter "C" on his chest next year.

One out of Three ain't bad.

Let's Hear it for the Old Dudes.

I'm 40 years old and can't walk to the mailbox without stopping to catch my breath. Granted, I sell furniture for a living so the comparison is sort of skewed, but the fact Jamie Moyer just underwent Tommy John surgery and is already planning a comeback at the age of FORTY NINE in 2012 made me swell up with pride.

In a sport where you're considered "old" at 35 and ancient at the age of 40, Moyer is planning to come back from MAJOR surgery TWO years from now and pitch against a bunch of young pups full of youth, vigor, and not enough smarts to come in out of the rain.

From my perspective, this is the real-life equivalent of Rocky Balboa coming out of retirement to fight some 20 something punk itching to beat down a legend.

I think taking Rakes to Target on a Wednesday night to buy some Pokemon cards is tough; this cat is willing to have ligament transplant surgery, go through thousands of hours of rehab and weeks and months of pain and misery all for the prospect of throwing a 85 mile an hour fastball to Albert Freaking Pujols.

It almost makes me want to go out, join the local gym, and put in hours of pain and suffering so I can play on the church's softball team next season.

Almost.

I may be old but I'm not senile.

Yet.

Yes. A GM 3,000 miles away is making me cranky.

This dapper gentleman's name is Ned Colletti. He's the General Manager of the Dodgers and I'm sure he's an all around good guy. Loves his kids, kisses his wife every morning, rubs the dogs head and gives generously to the local Red Cross.

However, tonight? I'd REALLY like to tie Trot to the tail of a rabid Mongoose, tie Ned to an ant hill and let nature take it's course.

Why would I wish such a horrific act on a guy who sports a grade A porn stache you ask?

Because he just gave Juan Uribe a 3 year, $21 million dollar deal. THAT'S why.

Granted, dude had one whale of a post-season for the Giants. And he did hit 24 HR's and drive in 85 RBI during the regular season. But he averaged .248 in the ever lovin' NL WEST where I'm pretty sure I could at least hit .150. Every other Sunday.

If you give Uribe $21 million, what does that say to Carl Crawford or Jayson Werth or Yogi Bear's little buddy Boo Boo? I'll tell you what it would say to ME if I were anyone of them? (Smart money would be on Boo Boo, btw.) It says JACKPOT. Forget 7 and $125. Let's ask for 5 and $150 with the option to opt out after 3 years or no playoff appearances, whichever comes first.

At this point it wouldn't surprise me if every other G.M. in baseball decided to storm Ned's house with pitchforks and light sabers, demanding he either resigned or be put in the stockade for a month.

Look, Ciera is bed with some wicked stomach bug, tomorrow is the first of December and the most significant off-season move the Sox have made is to let John Farrell leave to manage the Blue Jays. Trot still isn't fully potty trained and Rakes likes girls at the ripe old age of 7 and it's still over two months until pitchers and catchers report so you'll forgive me if I'm a little bit cranky.

Throw in Christmas is less than a month away and I can't screw in a light bulb without a manual, much less assemble a toy/bike/game in less than 3 hours and hopefully all that sheds some light on my state of mind at the moment.

But right now? If I saw Ned at the corner store buying a newspaper and a cup of coffee it'd take all of my control not to dropkick him in the marbles.

I AM Al Bundy.

"I guess the real reason that my wife and I had children is the same reason that Napoleon had for invading Russia: it seemed like a good idea at the time. "
Bill Cosby

What can I say?

It's been one of those weekends.

Thankfully, that little red-headed orphan is right.

The Sun is gonna come out tomorrow. And if the past 2 days are any indication, it'll probably burn my eyeballs, crack my driveway, and Huey, Dewey, and Louise STILL won't listen to me.

Truck Day can't get here fast enough.

Every time I call it a game, you call it a business. And every time I call it a business, you call it a game.

For all of us mourning over Victor Martinez (I'm looking at you specifically, Jr.) leaving for the Detroit Tigers and more specifically those of us (And I'm most definitely in this group; shoot, I'd still have Trot Nixon roaming RF and Keith Foulke still closing) who HATE the fact our favorite players leave year after year, I give you this scene from one of my all-time favorite movies.

It's a bit long, and most definitely NSFW, but at about the 4:00 minute mark you get the start of one of the all-time best scenes in a sports movie I've ever been witness to.

The fact that it's highlighted by noted thespian and former NFL player John "The Tooz" Matuzak, God Rest His Soul, is the cherry on top of the sundae.

Thanksgiving Day Balance Sheet

One Frasier Fir, 7 foot Christmas Tree? $45 dollars.

Amount of gas spent driving to Tree Farm, back home, back out to In-Laws, back into town to my parents house, then back home? 43 gazillion gallons.

Level of stomach gas after eating 2 full meals in a 5 hour span? Bluto from "Animal House" level.

Times I yelled "TROT!" at the top of my lungs? Unknown, but definitely north of 1,200.

Detroit Lions losing to the New England Patriots? Expected.

Dallas Cowboys gacking up a 4 point lead with two minutes to go and losing to the Saints, giving the world the following image?

Priceless.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

A Day of Thanks.

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. A day to reflect on the blessings you have in life, and even though I'm not rich in money, I'm still rich.

I've got a wife who still makes me feel like a newlywed 18 years after the fact, a teenage daughter who still thinks her Dad hung the moon (check with me next year on this one. I've got a feeling this is a fluid situation that will change by the hour.) and 2 little boys who, if they don't kill me first, promise to give me more blog material in the next 5 years than most people get in a lifetime.

I've got both my parents still with me, In-Laws I actually adore, and 3 sisters and a brother who I'm close to. I've got a home, a job, a car, and enough blue jeans and Red Sox t-shirts to outfit a 3rd World country.

I've got friends in New England, California, Oklahoma, New Zealand, Texas, and all points in between. 2 of those friends, who I'm pretty sure could have been serial killers or at the very LEAST leaders of some sinister rebellion in another life are two guys I consider my best friends. Or to put it another way, I was willing to leave my house for almost a week and travel half-way across the East coast with them and if you know me? Getting me to go to the mailbox is a battle.

Some of my friends aren't with me anymore, but in reality? They're still here, just not like they were before. And I've got pictures and memories to remind me of them until the day I'm no longer here myself.

So tomorrow, as you enjoy the holiday with your family and friends, take a minute to reflect on all the things that make you feel grateful for in your life. For me it's Trot is almost fully potty trained, Rakes made it past the age of 6 without breaking any bones (I had 4 in the pool, btw.) Ang hasn't left me yet, and Ciera still doesn't like boys. (So she says. I'm taking it at face value and not asking any questions.)

The fact that I won't have to look at these two dinks every Sunday night for 6 months at a clip doesn't suck either.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

From the mouth of a child......

While I was at work today trying to wrap my mind around the fact Rakes is now 7 years old and Victor Martinez is now a Detroit Tiger and trying to fleece the masses, my Mom was watching Trot. Sometime during the day the following conversation took place between the two.

Trot: "Nanny. I've REALLY got to go to the bathroom."

Nanny: "OK, let's go."

Trot: "I gotta poop. I gotta poop. I gotta poop."

Nanny: "OK. Let's get to the bathroom."

Trot: (After finishing) "Nanny, it's REALLY hard getting that to go back in your butt while you're waiting."

God love her, my 73 year old Mother laughed until she cried.

Seven Years? Seems Like Seven Days.

My little boy turns 7 tomorrow and I don't know what is more surprising; the fact it's all gone by in a blink of an eye or the reality that I haven't gone completely insane. Yet.

One day he's this little baby and today he's running around in the backyard yelling about Pokemon cards and doing Jeff Hardy wrestling moves on the trampoline while singing "It's Time to Play the GAME".

I've loved every minute of his 7 years, even though I've made more mistakes than Trot would make in identifying the 50 states. I've yelled way more than I should have and been more impatient than he deserves and there have been more than a few nights when I went to bed feeling like I was the worst Dad walking the planet.

Tonight was shaping up to be one of those nights. A combination of a couple of neighbor kids hurting his feelings, Trot having an upset stomach and not quite making it to the bathroom on time tag teamed up with 4 pre-teen girls in my kitchen while all this was going on sort of set me on edge and by the time he'd asked for a certain bag of chips for the gazillionth time while we were trying to get dinner on the table I blew my stack.

I should mention here that Trot was having a meltdown to beat ALL meltdowns at the time due to the fact he didn't like Tuna. Never mind that we were actually going to be eating Turkey.

But by the time the 7:30 re-run of "Two and a Half Men" had ended Rakes was curled up next to me, fast asleep with his head on my chest after mumbling "I love you, Dad." about 20 minutes prior, it hit me that tonight WOULDN'T be one of those nights.

At the end of the day, we were right where we started it. I was his Dad, he was my son, and he and I both get to go to bed knowing each of us are loved.

If you ever read this someday Rakes, your Dad loved you whether you were asleep on my chest or peeing on the garage floor out the open door of the van.

It just probably didn't seem like it at the time.

Happy Birthday, Little Man.

I'll let Bono say it for me.

Ang decided this morning was the perfect time to set the oven to "Self-Clean".

Only she forgot to turn on the exhaust fan on the oven, which resulted in me and the kids going to church smelling like we'd burned a tire in the backyard before leaving.

On the plus side, the Redskins somehow beat the Titans in overtime, giving them a 5-5 record for the year. In my heart I know this is going to end up like Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown and I'm going to be laying flat on my back and wondering where it all went wrong come January, but for today?

I'm somewhat content. Or I'm as content as I can be with the fact the Red Sox have no starting catcher, Third Baseman, and I'm hearing rumblings that Theo may be happy to head into 2011 with Jed Lowrie playing 3rd which more than likely would end up with me having a mild cardiac infarction at some point before June 15th.

All in all, I'd say today was a pretty good day.

Rakes and Me: At The Movies

Me: "Rakes, come here and watch Robin Hood with me."

Rakes: "Robin Hood? Where's Batman?"

Me: "Not Robin; Robin Hood."

Rakes: "Is Hood his last name? Where is Batman?"

Me: "It's not Batman, son. It's Robin Hood."

Rakes: "I KNOW it's Robin, Dad. Where is BATMAN?"

Me: (I realized at this point this is bordering on "Who's on First? territory) "Rakes, it's about Robin Hood. He stole from the rich and gave to the poor?"

Rakes: "Why'd he steal from Rich? He's your friend."

Me: (Wondering for the millionth time how I end up in this type of conversation on a daily basis.) "Rakes; it's a movie about a guy named Robin Hood who lived in Sherwood Forest and how he fought the Sheriff of Nottingham and had a girl friend named Marian."

Rakes: "I though the Sheriff was a good guy?"

Me: (Serenity now, Serenity now....) "Rakes. It's got bow and arrows, crossbows, spears, lots of fighting, and they ride around on horses. You'll like it; trust me. Now will you PLEASE just sit down and watch it?"

Rakes: "What's a crossbow?"

I've got a sinking feeling this is going to work out just about as well as the time I decided it would be OK for him to watch professional wrestling.

What could go wrong?

Dear Commander of the KAB,

I made a bet earlier tonight with Jr that you'd win at least 15 games next year for $100.

I've got three kids, work on commission, and have a car payment and a mortgage. To say I don't have a spare $100 laying around is the equivalent of the U.S. saying a nuclear armed Iran is not an option.

In other words? You can carve it in granite.

So if you could be 2007 Josh Beckett next year?

I'd owe you a solid in return.

Thanks.

Desperate Times Are Upon Us.

It's Thursday, November the 18th.

There has been no official baseball on my television for about 2 weeks now.

Two and a Half Men is about all I've got to last me until Spring Training.

If Trot doesn't send me over the edge first.

Hump Day Rambling

A. Ron Gardenhire won the A.L. Manager of the Year. And I'm fine with that. Every year me, you, the media, and the mailman count the Twins out and every year they somehow end up in the playoffs. What I'm NOT fine with? Tito placing 4th. I'm not going to re-visit the biblical like plague of injuries he had to work around plus the fact that for the majority of the year it was the baseball version of Gladys Knight and the Pips with Papi playing the role of Gladys and the Pawtucket Red Sox filling in for the Pips. 2 World Series wins in 7 years, the playoffs 5 out of 7 and consistently winning while not killing any member of the local media ought to count for something.

B. I still can't figure out why the Redskins gave Donovan McNabb a $78 million dollar deal that is in reality a $3.75 million dollar buy out after this year when HE WAS ALREADY UNDER CONTRACT FOR THIS YEAR. Dan Snyder somehow being a gazillionaire is just under "How do you explain gravity" for question of the decade.

C. The Oakland A's have reportedly offered Adrian Beltre $64 million dollars over 5 years while the Red Sox have set a firm limit of $52 million over 4 years. Meanwhile I'm wondering if I'll sell enough furniture this month to cover the DirecTV bill and the heating bill and will most likely attempt to take a roto rooter to Beltre's marbles if I hear him utter "I've gotta think about what's best for my family" anytime in the next 3 months. Take the $52 million and the adoration of Red Sox Nation and just sign already.

D.
Trot's Indian name for his Thanksgiving program at pre-school was Crazy Horse.

Of course it was.

They Eat Dinks Like Him For Breakfast.

My friend Cyn took her niece to the Justin Bieber concert at the Boston Garden tonight where he apparently thought it would be funny to wear a NY Yankee cap while he performed.

Thanks to my feeble mind, I've come to the following three conclusions.

1. Cyn is a much better person than me. If Ciera ever asks me to take her to a Justin Bieber concert I'm shipping her off to a convent, ASAP.

2. Whoever is managing this kid needs to have someone take a sledge hammer to his gibleys. Seriously? He's wearing a Yankee lid in Boston?

""all we need is one girl raised in Revere with an attitude to storm the stage and kneecap him""

Above quote courtesy of my brother from another mother and a FB post.

3. He ever comes close to where we live and I'm sending those two psychos in the picture, along with a catapult and some urine bags to the concert and letting nature take it's course.

Lunch with Rakes

Eating lunch at school with Rakes is a little like Christmas morning when you were a kid; it's always fun, there's usually a lot of commotion going on, and you never know what you're going to get.

Today he was, for him, out of character. Quiet, reserved, and actually eating instead of talking. I figured part of it was the 2 little girls from 4th grade eating with one of their Dad's, so I waited until they left to try and find out what was up.

Me: "Rakes, you OK?"

Rakes: "Yeah, Dad."

Me: "You're being awfully quiet today."

Rakes: "I told my brain on the way to school that we were going to be quiet and listen all day".

Me: "........"

Rakes: "It's working pretty good, Dad."

Me: "Well, could you ask him if it's OK to talk to me during lunch and THEN go back to being quiet?"

Rakes: "I'll tell him that's what we'll do, Dad."

From that moment forward it was on like Donkey Kong; he told me about everything he'd done that day, asked me if I liked the Carolina Hurricanes (he apparently now likes hockey), and asked me to give him a hug BEFORE I took him back to his class lunch table so, and I quote, "I don't want to embarrass you by hugging you in front of them".

It's hard not to love a little boy wearing a WWE hoodie with his face and hands covered in Doritos sauce who thinks so much of you.

Just Because.

It's the beginning of a LONG winter that promises to be filled with excitement over new signings, some sad goodbyes to a couple of favorite sons, and most likely the agony of watching the Yankees sign Cliff Lee.

So I thought it would do me a world of good to remember a happier time.

Like when the closer of the Boston Red Sox put a pair of goggles on his head and danced a jig back in 2007.

Every now and then I need a reminder that it's just a game, being played by 13 year old boys in grown up bodies, and it's supposed to make you smile, make you laugh, and make you wish they were playing tomorrow.

Is it Truck Day yet?

Along with my sister Sheri who is in town from Oklahoma for my Dad's birthday, I took the kids to the lake today where we hiked, skipped stones, and played on the playground for the afternoon.

Somehow, a picture of me in the background while my kids scream and yell "Keep going until we throw up, Dad!" is totally appropriate.

11/11/2010: Ten Things I Realized Today

1. Never. And I mean NEVER schedule just two people to work in a retail store on a Holiday. I ate standing up, sat down exactly one time, and feel like I've been put through a suicide drill at football practice.

2. Based on number 1, my boss and I need a personal assistant strictly for the purpose to remind us to never do this again.

3. Joe Theisman should have stayed away from broadcasting football games. He still doesn't know when to Just. Shut. Up.

4. Reading about the Red Sox going after John Buck as a free agent drove home the point that Theo Epstein is someone I'll never figure out.

5. I'm old enough to remember Deion Sanders as a member of the Florida State Seminoles and tonight he got inducted into the Atlanta Falcon Ring of Honor. Which makes me an official Geezer. (Bite me, Jr.)

6. I've been blessed more than I could ever deserve; came home tonight to a beautiful wife, 3 healthy children, and a home. Which makes me richer than I could have ever dreamed.

7. Trot without a nap makes Mr. Wilson look like the Patron Saint of Patient People.

8. Ciera is growing up WAY too fast. I'll be looking into NC state laws on locking your daughter up in her room for an extended period of years tomorrow.

9. It's freaking November. Where in the great wide world of sports did the rest of 2010 go?

10. Rakes LOVES his new favorite word; Nuts. He's working it into every single sentence he tells me, followed by 3 minutes worth of giggling, followed by 3 more minutes of me trying to tell him not to say it with a straight face.

Bonus: 11. I love being a Dad.

Courage Doesn't Have An Age Limit.

Josiah Viera is now officially my hero.

The next time I rant about Trot peeing on the floor or Rakes putting Trot in the Atomic Chicken Wing would someone remind me about this story?

Josiah is 6 years old.

Rakes is 6 years old.

I don't know why God allows this kind of stuff to happen, but when I go to bed tonight you can be sure I'll thank the Big Guy that he let me have 3 healthy children.

Every time I call it a business, you call it a game. And every time I call it a game, you call it a business.

I was 12 years old the first time I heard the name Marcus Dupree. Living in Yukon, Oklahoma at the time it wasn't long before I was doing what every other kid that didn't pull for the OSU Cowboys was doing, and that was pretending I was Marcus Dupree in the back yard while I played football with my buddies.

At the time, I didn't understand why a guy would play 1 1/2 years at one of the greatest schools in the country and then just go home. Throw in joining the USFL instead of the NFL and as a 12 year old kid, I thought he was off his rocker.

Turns out things in 1982 weren't all that different than 2010. Spectacular athletes crossing paths with everybody with their hands out combined with the sadly always present dirt bags wanting their share.

If you watched this and have followed the recent developments of Cam Newton, the phrase "The more things change, the more they stay the same" should be ping ponging around inside your head.

NCAA athletes, especially the ones who play football and basketball, are no more an amateur athlete than I'm Andre the Giant. The universities and television networks get rich off the sweat and blood and concussions and blown out knees and broken dreams of these kids and the athlete can't let the coach buy him a Hamburger off the dollar menu or he's gone.

I don't know what the solution is. Fact is, I don't even know if it's possible.

But if you can watch this documentary on Marcus Dupree and not get angry about what happened to him and countless others over the years?

You may want to check yourself for a pulse.

And A Nation Of Pin Heads Mourns

This?

To paraphrase The Donger from "16 Candles"?

I've never been so happy in my whole life.

And The Hits Just Keep On Coming.

I saw Austin Collie get knocked out in a matter of seconds during the Colts/Eagles game this afternoon and it only confirmed what I'd pretty much already decided.

They will play hockey on the river Styxx before I let my boys play football.

I remember reading about Andre Waters committing suicide at the age of 42 and when they looked at his brain it was the brain of an 87 year old Alzheimer's patient. Merrill Hodge having to retire because of concussions. Steve Young, Wayne Chrebet, Troy Aikman, the list just goes on and on.

Then I see Jim McMahon in that video talking about not having any memory left and he's in his 40's and in the same breath say it's ruining the game and it hits me.

Roger Goodell and the NFL can make all the rule changes they want and the mentality of those guys going out on the field won't ever change. And it shouldn't. You can't play a game that violent and that aggressive and go out there playing timid; 'cause the first time you do? It's gonna be YOU getting hurt.

So I'll watch and I'll root and I'll cringe every time I see something happen like it happened to Austin Collie today.

But if I've got anything to say about it I won't have to hold my breath and pray that my son will get up off the field someday in the future.

I'm gonna let 'em stick to the safe stuff like giving each other Tombstone Piledrivers on the trampoline instead.

Just a small town boy.

Caught a special on Montgomery Gentry on Channel 101 on DirecTV tonight, and much to Angie's chagrin I watched the whole thing. I'd forgotten how much I liked 'em due to the fact I spend my time in the car either listening to the Classic rock morning show on the way to work and Sports Talk on the way home.

The video I linked is one of my favorite songs, and reminds me that as much as I love the city of Boston and images of big cities lit up at night I'm extremely grateful I get to raise my kids in a small town where they roll up the sidewalks at night. A place where the police drive through the neighborhood 4 or 5 times a night (granted, it's because they have NOTHING to do but that in itself is a good thing), a place where my kids can play for the same coach in soccer every year, and a place where people actually smile and say hello and for the most part really mean it.

My Town.

One more time we'll trip the light Fandango.

Don't care if he's 35 years old, has trouble with left handed pitching, or plays the field as often as we see Haley's Comet.

And yes, I think the Red Sox overpaid by picking up his $12.5 million dollar option. But you know what? It's not my money and again, I don't care.

For one of the few times since John Henry and company bought the Red Sox they made a decision on a player with their heart and their heads and not with all the warmth and feeling of a box of rocks. From Petey to Damon to Trot to Manny, time and time again they have acted with the cold blooded nature of born businessmen and more times than not? They've been 100% correct.

It's not like they gave $12.5 million to Andrew Jones; Papi DID hit .270 with 32 HR and 102 RBI last season. Sure there's a risk here. And there is a risk that I could step in front of a bus tomorrow, but it won't keep me from going outside.

Henry and Epstein gave Papi a "Thank you" deal all the while hoping he's got one more big year in him for another WS push while at the same time letting the fan base know that sometimes even a heart made of stone can show a little love.

2011: Year of The Papi.

Just another Father/Son Moment.

Having a conversation with Rakes is always a crap shoot; you never know what you'll talk about, how many questions he'll ask, and the ending is like one of those books you read as a kid where you picked which thing would happen to the characters and depending on what you picked they either got the girl or ended up being eaten by a bear or something.

So as I loaded him into the car after his year-end soccer party I was guessing during our 3 minute ride home he'd talk about his trophy he got or his pizza he ate or the good old standby we have about every other week called "Dad, why is Darth Vader's light saber red and Luke's is blue?"

Instead, he talked about playing T-Ball last year. More specifically, he talked about a certain moment that happened in one of the first games.

Rakes: "Dad, 'member when I played T-Ball for Coach Wendell?"

Me: "Yep."

Rakes: (Beginning to giggle) " 'Member that time I hit the ball REALLY hard and it went BAM right into Coach Wendell's nuts?!"

Me: (Stifling laughter) "Rakes, don't call them that. Call 'em marbles. Or gibleys."

Rakes: "Dad, do you call them Marbles because they're round?"

Me: (Still stifling laughter) "I guess so, son."

Rakes: (After several seconds of silence) "Dad, what's a gibley?"

BTW? I've Never Liked Tea.

Now, in the name of all that is holy, will you please stop calling my house, my cell phone, my job, and my girlfriend from 1987?

I VOTED. Not straight ticket, not due to the fact you left some message on my answering machine, and definitely not because you accosted me in the parking lot at my local voting station with a nail file, a sticker, and a pencil. (FWIW? I threw 'em all away in the trash can when I got inside. Do I LOOK like a guy who files his nails?) I voted the way my head told me too; see, I'm one of THOSE people who actually pay some kind of attention to what's going on. I realize with 3 kids I'm the exception, but pay attention I did.

If I want to be harassed, ridiculed, and bombarded with inane questions I'll just walk in my front door, Thank you Very Much.

Hopefully I've got two more years until these idiots descend upon me like a pack of vultures again.

Election years make me long for the days of mass telemarketing.

At least those people had a sense of humor.

Edgar is Hurley. Or Something.

He's played for the Marlins, Cardinals, Red Sox, Braves, Tigers, and now the Giants.

Not so affectionately known by many Sox fans after his 1 year in Boston as E6 or Rentawreck, he's got an uncanny knack for being a pivotal figure in the post season.

He drove in the winning run in Game 7 of the 1997 World Series win for the Marlins. He was the last out in the 2004 World Series for the Cardinals against Boston. He was the last out for the Red Sox in '05 when they got swept by the White Sox in the ALDS.

And now? All he did tonight was hit a 3 run bomb off the Immortal Cliff Lee (IF you believe FOX. Apparently Cliff and Jesus are the only two people ever to walk on water. I love the guy, but gimme a break already.)

It's the top of the ninth, Giants lead 3-1 in the game and 3-1 in the series and once again Edgar Renteria is right in the middle of it all.

I'm pretty sure this could have been a plot line on LOST.

Baseball is a funny game.