And Here I Thought Vacations Were Relaxing.

My version of Clark, Ellen, Russ, Audrey, and Cousin Eddie hit the road last Saturday for a vacation at the Las Vegas of the Deep South, Myrtle Beach. After a 5 hour drive in which we stopped 6 times to go to the bathroom (my brother and I once went 18 hours to Oklahoma City stopping only for gas/bathroom breaks. I think we stopped 3 times.) and 4,599 instances of Trot asking "How much LONGER?" we arrived at the Yachtsman resort around 5 p.m.

After a few fitful hours of sleep on a Murphy bed (Yes, they still exist and yes they are still as uncomfortable as ever) we were up early to hit the beach and do some body surfing. Which we did for a few hours, then hit the pool. Not 20 minutes after that some yahoo came running in yelling about a shark in the water. Naturally, Rakes and Trot HAD to see so we headed to the pier to check it out. Sure enough, there was about a 5 foot shark swimming RIGHT WHERE WE HAD JUST BEEN.

Ciera was freaking, Rakes wanted to know if it could bite his arm off and Trot wanted to go pet it.

Not only did we have predator fish to deal with, we had Trot combined with his "No Fear" motto ALMOST do me in. In every room at the resort there is an Ocean front balcony with a rail about 3 feet high. For some reason we asked for an upper floor room, which if you're keeping score at home tops out at 11 floors.

Guess which floor we got?

We're all sitting there watching tv and Trot meanders over to the deck, opens the door, and proceeds to jump up on the rail, lean WAY over and is basically dangling 11 floors up from a very bad landing.

That's the Yachtsman, just to the right of that tall glass building. Our room was top floor, just about dead center. I'm pretty sure I lost 3 years off the end of my life and Ang turned a shade of white not seen since Powder.

The rest of the week was relatively calm. We hit the beach and saw no more sharks (Much to the chagrin of Heckle and Jeckle), ate out and some nice places, and spent the evenings watching movies, where I'm proud to say my kids watched "The Goonies" and "Kindergarten Cop" for the very first time, although I'm a TAD worried Rakes or Trot will introduce a brand new, fun to pronounce word at some point in the year. Why didn't I remember all the cursing?

We all got burned, ended up with sand in places God never intended it to be, and in general had a nice, relaxing vacation.

Or as relaxing as this crew can be.

I'm ready for another one.

In about 5 years.

There is a White Light. Trust me on this.

Trot ALMOST dealt me the death blow today.

More to come when I'm back on the grid so to speak.

Coffee is for Closers.

I'm not sure what it is about the furniture business but there are daily instances when my patience is stretched to it's very limit.

9 times out of 10 it's due to people wanting my "best price". Apparently, most of the world is convinced there is a 1000% mark-up on furniture and I'm trying to screw them out of house, home, and inheritance.

Fact of the matter is this; furniture is no more marked up than a McDonald's Quarter Pounder with Cheese. In the price of that furniture is rent, fuel, utilities, payroll, insurance, advertising, taxes, and last but not least, commission. Whether you believe it or not, it is NOT overpriced. At least where I work.

So I hope the guy who finally tripped my wires tonight took the fact that the following conversation took place.

Me: "Sir, have you ever bought an appliance from Lowes or Home Depot?"

Sir: "Yes."

Me: "When you saw that $1,200 dollar refrigerator did you tell them you'd give them $800?"

Sir: "Well, no."

Me: (addressing his wife) "Ma'am, when you bought groceries the other day did you offer to pay $2 instead of $4 for that box of Captain Crunch and tell them if they didn't let you have it for that you wouldn't buy it?"

Ma'am: "Well, no."

Me: "Then why in the world would you expect me to sell you that bedroom set for $400 LESS than I've got it priced?"

I got the sale.

Sid and Johnny Rotten. Part Duh.

I watched a documentary on the hill people of West Virginia once and I could SWEAR these two knuckleheads appeared in part of it. Barefoot, with bad Mohawk haircuts and attitude to burn.

Rakes looks demented and Trot looks like he's ready to challenge you to a game of craps AND steal your milk money.

Somehow my prim and proper wife has let these two walking disaster's convince her that they both needed a new haircut.

Right before we go on vacation.

Between me and my slightly decaying Red Sox cap combined with these two looking like Travis Bickle in his Elementary School years I'm pretty sure Ciera is going to pretend she doesn't know any of us and tell anyone who asks that she's adopted.

All I keep thinking is wait until Trot's Kindergarten teacher gets a load of HIM.

The Dirt Dog Era Continues.

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

I gotta admit; after the first season of Saltalamacchia and Tek last year after V Mart was traded, I wasn't exactly sold we were set at the position.

And after watching Salty start off slow, his complete non-ability to throw out a Wildebeast stealing 2nd, and seemingly not able to hit his way out of a paper bag I wasn't exactly feeling warm and fuzzy about this year.

He's proven me wrong.

He's up to close to 30 percent of throwing out runners, hit his 11th home run tonight, and he's got a Trot Nixon/Rooster vibe about him. Tough as a brick, perpetually dirty, and he's got that whole "I could go all Travis Bickle" thing going on that may come in handy down the stretch.

He's already got caught apparently trying to bite a finger off in the bottom of a pile and that was pre-All Star Break. Imagine this guy at Yankee Stadium in September and Beckett decides it's time to bring the pain?

Things go south and I'm guaranteeing he's the first guy looking to de-cleat Arod.

In fact, with all credit to Bill Cosby for the idea, nothing would make me happier than seeing Salty charging a weeping Slappy while Pedroia sits on his shoulders, shouting "Faster! Faster! You fool! You fool!"

Can you tell I may need a vacation?

You Just Never Know

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

I gotta admit. After watching last nights gut busting 3-2 loss with Jon Lester on the mound I wasn't exactly feeling confident with the Lackey vs. Sabbathia match up.

Yeah, we've sort of owned C.C. going back to his Cleveland days and yeah Lackey has been on somewhat of a roll, but if you'd have given me odds before the game on whether Trot would run into his brother at full speed, causing Rakes to bite a hole in his tongue, shed about 3 liters of blood, and cause him to talk like a combination of Mel Tillis and Boston Mayor Mennino or Lackey besting Sabbathia and the Sox putting a 10 spot up I'd have STILL taken Trot as the over.

Turns out they BOTH happened just mere hours apart.

Trot, well, he was Trot and Jacoby Ellsbury's Magical Scott Boras Has Dollar Signs Dancing In His Head Mystery Tour continues with another spectacular game, Crawford goes 4-4 and Lackey goes 6 and gives up 3 and all of a sudden it's all tied up at the top of the AL East with the rubber game tomorrow night.

Beckett vs The Rock.

I'm taking the Texan for $100, Alex.

Sox. Yankees. And a Bear.

More than likely the Red Sox and the Yankees will start a 3 game series tomorrow night in a dead heat for first place in the AL East.

While I'd have loved for the Sox to have had a 5 or 6 game lead instead, let me pose a question.

Back in April, after the 0-6 then 2-10 start, if someone had told you then that the Red Sox would go on a run normally only seen while playing a Playstation and end up with the second best record in the game come August 5th, would you or would you not have thought they were completely, totally nuts?

On the flip side, what do I know? Trot peed the bed again last night, my Mom found him dancing in the window at McDonalds today, and he asked me tonight if a bear bit my arm off how long would it take to grow back.

Smells like a wild weekend series to me.

The Commander has a soft side

He may spit nails and crap lightning but Joshua Patrick Beckett, beneath all the cursing, spitting, stomping, and general surliness does indeed have a heart.

Some people were making fun of the kid for crying.

Shoot, I'd cry MYSELF if Beckett gave one.

I remember how excited Rakes was when Pawsox pitcher Billy Traber gave him a ball back in 2009 at a Durham Bulls game.



Good on Beckett for making some kids year.

Summertime Blues

Ang has come down with either what Rakes had last week or the Black Plague so while I was at work today I was moderately worried about what was going on at home.

I called a couple of times and all was well but around 4:45 Ciera called to tell me "Mom has been in the bed ALL day, Rakes and Trot keep coming in my room, and Trot is eating blueberries all over the house."

I responded with the always lame and typical male comment of "What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Talk to them, Dad!"

So I did. With threats of bodily harm, spankings, military school, and making them sleep outside for the next two weeks.

Amazingly when I got home? They were as quiet as church mice. Now, I'm not so vain that I thought my talk hit home. More like the Wendy's cheeseburgers, fries, and the fact some new, unseen Spongebob episode was on made the difference, but for the next 3 hours they were about as calm and quiet as one could expect.

It did take me about 30 minutes to clean up the house but it's summer, they are 7 and 5, and for once didn't get to go to the pool so I really can't complain.

Although if Ang doesn't feel better soon I don't know how far this Father Knows Best/ Leave it to Beaver crap is gonna last.

Trot had a weird look in his eyes when I put him to bed.

I may have to sleep with one eye open.

Mr. Mojo Rising

Sox lose, Yankees win and I've had my picture in my header up for the entire 20-6 month of July.

So, thanks to Kelly and her brilliant photography I'm changing the mojo.

The Yankees are coming to Fenway this weekend so every little bit helps.

After a win, a night at the movies

The Red Sox won 5-3 today, taking the series from the White Sox and finished the month of July with a 20-6 record. So all is well on the baseball front.

Rakes is finally feeling better, Ang got an A on her second class on her way to a Master's Degree, and for once Trot didn't do something that caused me to wonder if there was a mix up at the hospital between us and a circus family and as a result there is some poor family of tight rope walkers touring the country right now and wondering why their son refuses to go up on the high wire. So all is well, for once, on the home front.

I caught the last 15 minutes of "Point Break" last night, and due to the relative calm in my baseball and personal life, I decided to rank my Top 5 All-Time Favorite Movies, starting at #5 and ending with #1. So, without further ado and realizing almost every one of these movies were at the top of Rotten Tomato, here we go.

#5. Heat



It has without a doubt one of the best bank robbery scenes in movie history, a great cast with DeNiro and Pacino at the top of their game, and the guy behind "Miami Vice" directing it. How could it lose?

#4. Roadhouse



Swayze, Elliot, bar fights, The Jeff Healey Band, and "I thought you'd be bigger". Plus, his name was Dalton.

#3. Lonesome Dove



Robert Duvall could have only had the role of Gus in his entire career and it would have been Hall of Fame worthy. He and Tommy Lee Jones made the standard bearer for all Westerns after it and even though I've seen it a million times, Gus' death and Call's reactions still make it a tad dusty.

#2. Shawshank Redemption



Hope is a good thing. It still amazes me the story came from Stephen King, but this movie will always fall under my "if I find it on television flipping channels I have to stop and watch the rest" category. Besides, I could listen to Morgan Freeman read the stock report every day. Lastly, it's given me more quotes that I've been able to use and drive my brother nuts with over the years that it ALMOST made number 1.

#1. Point Break



Hands down. Swayze, Reeves, Busey before he went off the reservation, one of the most ridiculous plots you'll ever see with some of the cheesiest acting and lines ever, yet it works. Reeves peaked and so did Swayze and it's still hard to believe he's no longer with us.

No matter how many times I've seen it, I always wish Bodi would have gotten away in the end.

WIshing it Could Be Me.

Rakes, to say the least, has had a rough couple of weeks.

First the cavity which led to a crown which has led to it taking 29 minutes every night to brush, rinse, and floss all while he asks me if I can tell the Tooth Fairy he wants to keep the crown when the tooth falls out.

One week after THAT he gets Swimmers Ear, whereupon he and I spend my day off at the Doctor's Office for 4 hours while he alternated between crying because it hurt so bad and asking me if he had to get a shot. Poor kid has not only inherited my unruly head of hair, lack of height, and no butt but he also got my irrational fear of needles as well.

Finally, just two days ago he came down with a 103 degree fever which I'm sure is what I, Ang, and Trot have already had. He's only got one month before he's got to go back to school and I'm sure he's wondering if summer has been THIS fun the next school year is going to bite. Hard.

He did sit with me for the first 6 innings of the game tonight and missed all the fireworks toward the end, but I'm sure he'll be happy to hear me tell him about Gonzo and Youk going yard and Lester winning his 11th.

It'll be the first good news he's had this week.

Father Most Definitely Doesn't Know Best.

When I tucked Beavis and Butthead into bed around 9, after 10 minutes of brushing teeth, flossing, peeing, and saying prayers, I figured I was safe.

After all, Ang had taken the Axis of Evil to the pool this afternoon, which normally results in a coma-induced sleep that lasts to the extremely late hour of 6 a.m. So I headed downstairs, plopped myself in front of Marilyn, the newest 50" woman in my life, and proceeded to watch the "Deadliest Catch" I missed from Tuesday.

Ciera, in a way only an almost 13 year old teenager can do, woke me from by silent bliss by giggling uncontrollably about 45 minutes later and informed me Trot was in Rakes' room playing video games and laughing like those 2 morons from "Dumb and Dumber".

Taking 3 stairs at the time I burst into Rakes' room, whereupon I found Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb playing dead under the covers while the PSP blared "Call of Duty" and smoke came out of my ears. I've taken both game thingamajimmies away for the foreseeable future, threatened violence, and swore I'd take them to the pool the next time Haley's Comet came around.

But I know it's a losing battle. How in God's name am I gonna deal with a beautiful daughter I prayed would turn out ugly hitting puberty while trying to keep two concrete-headed boys from burning down the mission, or at the very least the back yard while trying to keep a wife getting her Master's Degree from going crazy while I do my very best to just tread freaking water and hope I make it out alive on the other side?

Throw in the fact the Sox lost to the Royals 4.3 while 2/3rds of the Three Amigos were in attendance and I find myself in quite the conundrum.

Screw it; after tomorrow I'm looking at 3 days off with a beach vacation and a trip to Boston all in the next 6 1/2 weeks.

Let Rome burn.

I'll figure it out later.

I'm thinking "Marilyn" makes a fine name.

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

You gotta give it up to Papi.

Not only does he get his 1000th RBI but he does it in style with a Grand Slam. We were giving Heckle and Jeckle a bath at the time and in years past I would have missed it but thanks to my new 50" Plasma I was able to stand on the landing at the top of the stairs while Ang yelled at Trot for getting her soaked while he attempted the aqautic version of the "Lambada".

Reason 4,599 I'm giving it a name as soon as I can come up with one worthy enough to christen her with.

The tv.

Not Ang.

Long night at Fenway. In a Good Way.

13-7.

3 1/2 hours in and it's the top of the eight inning.

I love the game of baseball and I expect 4 hour games when it's the Yankees but watching the Red Sox beat the Royals for this long only reminds me of the difference between a gut busting game between two arch rivals and a game between a superior team and a cellar dweller where bad pitching, worse defense, and it appearing at times if batting practice is going on.

Yet even in a game this ugly we've got the drama of whether Pedie will hit for the cycle, Aceves hitting Billy Butler in the back for having the audacity to have a good night at the plate, wondering if Tito will break the world record one night for most pieces of gum in a human mouth at one time, and the pure joy of seeing Tek hit one completely out of the park.

I'm not sure what all that means or what it say's about me but I do know this.

I. Love. This. Game.

Can I Get A Mulligan?

If you're a parent you've had days like the one I had today. Where no matter what you said, nobody listened; a day in which you want to take your kids to the pool and spend some time with them (the fact it's like a massive sleeping pill later on is merely a side benefit) but can't due to not one, but TWO thunderstorms; a day where you could actually sleep in a little bit due to the fact you're off work but they suddenly decide THIS morning is when they'll turn playing the Wii into War Games at 6:30 in the freaking morning.

Literally, from then until I just put them in the bed 15 minutes ago today I could have accomplished more by going outside and banging my head on the brick covering the front of my house than all the things that occurred over the past 15 or so hours.

So, in honor of my Clark Griswoldish day and in honor of all parents who ever had "one of those days" I give you the legend himself, Clark. W. Griswold, to express what we all wish we could say but most of us never do.

Needless to say, the language that follows is most definitely not safe for work, small children, Grandparents, and jumpy farm animals.

I'll be curled up in the fetal position if you need me.

I've GOT to install those 24 hour cameras soon.

I was on the phone with Jr today and the house was in it's usual state of loudness, which is another way to say we were at Defcon 5.

Trot was singing in his fever induced state, Ciera was egging him on, Rakes had just knocked over this metal thing next to the fridge, and Ang was going into orbit all while I tried to talk to Rich about a kid he went to school with that walked in the winning run on a wild pitch while trying to intentionally walk the runner.

Rich, and if you know him this next line may be hard to believe, actually went momentarily silent before asking me a question I ask myself on a daily basis.

"How do you DO that EVERY day?"

Seriously?

It's a race between them and my blood pressure to the finish line.

Son, you got a panty on your head.

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

3 in a row.

I don't care that it's come against the Mariners, the Bad News Bears, or the Sisters of the Poor.

He went 7 innings, gave up 1 run, and according to my informal calculations dropped about 349 words the FCC would fine NESN for he only gave up ONE run which means John Lackey has now won 3 consecutive games.

The Sox got to King Felix, Pap was drama-free in the ninth, and the Mariners have now lost 13 in a row.

It sort of makes up for the fact Trot is running a 101 degree temperature, Ciera is either getting sick herself or is now a hypochondriac, and Rakes may or may not be certifiable.

I'll be taking these huggies.

And whatever cash you got.

A Visit from Trot.

It happened so fast I didn't have time to get my phone out and take a picture.

Ang and the kids came by to see me today and in between jumping from one mattress to the other, racing from the front of the store to the back, and scaring the beejeebus out of two little blue hairs who just happened to get in his way, Trot discovered the magic of the recliners.

We don't have any at home, and while both sets of Grandparents do, he apparently has been too busy raiding the pantry whenever he's there to notice.

Yet there he was, reclined back in a chair without a care in the world. This wasn't the reason I wished I'd have gotten my camera out.

It was when he tried to close it and couldn't. He pushed, kicked, jumped off the chair onto the foot rest and even enlisted Rakes to help. Still wouldn't close.

So he did what most of us would do.

He squatted down and using his head like a battering ram and ended up doing a headstand against the recliner right in the main isle of the store.

Did I mention today is an off day?

Like The Lone Ranger without Tonto.

My little buddy, along with his demented brother, spent the night at my Mom's house tonight with their big cousins so I'm blaming the fact he wasn't sitting next to me asking a million questions about why Jacoby Ellsbury wears one long sleeve and one short one for the 6-2 loss.

That and the fact I wasn't wearing my Gonzo t-shirt Josh and Amy got me for Christmas.

What can I say?

I gotta wash it sometime.

I try to take positives out of every loss, and tonight was no exception. 'Cause after staying up 'til near 2 a.m. Monday morning and then having a 15-10 win last nearly as long at least tonight was like a mob hit.

Quick and over in time to grab a snack afterword.

Plus it's a day game tomorrow and I'll be at work so I won't have to suffer a Gary Thorne game until the next time they play the Orioles.

Turns out I'm a "glass is half full" kinda guy.

Who knew?

No Papi? No Problem.

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

Even after playing a 16 inning game in Tampa and getting into Baltimore at 6 a.m. and even with Papi sitting out the next 3 games for throwing punches that would make Hulk Hogan say looked bad the Sox STILL managed to score 15 runs against Baltimore while allowing a whopping 10.

Yeah. That whole rivalry thing with the Oriole's that the O's front office, fans, manager, coaches, and towel boy was envisioning after the first two games this year?

Not happening, fellas.

The train keeps a rollin' tomorrow night.

0-0 at The Trop.

Bottom of the ninth.

Two on, two out.

Longoria vs Bard.

And me all out of paper bags to hyperventilate in 'cause Ang is environmentally supportive.

Laser Show

Captain Shortpants went yard AGAIN today.

When The Munchkin is rolling?

Good times for the Sox.

This stuff ONLY happens during the ASB.

Thanks to a recent cavity by Rakes we now spend roughly an hour and a half brushing, flossing, rinsing, and taking years off my life every night before the boys go to bed. When I was a kid if you had a cavity you put a band aid on it, taped some aspirin on your forehead and went about your business.

Today? You go to the Dentist, he tells you the problem, then you have to make ANOTHER appointment to go back, thereby DOUBLING the attendance fee or whatever they call it. THEN they tell you they may have to fix it, cap it, crown it, and apparently hand make it.

FOR A STINKING BABY TOOTH.

Anyways, I digress. Tonight as Ang and I helped them get their mouths in pristine shape before bed and I watched my two lovable scamps grunt and yell and shriek and grunt some more I was struck with the indelible image of watching the chimpanzees at the zoo at feeding time.

All because of a stinking cavity.

Sox back tomorrow night.

It can't get here soon enough.

I'll Be Fine. Seriously.

Captains Log: Wednesday, July 13th.

No baseball game tonight. No glorified BP, no All-Star exhibition, nothing. Oh, the Commissioner, the bumbling used car salesman that billionaires decided was competent enough to run the game has decreed we're getting realignment, MORE instant replay, and two more Wild Card teams had a press conference today to announce all of the above.

OK, I'll give him realignment. If the Diamondbacks or Astros are willing to switch leagues? Great. It makes a balanced 15 teams per league and will probably prevent some of the stupid scheduling conflicts we're seeing in todays game.

But MORE instant replays, meaning MORE delays to games that already run about 3 1/2 hours? Why don't we just replace all the umpires with cyborgs already and just get it over with? And TWO more Wild Card teams? Let's just turn this into the NBA where everybody not named Sacramento or Charlotte gets in?

This moron has presided over a season with no World Series, the steroid era, millions of viewers forced to listen to Tim McCarver bumble his way through a Saturday afternoon game, an All-Star Game called because there weren't enough players left to play, and if nothing else, the fact Angel Hernandez and Joe West still have jobs as umpires is enough of an argument to impeach his sorry *** NOW.

Let's face facts. I could have Trot switch places with Uncle Bud and other than a mandatory "No Peeing on the infield grass" it would stay the same. Or actually get better. I say let's let Charlie Sheen or Carrot Top or Napoleon Dynamite run the game.

If it's gonna be a total screw up, it might as well be somewhat entertaining.

Sorry for the rant.

I get sorta cranky with no baseball.

Somewhere Ray Fosse is TICKED.

Granted, the All-Star break usually leaves me light headed and disoriented being that I'm used to watching a Red Sox game every night and instead I end up watching batting practice that lasts 3 hours on Monday and an exhibition game that makes it seem like nobody wants to win, just get everybody on the roster in the game.

Yeah, World Series home field advantage is on the line. But if they took it seriously, don't you think Bruce Bochey would just leave Doc in the game until the 15th inning? I gotta admit; after the player introductions I'm flipping back and forth like my Pop during the OJ trial.

This year, Mother Nature has added to my addledness. Or something.

It was a balmy 102 degrees today and with the heat index, El Nino, and Rakes with a gnarly case of swimmers ear it seemed like it was about 400. At one point this evening I took the trash out to the garage and after 30 seconds I could have sworn I saw Johnny Pesky sitting on top of my garbage can asking me if Dom, Teddy, and Bobby could come out and play.

Gonzo did hit a wicked bomb during the game, so that was nice.

Can it be Friday yet?

What I Thought I Knew. I Didn't.

My strategy of "Shock and Awe" when it comes to the pool of having Rakes and Trot splash every bit of water out and then come home and crash and burn came back to bite me on my non-existent rear end today, as I spent 3 hours at the Doctor with Rakes and came away with a diagnosis of "Swimmers Ear".

For about a week and a half he's complained of his ear being stopped up, even going so far as to jump up and down while whacking the side of his head while on one leg, much like Kramer in the series finale of "Seinfeld".

We tried hot baby oil, thinking it was wax build up. We then went to the generic swimmers ear remedy, but unfortunately his ear had swelled up so much the drops never made it down.

So they put some sort of tube thing in his ear, he spent most of the three hours either telling me he wanted to go home or crying (normally, crying is reserved for limbs barely hanging on or bone coming through the skin so I knew it was serious) and was given a prescription ear drop and unlimited Tylenol usage.

And no pool for a week.

AT LEAST.

I wonder if this is how Napoleon felt at Waterloo.

Now for the LONGEST 4 days of the Season.

They started 0-6 and at one point were like 2-10.

Yet at the ASB they are 20 games over .500 and leading the AL East by 1 game. Slappy is out for 4-6 weeks, Beckett got a clean bill of health, and judging from the 32 runs they scored in a 4 game sweep of the Orioles this weekend I'd say the bats are just fine.

Not to mention the fight, near fight, multiple ejections and general chaos that accompanied those 4 wins.

Half way there and we've got Crawford, Clay, and Lester due back after the break.

Jr. I TOLD you they'd be all right.

Pining for the Rem Dawg.

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

His Jekyll and Hyde year continues. After going 2 1/3 in his last outing, Lackey went 6 2/3 tonight, didn't allow a run, and probably earned himself a spot in Beckett's Ring of Honor for plunking D Lee in the hip with a fastball in his last inning of work due to the festivities lingering from last night.

Speaking of which, the more I watch the clip of Papi charging the mound he and Gregg look like two Rams banging into each other. Thank God neither one of them landed a punch 'cause a shattered orbital bone or 3 was in the offing.

I was once again subjected to the Orioles feed, thanks to Uncle Bud and the infinite wisdom of MLB who have decreed I, a mere 5 hours away, am considered part of the "home market" for a baseball team that hasn't been relevant since the late 90's. Throw in the fact I have to listen to a crew of doorknobs and imbeciles call these 3 plus hours and I'm ready to storm MLB Headquarters with a wheelbarrow full of dirt clods and Trot and Rakes bringing up the rear with Super Squirters.

Imagine what I'd be like if the Sox didn't win 4-0?

Me Nombre es Trot.

Today, while the kids were getting ready to leave the pool, two ladies who happened to be Hispanic came in to clean the restrooms.

Trot, who is apparently bi-lingual, ran into the restroom and asked them, according to Ang, about 7,000 questions about what they were doing, who they were, and why were they here.

You should have heard him re-enact this conversation for me over dinner.

He gave me the entire thing.

In Spanish. Or rather, HIS version of Spanish which sort of sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher only with a higher voice.

And he did it with the straightest face imaginable, like I was buying he was actually speaking Spanish to me the entire time.

If anyone other than us had heard this, relations between our two countries would have reached an all-new low.

First.

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

After enduring a 35 minute dinner where I uttered the words "Trot, sit up and eat your food" while he replied with "I'm really tired, Dad" (Sometimes the magic of the pool backfires) and with the prospects of having to listen to Gary Thorne and Mike Flannagan call the game on MASN thanks to the idiocy of MLB and their "home markets" for 3 plus hours I needed something to pick me up.

The Oriole's scoring 2 in the first wasn't it.

But Ells, Papi, Gonzo, Salty, Pedie, and Chronicles going yard in a 10-4 win?

Definitely more like it.

Going back to back to back at one point?

Bonus.

I go to bed basking in the glow of an epic beat down AND the fact that the boys have a 1/2 game lead over the Yankees and are in first place in the AL East.

All in all, not a bad way to end a Thursday.

Father Time Does It Again

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

7 innings, 7 K's, and 3 runs.

And he's 98 years old.

I hope he pitches until he's 50 and it better not be for anybody other than the Red Sox.

1/2 game back and it's gonna be a wild second half in the AL East.

Taxi Driver: The Rakes Edition

After begging the past two summers for a Mohawk, Ang finally gave in and I now have a 7 year old Travis Bickle running around my house. It's slightly disconcerting imagining him in the bath room, looking at the mirror and asking "You talking to me? You talking to ME?"

Thankfully, he's been told repeatedly by the time school starts it'll be gone.

Which is good news, considering the school has enough to deal with since Trot will be starting Kindergarten this fall.

Adding injury to insult is the fact Lester left the game after 4 no hit innings with what the NESN crew is calling "an upper Lat strain".

Sox win 3-2, which takes some of the sting away but I'm not looking forward to a rotation that is minus Lester and Clay for the foreseeable future.

Beckett Sweeps The Leg!

Just found this picture taken by my friend Kelly (www.sittingstill.net) and it reminded me of carrying Trot upstairs after he's fallen asleep on the couch.

It also captures perfectly how I felt after watching Beckett go 8 innings, strike out 11, give up 1 run and in general look like he's at his snorting, cursing, anti-establishment best, even going so far as to totally brush off the NESN reporter after the game.

Who knows? Maybe making the 2011 All-Star team makes him even MORE surly?

What I do know is this; he's 7-3 with SEVEN no decisions to his credit already this season which should make every hitter on the team a tad nervous. Would YOU want to be one of the reasons he doesn't win 20 games this year? I also know that with one more win he's halfway to 16 wins and if he's 8-3 by the All-Star break?

A certain foul mouthed, borderline midget with a receding hair line and a heart of gold is gonna owe me $100.

Hopefully by the time I head to Boston in September.

2011: Year of The Beckett.

Entering the 21st Century? Me.

Tonight,for the first time in my married life I watched a Red Sox game, in my own home, on a television bigger than 32 inches.

Throw in the fact they won 10-4?

I has a happy.

That Samuel Jackson Book? Spot On.

Rakes and Trot have two of their buddies sleeping over tonight.

So far I've only had to threaten Trot with military school twice and only had to tell Rakes and his buddy to settle down 25 times.

How my Mom and Dad dealt with this and 5 kids is beyond me.

'Course right around the time they started the "we're in bed but we don't really have to go to sleep thing" the Sox were scoring 6 runs in the 7th inning to take a 7-5 lead over the Astros.

So I'm not gonna complain.

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.