Desperate Times Are Upon Us.

It's Thursday, November the 18th.

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

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

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

Hump Day Rambling

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

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

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

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

Of course it was.

They Eat Dinks Like Him For Breakfast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunch with Rakes

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

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

Me: "Rakes, you OK?"

Rakes: "Yeah, Dad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Because.

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

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

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

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

Is it Truck Day yet?

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

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

11/11/2010: Ten Things I Realized Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonus: 11. I love being a Dad.

Courage Doesn't Have An Age Limit.

Josiah Viera is now officially my hero.

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

Josiah is 6 years old.

Rakes is 6 years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may want to check yourself for a pulse.

And A Nation Of Pin Heads Mourns

This?

To paraphrase The Donger from "16 Candles"?

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

And The Hits Just Keep On Coming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a small town boy.

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

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

My Town.

One more time we'll trip the light Fandango.

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

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

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

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

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

2011: Year of The Papi.

Just another Father/Son Moment.

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

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

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

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

Me: "Yep."

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

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

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

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

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

BTW? I've Never Liked Tea.

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

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

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

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

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

At least those people had a sense of humor.

Edgar is Hurley. Or Something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baseball is a funny game.

Halloween 2010. Part Duh.

Thanks to the fact the area I live in is bi-polar, half the people celebrated Halloween yesterday and the other half celebrated today. Which is all well and good, except for the fact my kids thought this was the GREATEST THING EVER and we did it TWICE.

Which is how I found myself wandering the neighborhood with my 3 kids plus 7 neighbor kids (Ironic considering one of the 7 had asked Ciera not that long ago why I was so grumpy. I told Ciera to say "Trot" and leave it at that.) as they pounded on doors and hollered at the top of their lungs.

Trot fell down 27 times, called some parent dressed up like a dummy "tupid" and actually went into the living room of some random senior citizen who had the poor sense to actually open the door for him.

Tomorrow morning about 7 pet owners will be scanning the yellow pages for "Pet Therapists" after Trot and Rakes met their beloved housemates, I'll have threatened for about the 20th time to throw all the candy away, and I'll spend the 3 hours Trot is at pre-school harassing the poor guy at Lowes about the latest in zip lock technology for the pantry and fridge.

I said it last night, but it bears repeating.

Thank God it's only once a year.

Or in this case, twice.

He Fought The Law. And The Law Won.

Today was the annual Fall Carnival at our church, so after work I threw on my Portland Sea Dogs sweat shirt (courtesy of the ever lovely DB) and my Sox cap and flew the 5.8 miles it took for me to get from my store to the carnival.

After finding out where Ang and The Judge, Kojak, and The Convict were located, we proceeded to hit every game, ride, petting zoo, and hot dog stand we could find. After spending around 3 hours there, we headed home for Trick-or-Treat. Being that Halloween fell on a Sunday this year, half the neighborhood was ready tonight while the other half is waiting for tomorrow night, which means double the candy for the kids and the fact I'll yell "TROT! GO UP THE DRIVEWAY AND ON THE SIDEWALK AND NOT THE YARD!" over 1000 times which will set a new world record in case you were wondering.

Other than everyone we know giving a knowing laugh over the fact Trot is dressed like he's headed to Alcatraz, the highlights of the night were Rakes giving a polite "Thank You" to everyone who gave him candy and Trot running pell mell into a storm door around the corner because he thought it was open. I was two houses down and STILL heard him hit the thing, but in his defense it wasn't covered in fingerprints like ours is so how could he know?

Although the fact he was perfectly willing to run into a total strangers house without a second thought does sort of give me pause.

Sweet Moses am I glad Halloween is only once a year.

Clemente Would Approve.

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

The nicest guy in the game of baseball just won the award for, well, being the nicest guy in baseball.

He's 44 years old, throws a pitch Bugs Bunny would say was goofy, and he's been the heart and soul of the Red Sox pitching staff for the last 15 years.

I don't care what anyone says; I hope he's back for one more run next season.

They may call him "The Bull" someday.

Rakes got his progress report from school today, and amazingly enough, he's doing pretty good. Knows 75 or so sight words, adds like a CPA (but subtracts like his Dad unfortunately), is reading, and hasn't pantsed anyone or clogged up any toilets so far. (That I'm aware of anyways).

As I said his prayers and kissed him goodnight I told him how proud I was of his progress so far this year, he slipped up. It happened so fast I almost didn't catch it, and considering 3 minutes beforehand Trot ALMOST knocked over the sofa table in the living room by treating it like a wrestling ring I wouldn't have blamed myself.

But as I got up to leave his room he uttered "Mr. Agner told Mom that I have to stop laughing so much and stop making Mary laugh too." Mind you, none of this was on the progress report, nothing was mentioned to Angie at the time, and to be honest with you this was the first I'd heard of any "Mary" person and the school year is almost 3 months old.

Maybe he had an attack of a guilty conscience. All I know is this is a kid who wouldn't admit to setting the woods on fire if you caught him with a pack of matches, a can of gasoline, and his clothes black with soot. He'll walk out of the restroom and swear he flushed the toilet with me standing 2 feet away. I once saw him walk up to his brother, rear back and kick him square in the marbles and immediately holler "I didn't do it, Dad!"

So I'm going with total exhaustion as his reason for coming clean tonight.

I've thought and thought about it and can't come up with any other conclusion.

Or he could just be yanking my chain.

I wouldn't put it past the little heathen.