The Devil You Know Is Better Than The One You Don't

We took Rakes to meet his Kindergarten teacher tonight.

She thought he was cute and called him sweetie.

The poor woman has no idea what she's in for. We decided to let her find out on her own; she's pushing 60 and I didn't want to send her to an early grave.

Thankfully for her, she should be retired by the time Trot arrives; whoever is the lucky winner that gets him is going to need hazard pay.

Sox lose to the Tigers and Justin Verlander today, which isn't exactly a cause for embarrassment. Dude was throwing 100 mph on his 123rd pitch, which is down right sick.

The boys take 3 out of 4, which is nothing to hang your head about and venture down to Texas for the weekend with a 3 game set with the Rangers on the radar.

Other than my good friend Tex, nothing good has come out of Texas since Lone Star Beer was first brewed.

I like our chances.

The Return of The Rem Dawg

*Image from bostonglobe.com*

Sox won 8-2, Beckett got his 14th win, and Scenic Lowell and Jason Bay played long ball.

All of the above are awesome in and of themselves.

Best part about tonight?

For just an inning, the Rem Dawg returned to the NESN broadcast booth. All of a sudden, there were no wars in the Middle East, health care reform got put on the back burner, and Trot was potty trained.

We've missed you, Jerry.

When Push comes to Shove, my Money is on the Large Father.

*Image from Bostonsports.com*

Is it any coincidence that 3 of my good friends somehow win tickets in John Henry's seats, the Sox go down 3-0 in the first inning, Youk charges the mound like some drunk third baseman in a beer softball league, the Sox go up 6-3 and a thunderstorm of biblical proportions flares up resulting in a rain delay in the 7th innin?

Nah.

Youk got drilled for the 1, 027th time this year (I'm purely estimating, mind you.), decided he'd had enough and charged the mound, throwing his batting helmet like a dart for good measure. All this resulted in him getting tossed, and a few innings later Tito followed suit while having a gentlemanly discussion with the second base ump regarding JD getting thrown out trying to steal second.

At the Fens they are in a rain delay and I keep having the image of John Henry trying to convince the head ump to just call it already while Larry Luchino hollers in the back ground about all the beer sales they'll lose over the next 3 hours.

Whatever the outcome, I already got my money's worth. And hopefully Becks, Nan, and Susan feel the same.

All I know is I freaking love this game. And I love my friends.

And that can't be a bad thing.

You Throw the ball, you hit the ball, you catch the ball.

Sox win 6-5 against Detroit tonight.

Yanks lose to the Jays.

5.5 games back.

All of a sudden things are looking up.

I couldn't find the "Major League" clip Rich brought up tonight, which was brilliant. Win one game? It's a win. Win two? It's a streak.

This one will just have to do. And I can totally see Tito playing this in the pre-game meeting.

One thing I can count on? This team ain't got no lollygaggers.

Perspective

I realize I tend to get a little irrational about the game of baseball. I used to imagine sticking my head in the front door and slamming it closed repeatedly would hurt less than 1986 and 2003.

Then, something life altering happened. 2004. Down 3 games to none, I had Kevin Millar hollering "Don't let us win tonight." Curt Schilling and his bloody sock, Dave Roberts stealing second, Slappy knocking the ball out of Bronson's glove, and Big Papi cementing his status as a Red Sox legend and before I can take a breath they have swept the Cardinals and 86 years of pain and misery are gone.

Throw in 2007 and it's like the past never happened.

Yeah, 2005 was tough and 2006 blew chunks but my team got to game 7 of the ALCS last year and pretty much for the past 6 years it's been a great time to be a Red Sox fan. Contending team every year, ownership who cares yet realizes it's not the NFL and you can't win every game, and a rabid fan base that shows up day after day.

As I watched the Yankees celebrate a 4 game sweep tonight, I was strangely calm. Yes, I wish the Red Sox could have taken the game tonight. And yes, I hate the fact the Yankees and their fans are riding such a high.

But I've got a wonderful woman who's been by my side for 17 years, 3 great, albiet insane children who provide me endless joy. I've got a great house, a job, everyone I love is healthy, and my pantry and fridge are full.

I think I'm freaking blessed.

And as much as I'd love to see the Red Sox win the World Series every year, those two little demons I'm hugging in that picture?

THAT is what it's all about.

The rest is just gravy.

All that said?

It wouldn't harsh my mellow if the Sox swept Detroit the next 4 days.

I'm just sayin'.

A Light at the End of the Tunnel?

Look, the Red Sox dropped their third game in a row to the Yankees today, Josh Beckett and Clay Buchholz pitched like it was game 7 of the World Series the last two nights and got bupkus for support, and our bats have decided to take this weekend off for some reason.

The Sox are 5.5 games back, the MFY look unbeatable, and the Ray's are nipping at our heels in both the AL East and the Wild Card race. But was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Did we give up and quit in 2004 when we were down 3 games to none and looked about as imposing as Erkel at the plate?

Besides, I've got irrefutable proof that all is not lost; tomorrow is a new day and miracles do indeed exist.

Rakes was the only kid under the age of 7 who memorized his memory verse at Vacation Bible School this week, won a $15 gift card to Wal-Mart, and somehow convinced me to abandon my set in stone rule of "NEVER. And I mean NEVER go to Wal-Mart on the weekend" and take him tomorrow.

(Yes, he's got his apron on backwards. Don't ask.)

Amazingly, when he was called up to get his prize he didn't trash talk the other pre-Kindergarten children nor did he flex his arms and utter "check out the guns". My little man is growing up I guess.

That doesn't mean I don't expect to wake up and see pigs flying by my window, rain coming from the ground up, and turn on the tv to see Jack Bauer has renounced his violent ways and the upcoming season of "24" will be devoted to saving the rain forest.

Not to be out done by her younger and more likely to end up on Prozac brother, Ciera made me just as proud by being one of the few pre-teens to know her verses as well. As you can see from the picture, she was humble and quiet about achieving this honor.

I half way expected her to moonwalk for a few seconds.

Trot, bless his little heart, didn't win any awards or memorize any verses or even make it to the bath room on several occasions. He did, however, have a blast, danced his ever loving rear end off at the closing ceremonies, and only managed to leave one child (on the first day, mind you) with a goose egg the size of a golf ball on his forehead.

With the look he's giving me in this picture I guess I should count my blessings.

8-1, with Hall of Fame Career a casualty.

He's a first ballot Hall of Famer. One of the great ambassadors of the game and he can make Tiger Woods at least break a sweat during a skins game.

What he's not? No longer a viable option for the Red Sox rotation. I love ya', John, but unless you are pitching one inning of late relief the next time I want to see you pitching for the Red Sox is the Old Timer's Game in the year of our Lord 2020.

Complete, total carnage at The New Toilet tonight, with the Skanks winning 13-6.

'Course the fact that makes the season series a whopping 8-1 in favor of Boston and Josh Beckett going tomorrow sort of takes some of the sting away.

Serenity now and Havoc tomorrow. Best thing about baseball? It's 162 games, the Yankees still have Joe Girardi managing them, and Mystique and Aura are currently dancing at "Al's Discount Ranch."

Somebody pass the TUMS.

This is what happens when a plan goes awry.

Due to the fact the Red Sox lost to the Rays and Trot is still treating the world as his personal toilet, I found myself wandering around the Interwebs while the game carried on in the background.

I watched the complete episode of "Hells' Kitchen" from last night, googled "How to stop your child from whizzing in inanimate objects" and stumbled across this article on Andre the Giant and his prowess for downing alcoholic beverages.

I'm in awe right now. 'Course if I was born with some degenerative disease that was going to kill me before the age of 50 I'd have probably downed the equivalent of the Coors Beer facility, but still.

Dude was EPIC.

On to New York and the New Toilet; and just so nobody forgets it, the Red Sox are currently 8-0 vs New York this year.

If there is any justice it'll be 12-0 come Sunday night.

God Really Does Have A Sense Of Humor

Sox and Rays tied 2-2 in the bottom of the ninth.

Lester pitched fantastic yet it's MDC that will factor in the decision.

Throw in the fact my allergies are killing me and I should have been asleep an hour ago, the Yankees already won, and I sold the grand total of $169.00 dollars today and I really should be off in the corner hitting my marbles with a sledge hammer right about now.

Instead?

I'm keeping the fair.

'Cause it ain't over until DO tells me it is.

Be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

This is the same look I get when I tell him it's time for bed.

10 years from now this may get hairy.

Baseball tomorrow from that palatial ballpark known as The Trop, then on to the New Toilet and the Yankees.

I've got a sinking feeling the upcoming week is going to see me ingesting WAY more than the recommended dosage of Pepto Bismal.

Whatever. It beats winter hands down.

A Sweep is a Sweep is a Sweep

*Image courtesy of Yahoosports.com*

5 hits, 4 RBI's, and sitting a 1/2 game back.

I REALLY like the new guy.

Welcome to Boston, Victor.

It doesn't get any easier; 2 against Tampa then 4 in New York to finish out the week.

It's about to get interesting in the AL East.

Sox Win, Yankees Lose, and We're a 1/2 Game Back.

Thing One and Thing Two approve of this message.

Let the V Mart Era Begin

*Image courtesy of yahoosports.com*

Trade deadline day 2009 brought the usual feelings; upset stomach, frantic checking of the Internet to see who went where, and the brief moment of panic around 3:50 pm where I wonder if the Yankees are getting Pujols, Manny, and Doc Halladay for Johnny Damon and a rosin bag.

Thankfully, none of the above happened. Boston picked up Victor Martinez from Cleveland for Justin Masterson and a couple of prospects and other than the fact Doc stayed in Toronto, I'm pretty happy with what went down.

Vic is a hitting machine, sounds like an all around good guy, and can throw a guy out a second. I love me some Tek (as witnessed by my header) but when an old lady with a walker AND osteoporosis can steal second on you it may be time to look elsewhere. He can also play first and DH, which considering Mikey may need to borrow the old ladies walker sometime in the next few weeks is huge.

Sox win in Baltimore, Pap gets the save in a "doesn't give Ted an ulcer" sort of way, and the Yankees are loosing to the White Sox as I type.

Not a bad way to end a Friday night.

The Day The Music Died.

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

Let me run a scenario by you.

Say you are employed as a maker of yo yo's. You could put a yo yo together pretty fast, but 2 seats down from you is a dude who can assemble a yo yo 5 times quicker; throw in the fact you get paid by what you produce and not by the hour and Quick Draw is earning 5 times what you do.

One day you and quick draw are eating lunch in the cafeteria and he casually mentions he's taking a shot that let's him assemble yo yo's like nobodies business and if he can keep it up for the next 5 years or so him his kids, and his kids kids are set for life.

Now, you come from a poor line of yo yo makers; dirt floors, 1 bedroom house, not enough food for everyone, and all your life you've dreamed of being a yo yo maker so you can set your family up for life. You've got no education, no back up plan, and unless you make it as a yo yo guy you're resigned to selling shoes or digging ditches or making grade D porn for the rest of your life.

So you get Quick Draw to hook you up with his guy and 6 months later you get Employee of the Month (first one for 5 years running) and are making yo yo's faster than Brittany Spears gets married. Life is good, the money is rolling in, and you are basking in the glow of yo yo fans everywhere.

Then one day your boss, Mr. Needakick Inthe Gibleys comes up and informs you the muckity mucks at yo yo corporate want to do some anonymous, secret testing to see if the yo yo makers are getting some chemical help in the area of performance. Strictly for research and health purposes, mind you. Anything they turn up will stay secret and the results are only to try and help the workers and clean up the work environment. You, being the good employee, agree to this and for the next 6 years, after the work has gotten better and the employees have gotten cleaner and the yo yo business is enjoying unprecedented success, some dink sells the results to a local rag and your name is being posted for everyone to see.

I forgot to mention it's peak season in the yo yo business, the pressure is on, and they go and drop this in your lap right before you are going to show the world your latest ropeadope yo yo to try and push ahead of the competition.

What would YOU do?

I'm not saying David Ortiz didn't do 'roids. After Slappy, Manny, Roger, etc.. it wouldn't surprise me if Cal Ripken Jr. was shooting Winstrol and Cy Young was mainlining Dianabol. All I know is today's news made me more than a little sad; not because Papi got "caught", but because it was Papi.

What does bother me is the fact there are people who are ready to hang him from the local flagpole, when 6 to 7 years ago I imagine you'd be hard pressed to find someone NOT doing something that was considered cheating.

I love this game, and I love the Red Sox. I'm not naive enough to think that some of MY guys weren't juicing or using HGH or injecting antifreeze to get ahead; it is what it is and the entire game was affected, whether you lived in Boston, New York, or Kansas City.

I like to think if I saw a man hitting a woman I'd jump in, or if I watched someone steal an old lady's purse I'd chase after him, or if someone offered me something that would make me sell 110 times more furniture that I'd turn it down.

But if I'm being honest? I can't.

The good book say's before you take the splinter out of your brothers eye take the plank out of your own.

Me? I'm just a guy who is going to have to one day explain all the crap to my boys and just trying to make sense of it all.

All I know is I love my Red Sox and I love this game and I love Big Papi.

Right now that's just gonna have to be enough.

A Vacation from my Vacation

After half a week of vacation at the beach with the family, I'm not sure which fork to take.

On the one hand I've been in a 2 bedroom condo with 6 adults and my three hellions, er children where you couldn't turn around without bumping into someone. Throw in staying on the 11th floor, sharing the pool/beach with roughly the population of Paraguay, and a jacuzzi that gave Trot either another ear infection or the swine flu you could say I'm a tad stressed.

On the other hand, I spent the last 3 nights in a bedroom roughly the size of the visitors clubhouse at Fenway that had 2 full size beds; one was reserved for my brother and sister in law, the other for me, Ang and Ciera with Rakes on an air mattress between us. As you'd naturally assume, he ended up, around 1 am each night, wedging his way between us while I assumed the "protect your marbles at all costs" position and told sleep to screw it. I'll get around to it when I'm dead.

The result of all this mayhem is I averaged 3.2 hours of sleep per night while I've been gone; while I've never been much to get alot of rest away from home this may have broken my own personal record.

So while I miss my family something awful, it's nice to be home and knowing I'll be crashing in my own bed tonight.

Not having to wear a cup as I head to sleep?

Just a bonus.

I AM Clark Griswold

Against my better judgement, I ventured off to Myrtle Beach with Ang, Huey, Dewey, and Louise along with my in laws. Imagine taking 6 adults, 3 children (2 of whom may be certifiable) living in the combined space of a broom closet and a half bath while you try to keep one kid from peeing off the 11th floor balcony, one from taking off his clothes and using his underwear as a swimsuit in the ocean, and one away from every male over the age of 3.

Throw in our room being on the main drag side of the condo (you have no idea how loud a Kawasaki is at 2 a.m.), random numb nuts from the age of 12 down running around and acting like a crack addict in the throes of withdrawl, and pretty much the population of NYC confined in a 3 mile area and you get the idea.

Now, to top it off, I have no Red Sox baseball for the next 3 days. Or at least I didn't until my friend fla beck hooked me up with her MLBTV account; only my brother in laws computer and/or the wifi isn't fast enough and I can hear the sound just fine but I'm roughly 37 minutes behind.

Which isn't the worse thing in the world, considering how John Smoltz performed today. I had high hopes for the man, but right now it looks like he's throwing BP every time out. It may be time to fish or cut bait and either bring up Clay full time or get Doc Halladay or Doc Gooden or Dock Ellis to right the ship.

Screw it. Luis Tiant is hanging around Fenway most days; give him a uniform, stick a cigar in his mouth and point him toward the pitchers mound.

Betcha he can still bring it.

For that matter, we've got a 42 year old knuckleballer on staff. Is it THAT crazy to think Bill Lee and his ephus pitch couldn't help us out?

Probably not, though.

I think I may have finally lost it.

Tomorrow?

I take the kids to the beach.

Or as I like to call it, the 11th step in my 12 step journey to complete and utter insanity.

Let's Go Crazy

John Wayne.


Jon Lester.

'Nuff said.

What Would Eck Say

*Image courtesy of bostondirtdogs.com*

(Before anyone flips out, I didn't go to the above site; just googled "Images of Brad Penny" and this popped up. But in deference to my good friend Kelly O, I try to give credit for a picture where credit is due.)

As I watched Brad Penny do his best Cy Young impersonation tonight and listened to Ang pack for a week at the beach while wondering what household object Trot would find to whizz in this time, my mind, feeble as it is, wandered.

Being that I live 5 hours away from Baltimore and am in the Orioles home market, I was forced to watch the game on MASN with the always ear bleeding inducing Gary Thorne on play by play and Buck "I say his name David ORtiz" on color, (this is reason #4,671 I'm kicking Bud Selig square in the marbles whenever I meet him) I had no Don Orsillo and whoeveriscallingthegamewithhimuntilRemycomesback.

Turns out it was Gordon Edes, who I like as a writer but don't know if I'd want to sit through 9 innings of him stuttering and stammering his way through his points. Besides, I've already got Rakes for that.

So I imagined what Eck would say. And I'd hasten to bet there are countless middle aged men wh did the same thing, so stop looking at me like that.

Eck: "How do you not love a guy who looks like he rolled out of bed, branded 38 cows, drank a 12 pack of Busch Light, ate the 24 ounce T-Bone for lunch, and throws 98 mph cheese with no salad and kept Brian Roberts from going bridge."

Yes, I realize I need help. And yes, I'm not going to do the first thing about it.

But for the love of a Fenway Frank it was great to see the boys get a win tonight, even if the MFY won AGAIN. If you read about a "mysterious package" arriving at The Toilet in the next few days?

It wasn't me.

He'll Never Be President Now

As I'm eating dinner tonight, Ang is getting the laundry together and Ciera is making sure I have embarrassing pictures to show any of Trot's future girlfriends.

I'm not even sure what to say; he looks like some demented, miniature Polish woman with a mean streak 5 miles wide and a mega watt smile.

Just another night in Paradise.

At least I've made sure he can never spend his life as a public servant.

Baseball is back tomorrow and hopefully a win, no, a classless beat down of the Orioles is coming with it.

Dr. Spock Can Bite My Tweeter

Trot made it to the bathroom every time today.

I called the "Guinness World Record" people but they hung up on me.

Screw 'em; this is the equivalent of a 40th round draft pick making the show.

It's also made me do some deep thinking and I'm 99.9% sure the guy who invented the indoor toilet had Trot's doppelganger as a son.

I can see in my mind some farmer coming in from a hard days work and finding his boy taking a whizz into the horse trough.

When I said "I Do" I never imagined having to deal with a child who thinks he's a pit bull puppy and pondering buying stock in "Pee Away".

I'd write a book but they'd never believe me.