Happy 21st Birthday, Darlin'

Happy Birthday, Ang.

Thanks for putting up with a husband who has OCD and is obsessed with the Red Sox, a daughter in the throes of puberty and a obsession with Miley Cyrus, and 2 boys who have peed, pooped, flipped, flopped, jumped, and cartwheeled over every square inch of our home, garage, front yard, back yard, and foyer at church over the past 5 years.

Oh yeah? Getting a job teaching f0r next year?

You just took 7.5 years off my life. While I realize that wasn't the intent, I still gotta give you props.

And not for nothing? I love you today more than I did 17 years ago.

Another plus? You're still the prettiest girl in the room.

Bar none.

Sorry I couldn't make today the best day ever, but I did get to spend it with you.

So in the end it sort of was the best day ever.

At least for me.

Who Knew Fishing Was A Contact Sport?

Rakes and I went fishing with my brother-in-law Scott and my nephew Garrison today. 5 minutes after getting there, Scott landed a pretty good sized catfish.

As you can tell from the picture, Rakes was hardly impressed. I think his actual quote was "Get that thing away from me!"

For the next 1 1/2 hours we heard "It's just sucking the worm off!", "This bobber isn't any good!" and my favorite? After a fish had taken his worm for the 500th time he turned to me, and in a voice last heard spoken by Al Pacino in "Heat" when he yells "Gimme All You Got!" he turned around, stammering like Mel Tillis in the full throes of a stuttering fit and utters "DDDDDDAD. The problem is THERE IS NO WORM ON MY HOOK!"

Which of course reduced Scott and I to tears and a giggle fit that would make Remy and DO pine for.

So it was with great relief that, somehow, someway, after reeling and casting more times than the average Bering Sea Crab fisherman does in an entire season, Rakes actually caught a fish.

The fact that it was 3 inches l0ng and weighed less than your average lemon wedge hardly mattered.

The smile on that boys face was worth the gnats, bees, and the non-stop play by play over a 3 hour period.

Whoever said fishing was supposed to be a quiet day of solitude never went fishing with Rakes.

Be Afraid. Be VERY Afraid.

While I was hard at work trying to convince someone with no disposable income they just HAD to have that new sofa Brad Penny and the Red Sox lost 6-2 to the Blue Jays.

And while this makes me moderately unhappy the fact it was Game 2 of a 3 game series, which is now tied 1-1 and Jon Lester is pitching tomorrow helped me realize it's just one game in a season that has 162 games before you even GET to the one's that count.

Unlike some people I realize that a great hitter connects 3 out of every 10 a/b's and if a team wins 2 out of 3 games every series it's pretty flipping good.

However, those that don't usually have had some severe head trauma or can't spell Cat if you give them the C and the T so I don't take it to heart so much.

And from the look Beckett is giving in this picture, I imagine the entire Yankee lineup is wondering who is getting a 98 mph fastball to the ribcage in a future game.

The thought of this happening has me absolutely giddy.

Even with the fact Trot jumped on Rakes head at the pool tonight figured in.

It's amazing what I can overlook when the Red Sox are concerned.

Youth Gone Wild

*Image courtesy of, you guessed it, Kelly @www.sittingstill.net*

When you throw a no-hitter in your second start as a pro, expectations tend to, well, expand.

And if you happen to go 2-9 the next year in the bigs most folks label you a failure and write you off.

Fortunately, Clay Buchholz mentally told all the haters to Bite His Tweeter and kept his career in the middle of the highway. Which led him to Toronto tonight to make his first big league start of 2009.

Can I say the kid didn't let anyone down? 6 plus innings and 1 run later he turned it over to Bard, Oki, and Pap and before you knew it the Red Sox were high fiving each other and wondering where the best all you can eat buffet in Toronto was located.

4-1 Red Sox, Julio Lugo has been DFA'd, and Nick Green is currently trying to figure out how to slip a Mickie in Jed Lowrie's pre-game meal.

Papi is raking, Youk is sweating, and Beckett is swearing.

Sounds like it's time to signal the all clear and have Pedie, doing his best Quasimodo impression, to ring the bell signalling the start of the second half is official.

Sweet Mary and Moses have I missed baseball the last 4 days.

Lazy days of summer

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

20 hours, 23 minutes, and 39 seconds until the Red Sox play baseball again.

Not that I'm counting or anything.

The Day After. (The All-Star Game)

Both men got to meet the President of the United States.

Timmy's was typical Timmeh.

“I didn’t vote for him, but I respect him,” said Wakefield. “He’s our president, and I hope he does really, really well, because we all need our president to lead us in the right direction, and I think he’s capable of doing that.”

Just what you'd expect from the elder statesman of the Red Sox and the All-Star Game.

Pure Class.

I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what Beckett said but it's fun to let your imagination run wild.
From the looks of this picture from si.com Beckett looks like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Why does George Carlin's "7 Words you can't say on television" automatically pop into my mind?

2 more days until baseball is back.

::twitches::

My Crown for a Nanny. Or Something.

"Yes. I'll take you guys to the library."

As soon as they came out of my mouth I wanted to shove everyone of those words back in as fast as I could. Somehow, I'd momentarily forgotten the last time, roughly 3 weeks ago, where the highlight was Rakes, in an environment so quiet you could have heard a flies wings buzzing uttered "Hey Dad, listen to this" and then proceeded to rip one off that I can only describe as resembling a chain saw badly in need of a lube job.

So I found myself yesterday, on my day off, shuffling off to the local library with a bag full of books and Ciera and Thing One and Thing Two in tow.

It went south the minute we hit the front door; as I'm dumping about 300 books into the drop off Ciera strolls off to the kids section, Trot makes a beeline for the computers and Rakes stops in front of the Grandfather Clock transfixed, which was my only saving Grace. Who knew a clock would slow him down? I'd have bought one years ago.

After rounding them all up with strict orders to stay where I could see them, approximately .7 seconds passed before Rakes went right, Trot went left, and I had to make a choice; which one do I track down first?

Rakes won out, due to the fact he can cause the most carnage in the least amount of time due to better coordination. Trot is deadly, but in a Sherman Tank sort of way. Rakes is a Stealth Bomber going Mach 5 so I figured it was the prudent move.

To paraphrase that knight who was guarding the cup in "Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade"?

I chose.... poorly.

8 panic stricken minutes later, after I combed the library populated with some of the local homeless folks while I tried not to panic or completely lose my mind over the fact I couldn't find my 3 year old son, he came tearing around the corner hollering at a decibel level I'm pretty sure equals the Space Shuttle upon lift off shouting "I WENT POOPY, DADDY! IN THE POTTY AND NOT IN MY PANTS!"

I didn't know whether to hug him, hit him, or do an elaborate Orlando Cabrera/Kevin Millar handshake with him for actually going on his own. I settled for the "Angry Dad Face" for running off and gave him a high five in the car later AFTER I read him the riot act for running off.

We left with books in the bag, Trot fell asleep on the way home, and I promised Sissy that next time it would be just me and her and the boys just had to read what we picked out.

It's either that or I buy a portable EKG machine and just keep it in the trunk for when I need it.

Wonder how much they are asking for those things these days?

All Star Break Rumblings. Part 1.

Due to the fact I've now gone tone deaf listening to Chris Berman yell "Back, Back, BACK!" at the top of his lungs during the Home Run Derby, the Red Sox are off until Friday, and The Munchkin made the correct decision to stay home with his pregnant wife, the All-Star Game tomorrow is sort of out of sight, out of mind.

Yeah, it was great to see Prince Fielder and Nelson Cruz banging them off the second deck but watching Brandon Inge manage to hit 0 and Adrian Gonzalez (who I hoped would win it) only hit two sort of take some luster off as well.

So I turn to my next passion; Deep Sea Fisherman. I'm a HUGE fan of "Deadliest Catch" and today at the library picked up a copy of Sebastion Junger's "A Perfect Storm". I saw the movie years ago but have never read the book.

Now that I have I realize the men that fish on those boats and I have about as much in common as a Yankee fan living on Long Island and a Red Sox fan in Southie.

I head out everyday to my job selling furniture with only the fact I may throw a goose egg on the board as my biggest worry; those dudes head out and wonder if they'll make it home alive.

Fantastic movie and an even better book; if you're starved for something to do until baseball is back on Friday I can highly recommend a visit to the local library or video store; either one will do.

Tomorrow?

Who makes the best sausage gravy in North Carolina.

How in God's name do I get through the winter?

Red Sox Nation of Domination

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

Complete game.

3 Hits.

7 K's.

0 Walks.

0 Runs.

Sox win 6-0 and thanks to the Yankees losing head into the All-Star break with a 3 game lead in the AL East and the only two pitchers in the American League with 11 wins; Beckett and the ageless Tim Wakefield.

Pitching the entire game with a look I can best describe as "I'm Josh Beckett and you're the freaking Royals" he went about his business as if he was a butcher cutting up a steak.

Only if the butcher uttered a profanity every 2.7 seconds.

Throw in the fact that dude in the picture with him may be an even bigger bulldog than The Commander? It's almost not fair.

Now, take those two and put them with a guy who throws a pitch Bugs Bunny would say is ridiculous and add in a future Hall of Famer who JUST may be back on track and add a burly Oklahoman with a sour disposition and a 98 mph fastball?

It's gonna be a LONG second half for the rest of the AL East.

Next Red Sox game is Friday in Toronto.

I'm pretty sure I'll be in a straight jacket by Wednesday night but who knows.

It took awhile, but it was worth it.

Screw the locusts, frogs, and pestilence that has been thrown his way, John Smoltz got his first win as Red Sox tonight. Forget the fact it ended up 15-9 with me pacing the perimeter of the house and wondering who I had to gibley punch, my man got his first win in the American League.

Big props to Papi and Tek for their efforts and a bigger sit down and shut up to the Royals for theirs.... All's well that ends well and the Sox end the night 2 games up in first place.

If anyone with some stroke is reading this I need a full time nurse with a portable EKG machine to spend the next 4 months helping me read bedtime stories to Rakes and keeping me upright.

The pay sucks but I can promise you non-stop action and free laughs.

It's not much but it beats Enron.

LiveStrong is EXACTLY right.

*Photo courtesy of Kelly O and sittingstill.net*

8 innings. 8 K's. 4 hits. 2 walks. 115 pitches.

Sox win 1-0 in a pitchers duel between Lester and Brian Bannister (Hey. Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every now and then) that ended when Kotsay singled, Green bunted him to second, and the Munchkin drove one off the Monster to plate the run in the bottom of the 8th. Follow that with Pap being vintage Pap and the Red Sox stay in first place with a game that took less time than the average trip to the grocery store for Ang and the kids.

It was just on my screen less than 15 minutes ago, and I can't remember the particulars but I think that makes Lester a tad less than perfect and a smidge better than Sandy Koufax in his prime over the last 8 games.

At least that's my version and I'm standing by it.

Tomorrow, finally, it's not a FOX game which means I can get off work at 5 and still catch it all as opposed to getting home in the 7th inning and being subjected to Tim McCarver or, God help me, Kenny Albert braying like a donkey on meth while Jeannie Zalasko gives me updates from the studio with a hairdo Ray Liotta's wife in "Goodfellas" would envy.

Just the soothing sounds of Don Orsillo, The Eck, and Trot and Rakes yelling at "Batman Lego" on the PS2 in the background to carry me through.

Some days you're the bug and some days you're the window.....

Tomorrow I get to be the window.

Hayes meets the family. And lives. Alert the Media.

She came bearing Pop Rocks (Which I confiscated as soon as she brought them in) and something called "Floamy", which I didn't hide immediately and I'm sure I'll regret it later when I find it on the living room wall, but Hurricane Hayes blew through Casa de Dalton and left far too soon.

We had a nice dinner cooked by Ang, an awkward 20 or so minutes when my folks stopped by to make sure I hadn't invited a serial killer over for supper, and followed it up by watching the Sox lose to the Royals and Ciera sucker hayes into fixing the printer in the office.

In between we had Trot completely soak himself with the water hose outside, find hayes and I sitting less than 2 feet away and both of us on our phones checking SG, and tentative plans for her to come back on Monday to hang out some more.

I'm fairly certain she'll come to her senses between now and then and stay safely ensconced in her hotel in Charlotte, but it'd be awesome if she could make it happen.

It's not often my friends make it down to Mayberry, so when they do it's a special day.

I just wish it could happen more often.

Red, Andy, and A Prayer.

I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

Tim Wakefield is 11-3.

I hope he pitches in the All-Star Game.

I hope Joe Mauer has 3 passed balls.

I hope Derek Jeter trips over second base and sprains his groin.

I hope.

And hope, like Red say's, is a good thing.

I really need a nap.

---

I Love It When A Plan Comes Together.

Ang got a phone call tonight that basically confirmed she has a job teaching next year if she wants it.

In addition to extending 27 years on my life this also means I get to order Xtra Innings again next year, don't have to eat a Ham Sandwich 5 days a week for lunch, and can cancel that arrangement I had with that dude named Omar that involved my kidney and $5,000 for a 6 pack of Schlitz.

After 6 years of working on straight commission while my bride stayed home with Damien and his slightly less evil brother things are looking up. Someday in the near future I may be able to say "Go ahead and Super size that, Rakes. We can swing it."

I wonder if I can convince my cholesterol levels the last 6 years was a dream, sort of like that "Dallas" episode where Pam found Bobby in the shower?

The Wayward Son Returns Home

Video is the suck and I'm sure MLB will make sure it's foot soldiers have it taken down with no record of it anywhere by morning, but Nomie came home tonight.

And for JUST a minute there was no recession, war was an afterthought, and Rakes and Trot actually paid attention when I told them to stop terrorizing the neighborhood kid in the pool.



Woulda, coulda, shoulda aside, Nomar was at Fenway tonight.

And a Nation smiled.

Congrats, Timmy

*Picture courtesy of Kelly O at sittingstill.net*

Middle aged men with slight beer bellies, male pattern baldness, and more gray than black in their beard rejoiced today.

In one of the better "feel good" stories of the year and after 17 years in baseball, 42 year old Tim Wakefield made the All-Star game today. One of my all-time favorite memories of Wakefield is tied into the worst memory I have of his time in Boston.

One year after giving up the ALCS winning home run to Aaron Boone at Yankee Stadium Wake stood on that same mound, with tears running down his cheeks as Schill poured Budweiser on his head after they finally vanquished the Yankees.

Gives me goosebumps to think about it to this very day.

What Wake does off the mound is even more impressive, visiting sick children at local hospitals, giving his time and energy to various charities, and more than likely spending his off days helping little old ladies cross the street and getting the odd stray cat out of a tree.

Joining Wake in St Louis are Jason Bay, The Munchkin, Beckett, Paps, and Youk, all of them deservedly so.

But Wake getting the nod is truly special.

It'll be a little dusty at my house next Tuesday night when he tips his cap as his name is announced to the St Louis crowd.

Happy Birthday America

..On Parris Island
We held the coastline, they held the highlands
And they were sharp, as sharp as knives
They heard the hum of our motors
They counted the rotors
And waited for us to arrive

And we would all go down together
We said we'd all go down together
Yes we would all go down together

Lyrics courtesy of Billy Joel and "Goodnight Saigon".

Happy Independence Day everyone.

May we never forget the sacrifices of the men and women who have helped make this country what it is today.

I've got a new verse for "Butterfly Kisses".

Ever since Ciera left me for 5 days to go to church camp, the Red Sox have gone 1-1 in July, I've developed a stomach issue that resembles Motozuma's Revenge in many ways, developed a sty in my left eye, and North Korea has test fired missiles over Japan.

Coincidence?

I think not.

This is just one more nail in the coffin of proof that she is destined to spend her life living with me and Ang and never to marry.

That's my story.

And as God is my witness I'm sticking to it.

The Mayor Returns to Boston

*Image courtesy of Kelly at sittingstill.net*

He was only here for one season, but the man made an impression.

From laughing on a non-stop basis to talking to anyone who'd listen, to getting the award for "Most times being thrown out trying to stretch a single to a double", including one time he actually crawled to second base, Sean Freaking Casey became an honorary Red Sox Nation Lifetime Member.

So you can see why my excitement meter went off the charts tonight when I got home, read my good friend Cyn's most excellent blog, and discovered Casey will be joining Don Orsillo in the booth for this weekends series against Ichiro and the Mariners.

Let the giggle fest begin.

Anyone got a Time Machine I can Borrow?

Today, Ciera took another step toward becoming a teenager while I took one more step toward an early grave.

After 3 years of fighting it, I finally agreed she could go away to church camp for the next 5 days. Mind you, I called the Youth Pastor and asked him 349 questions and requested back ground checks, tax returns, and any late fees to Blockbuster for any and all adults who would be in contact with my baby girl over the next 120 hours. And by God if I don't get 'em I'm driving to that camp and dragging my little girl back home as fast as I can.

Before you think I'm being the typical over protective Dad, this is the first time she's ever been gone for more than a night without her Mom or myself being with her. To put it in perspective, this is like a Daddy Eagle lifting his child up, flying over the Grand Canyon, and letting go.

At least it feels that way.

Why didn't anyone tell me it would hurt this much to see my daughter, the one who has always lit up like a Christmas Tree when I hit the front door every night, willingly leave me for 5 days without so much as a backwards glance as she left?

There is no way on earth I'm going to handle watching her get married someday without completely losing it.

Boston came back and beat the Orioles today, scoring 4 in the 9th and the winning run in the 11th. If not for that bit of good news I'm pretty sure I'd be in the downstairs bathroom crying myself to sleep.

Whoever it was that told me years ago that I would have less stress once my children grew up is a complete idiot.