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.

Real Life is Funnier Than Anything I Could Make Up.

Watching the Red Sox dismantle the Orioles earlier tonight (before God sent a thunderstorm of biblical proportions over Camden Yards, suspending the game and causing me to unleash a stream of profanities in my mind over the fact John Smoltz is DEALING and may not come back out to get the official W) the following events took place.

Rakes, stretched out on the couch next to me was playing with a used cell phone he got from his Papa today and, I thought, paying no attention to what was happening on the television.

Gary Thorne, or he who I wish would get run over by a Zamboni on his next hockey telecast, was going over the all time winningest pitchers in the post-season. Smoltz was first, Tommy Glavine was second, and Gred Maddox was 5th or so. Thorne then pontificated, in that annoying way he says most things, that Smoltz, due to pitching again this season may have ruined the chances for the Three Amigos of Atlanta (Smoltz, Glavine, and Maddox) to enter the Hall of Fame together 5 years from now.

As soon as "Maddox has retired" came out of his mouth, Rakes hollered the following:

"Maddox has retired? I LOVE Maddox!"

Pause........

"Who's Maddox?"

Just when I think I'll never laugh that hard again, my future Juvenile Delinquent goes and proves me wrong.

Tarp is coming off in Baltimore, so here's to Smoltz getting that first win as a Red Sox a little later on.

Looks Like We Made It After All

I've seen a lot by having 3 children. One has been the epitome of Miss Manners ever since she was old enough to know better, another has had his moments (peeing outside the van in the garage, running through the house with the roll of toilet paper flying behind him, etc..) and the third one makes a goat look like it went to Martha Stewart's charm school.

After 3 years of fringe behavior, ranging from pooping on the floor leading to the garage to whizzing in a vase in his room to grossing out Sunday School teachers 3 out of 4 weeks every month, we've always been right on the edge.

Yesterday? We made The Show.

My 3 year old, 30 pound baby boy managed to shut down the community swimming pool for a 24 hour period, complete with a padlock on the gate and a note letting ALL the other neighbors know the pool was unavailable due to a "public health concern".

Now I know how Earl Woods felt when Tiger made that first birdie at the same age.

God help me, but the first thing I thought of when Ang called and filled me in was the following scene from "Caddyshack".



There is no freaking way I'm ever making it to the age of 50.

Blue Hairs All Over The World Rejoice

*Image courtesy of Yahoosports.com*

Tim Wakefield is now 10-3. Since I'm currently 39 years old, the fact Old Man River is only 43 doesn't seem that remarkable; when you consider he plays the game of baseball for a living?

Dude has found The Fountain of Youth and is channeling Father Time all at once.

Kevin Slowey. Roy Halladay. And Tim Wakefield.

The only 3 guys in the AL with 10 wins, although Wake's brother in arms Josh Beckett is just one behind. No CC Sabbathia, no AJ Burnett, no Chien Ming Wang.....

You get the idea. A guy old enough to be the Dad of most guys pitching in the game today is tied for the league lead in wins and if there is any justice in the world he'll make his first All-Star game next month.

Makes me want to go out and sign up for a Triathlon.

If only I had the time, will power, and desire.

Congrats, Timmy.

Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

I'm Josh Beckett. And You're Not.

*Image courtesy of Yahoosports.com*

In addition to spitting nails and throwing thunder, Josh Beckett is now 9-3 for the year following a 7 inning outing against the Braves that resulted in a 4-1 Red Sox win.

Attention to the rest of the American League.

The Commander of the Kick A*& Brigade is back.

You've all been warned.

You Can't Always Get What You Want.

*Image courtesy of Yahoosports.com*

It wasn't the storybook ending most of us hoped for, but all in all?

Not half bad.

Smoltz went 6 innings, struck out 5, walked 1, gave up some bloop hits and 5 ER. He also hit 93 with his fastball, threw some nasty breaking stuff, and didn't make me reach for the TUMS.

Not bad for his first start in over a year.

To put in another light? I'll take what Smoltz gave us over any Daisuke outing this year that wasn't pitched in the WBC.

Sox take 2 out of 3 from the Nationals, on the road, and if they do that for the rest of the year Teddy is watching post-season baseball played at Fenway Park and Jeter is sitting on a beach in Mexico sipping a fru fru drink out of an umbrella.

I'll take that 7 days a week.

In other news, both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson passed away today. While this only reinforces my own mortality and reminds me I'm 39 years old motoring toward 50, I've had mixed feelings all day.

On the one hand, I'm sad anyone crossed over to the great beyond. And Farrah fought the good fight against cancer for a long time, so we all sort of expected it. Jacko is a different type of animal. There is no doubt he was a phenomenal talent who changed the music industry, MTV, and all of pop culture. And for that I give him his due.

He was also an accused pedophile with a mountain of evidence to back it up, guilty conviction or not.

OJ Simpson wasn't found guilty by a jury of his peers either.

As a Father I have a hard time finding any sort of sympathy for the passing of someone who molested children. Allegedly. I realize we have a judicial system and due process, but if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and swims like a duck?

It's a freaking duck.

I don't want to diminish the fact that a very talented man passed away today. I'd just like for everyone to consider the fact that there may be innocent victims left behind that deserve our sympathy even more.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Sox vs Braves tomorrow night.

It can't get here soon enough.

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling. Keep Rolling, Rolling Rolling.

Somewhere in the offices of the MLB Schedule Makers there is someone who hates me.

I have no other explanation for the fact the Red Sox have one more game left against the Nationals, followed by 3 against Atlanta and 3 more against Baltimore. All three teams JUST SO HAPPEN to be viewed by MLB as being in my home market. Meaning no DO and Dave Roberts but a steady diet of Rob Dibble, Chip Carey, and Gary Thorne.

All I need is Hawk Harrelson calling the White Sox and I'm in broadcast hell.

Tomorrow I'll get Miss Hathaway to fire off an expletive filled letter to Bud Selig demanding to know why in the name of all that is good and holy can I be five hours away from all three teams and still considered part of the home market. But for tonight? I'll just rejoice in the Sox taking Game Two by a score of 6-4 and hope Mariano can gack up the lead to the Braves and leave the MFY 6 games back.

However, I can't promise that after 9 games that sometime next week I won't be swigging straight out from a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and find out Uncle Bud has taken out a restraining order on me.

Seriously; how much is one man expected to take?

Red Sox show the rest of the AL how to play.

*Image courtesy of yahoosports.com*

Red Sox 11, Nationals 3.

Hello, New York. THAT is how you play the worse team in baseball.

Oh yeah, we took 2 out of 3 from Atlanta.

Good luck with that.

Someone tell Girardi that I heard Hooters is hiring.

It's funny how things tend to have a way of working themselves out.

I had an Epiphany. Or Something.

Due to the perfect circle of no Red Sox game combined with Deadliest Catch running on TUESDAY instead of today and "The Big Bang Theory" being a rerun, I've spent the evening watching the National Geographic channel.

So far I've watched "Saddam Hussien's Iraq" and "Iran and the West", and I've realized the following. In the 70's we backed Iran, ruled over by the Shah who liked rock and roll and the West but pretty much killed anyone who looked at him wrong. When he got thrown out, we shifted to Saddam and his goon squad; we all know how THAT move turned out.

Now we're in bed with Saudi Arabia, which if history is any sort of judge will end with us looking like Charlie Brown after Lucy pulls the football away for the millionth time and us wondering which one of these nut job countries we can tag team with next.

Which got me to thinking (this is usually never a good thing) and I've come up with the perfect party to back in the next elections.

Make this guy the President.....

Have this guy as his running mate...

And for the Secretary of Defense?


Seriously, if we've got these three head hunters running the show? Who in their right mind is going to test us?

Thankfully, the Red Sox will be back on my tv tomorrow, I'll be wiped out from working 10 hours, and my thoughts will be consumed with how John Smoltz will look on Thursday, how the Red Sox can bury Daisuke on the DL for the rest of the year, and why can't someone under the age of 62 get a .34 cent coffee at McDonalds like all the senior citizens get to enjoy?

Forget the fact I don't drink coffee; I just want equal rights for everyone.

You gotta admit, though.

Trot Nixon as President would be totally 'bitchin.

Nick Green say's Happy Fathers Day

*Image courtesy of the bostonglobe.com*

Holidays are always a long day around here. Thankfully, both Ang and my parents are still with us and close by so we get to see them as often as we like and get to spend every holiday with them.

The down side of all this is it's usually a long day when you combine visiting two households while hauling around the equivalent of 3 house pets.

Only these talk. A LOT.

Being that TBS blacked me out today ( I live in NC; 5 plus hours from Atlanta. Can someone smarter than me tell me how in the name of Johnny Appleseed am I in the Braves "Home Market"?), my in laws have basic, and I do mean BASIC cable and by the time I got home it was the 7th inning and tied 4-4.

That, combined with it going to 5-5 and Pap loading the bases in the top of the ninth only to get out of it with some WAY high cheese left me feeling like I'd just spent the afternoon riding a bull named Fu Man Chu for 4 hours straight.

One pitch to Nick Green and it's all good; walk off win on a HR around the Pesky Pole combined with the Yanks losing to the Marlins and the Sox are up in the AL East by 4 games.

Happy Fathers Day to all you Dad's out there.

Nick Green thanks you.

Saturday Night in Durham with the B Brothers

The highlight to a great night at the park.

Pawtucket pitcher Billy Traber, walking off the field after his team beat the Durham Bulls 4-3, walking over to where we were sitting, motioning to Rakes, and then giving him a game used ball. He then waited patiently while I fumbled with the camera, then picked up Rakes for me to snap this picture.

I don't think Rakes feet hit the ground until I put him to bed tonight. From ab and BB trying to get him to run onto the field and get them a ball for a dollar, to Wooly the Bull driving a go cart around the field, and all the way to ab bringing all of the non facial hair having members of our party an honorary B brothers 'stache, it was a great night all around.

There is a shot of all of us with various facial hair, but it's on the camera of the lovely DB so I've got to wait until she sends it to me in order to share it. (Ciera was choking on the hairs of her 'stache at the time and I didn't have the opportunity to get one with my camera) In the meantime, I'll leave you with a preview courtesy of Rakes and ab.

And yes. It was even better in person.

Thanks again boys, for a great night with some good friends.

Looking forward to doing it again sometime soon.

* I corrected the error in the blog earlier. Turns out it wasn't Ron Johnson, even though he wore #21, but Pitcher Billy Traber. Thanks for the heads up, Kelly!*

Land of the Lost

*Image Courtesy of Yahoosports.com*

Maybe it was the WBC. Or the fact he's thrown about 7, 987 innings over the last 10 years. Or maybe, just maybe his arm is the baseball equivalent of a wet noodle.

I have no idea. I'm just fairly confident something isn't right with our $100 million dollar import from the Land of the Rising Sun.

1-5 after getting basted by the Braves tonight, and unless the Sox can use the "Dontrelle Willis Defense" and get him on the DL I have no clue what the Red Sox are supposed to do.

I'm just really glad John Smoltz is waiting in the wings and that Theo didn't trade Brad Penny for a bag of balls and a utility infielder.

Beckett vs D Lowe tomorrow, and I've got high hopes The Commander will round back into form.

On a positive note, I'm headed to Durham after work to catch the PawSox play the Bulls with AB, BB, DB, etc.. with Ang, Rakes, and Ciera. Hope I've got time to stop off and buy myself a Magnum PI shirt on the way.

Why can't God only let it rain during the Winter?

6th inning at Fenway and the Umps have called a rain delay due to the fact there was a report someone saw an ark floating down Lansdowne Street.

Sox are losing 2-1 so I'm hoping ownership has instructed everyone who'll listen that if they have to play at 1 a.m. they will, but I'm not holding out too much hope. If you take a look at the Boston radar you'd get the impression we're getting ready for 40 days and 40 nights of this mess.

Thankfully I'm enjoying this from the comfort of my office rather than sitting in the rain like my friends Cyn and Kelly; although knowing them, they are safely ensconced under the bowels of Fenway in some out of the way corner where there is a beer vendor and a sausage guy the normal fan doesn't know about. Kelly is wicked awesome in her knowledge of the park and it's nooks and crannies in a way the Fenway tour guides could only DREAM of reaching.

So I'm left here watching Red Sox Rewind on NESN, celebrating the Skanks losing to the worst team in all of baseball in the Washington Nationals (Heh.) and wondering what to do with myself for the next 2 hours until I can get to bed.

I wonder if George Foreman is pimping anything over at the Home Shopping Network?

It's a Pirate's Life for Me.

*Image from smallfox.typepad.com*

As I read this book to Rakes at bedtime tonight, I couldn't help but think about the bullpen band and the Pirates who make it up.

He was a little concerned when I told him the relief pitchers made it up but in the end?

It was the Red Sox.

And he understood.

Sox beat the Marlins, the Skanks lose to the Nationals, and all is right with the world.

However, I miss Mike Timlin like you wouldn't believe.

I've Got Friends in Low Places.

Ever since Al Gore invented the Internets, there has been one example after another about how messed up the world is.

From spammers filling our in boxes with ads for Viagra and the AARP to some dude in Argentina willing to give me millions for the minimal processing fee along with some dink living in his parents basement popping up on comment boards to stir it up there are countless more reasons to wish we'd all just unplug and move on.

For all the things that are wrong with the world wide web, can I offer up a positive?

Because there is now a way for me to connect with like minded, Red Sox obsessed people I've managed to meet some of the finest people you could imagine over the past 3 years.

The above picture shows most of them hanging outside the window of a bar in Boston.

Seriously, as a guy who carries his lunchpail to work and before getting the Internet at home could count his friends on one hand with fingers left over?

Technology is a beautiful thing.

Other than my wife and brother, all my closest friends are people I've "met" online.

Rob and Jane, JB and Amy, Candaon, Tex, hayes, Jr, Cyn, Kelly, ab, BB, DB, Beth, JET, Trot's Hat, etc.... You know who you are. And everyone I didn't mention? My life is better just knowing you all.

My point is this; make sure you warn your kids about that weird dude hanging out in the chat rooms, but don't throw the baby out with the bath water.

'Cause you never know what you'll miss out on.

Sox beat the Marlins 8-2 with Wake getting win #9.

Word to your motha'.

Off Days Are The Suck

With the Red Sox off today, I came face to face with my retirement years.

There is no doubt the above picture will be a mug shot someday in the near future.

Thankfully tomorrow brings the Marlins to Fenway and I can retreat to my post in the backyard with my head firmly buried in the sand.

With any type of luck, the Yankees will lose and I can sleep the sleep of the righteous for one more night.

No, Son. We CAN'T buy one just for us.

The next door neighbor's little boy had his birthday party today, complete with a huge blow up water slide that caused all three of my kids, at various times today, to come up to me and ask for this to be their next birthday/Christmas present, whichever came first.

In the midst of all this I've got Josh Beckett pitching in Philly, Ang wondering why I'm running back home every 5 minutes and I had to change the battery on my phone on 3 separate occasions.

Whoever said being a Dad was easy obviously never had to multi-task.

Turns out the slide was far better than the game as the Sox lost 11-6, even though The Commander went yard in support of his own cause, Tito may have chosen his starting lineup with the old "Eenie Meenie, Mynie Moe" method, and Saito apparently let Jimmy Rollins know he didn't appreciate the Home Run earlier in the game with a good old fashioned fastball to the ribs.

One of these days I'm going to stumble across the secret formula on how to balance family life with an obsession with all things Red Sox. And when I do?

I'm retiring to some beach in the South Pacific where all I'll need is a satellite dish, the USA Today, and a hammock.

Big Business Needs a Reality Check

Apparently, Lowes has some program where they allow anyone to come to one of their stores to make some pre-arranged project as a community outreach program.

After today, I'm sure there is some middle aged store manager furiously dialing the corporate office demanding they discontinue this project ASAP after Huey, Dewey, and Louie descended upon the local affiliate.

Especially after they gave Trot a hammer and let him go.

Evidently this is some Father's Day present gone horribly wrong and while I'm confident it'll end in someone getting dismembered or fired, Ang is positive it'll be a day I'll never forget.

Finally, we have something we can agree on.

The only difference is I see a prison sentence in someone's future.

Al Pacino IS Terry Francona. Or Something.

Pacino is the Red Sox.

DeNiro the Yankees.

And yes, I can tie ANYTHING to Baseball.

It's the bottom of the 11th in Philly, Sox/Phillies are tied 2-2, and I'm spent.

10 hour workday + tired Ang + Rakes and Trot bouncing off the walls = Ted and his nerves are fried.

I'm hoping for a HR in the top of the next inning, followed by someone, ANYONE, striking out the side.

8-0

Even with their Ace on the mound, the Skanks can't avoid the sweep.

Season series record? Sox 8, Yankees 0.

If I could dance, I'd be doing the Macarena right now.

I really wish some ballsy New York reporter would walk up to Sabbathia right now and ask him if he ever thought Brad Penny would beat him.

::Moonwalks::

7-0. Life is good.

6-5.

Sox win and Wake takes the W.

That makes the season series 7-0 Red Sox.

I'm ignoring the fact that Pap almost gave me a heart attack and I'm reveling in the fact Joe Girardi is counting on 300 lb CC Sabbathia to save the series.

If I'd have took this scenario to Hollywood they'd have laughed in my face.

I'm getting out my broom for tomorrow; Sweeps don't suck.

Just Another Life Altering Day

They gave us a copy of this poem 6 years ago when Ciera started Kindergarten. My apologies to the author 'cause I'd give credit if I knew who it was. I'd forgotten about it until I watched my not so little anymore baby girl walk across that gymnasium floor and get her diploma for completing Elementary School.

Next year she's off to the New World Order known as Middle School where drama, cliques, and God help me, hormonal boys await. I take solace in the fact I've raised her the best I could, she has a heart of gold, and hates the Yankees with the white hot passion of a true member of RSN.

It's still 3 months away so I'm gonna spend the summer with my head buried in the sand like some mentally challenged ostrich and try and forget that she's growing up faster than I ever could have imagined. Anyways, here is the poem that brought tears to my eyes 6 years ago and brought 'em again today.

Dear World, I bequeath to you today one little girl in a crispy blue dress with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long and a flash of light blonde hair that bounces in the sunlight when she runs. I trust you'll treat her well.

She's slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning and skipping off down the street to her first day of school. Never again will she be completely mine. Prim and proper, she'll wave a young independent hand this morning and say "goodbye", and walk with little lady steps to the schoolhouse. Now, she'll learn to stand in lines and wait by the alphabet for her name to be called. She'll learn to tune her ears for sounds of school bells and deadlines, and she'll learn to giggle, and gossip, and look at the ceiling in a disinterested way, and she'll learn to be jealous. Now she'll learn how not to cry.

No longer will she have time to sit on the front porch on a hot summer day and watch an ant scurry across a crack in the sidewalk. Nor will she have time to pop out of bed with the dawn to kiss lilac blossoms in the morning dew. No...now she'll worry about important things like grades and which dress to wear and whose best friend is whose. She'll forget her blocks and dolls, and now she'll find new heroes. For five full years now, I've been her sage and Santa Claus, pal and playmate, Father and friend. Now she'll learn to share her worship with her teachers, which is only right. But, no longer will I be the smartest, greatest man in the whole world.

Today, when that school bell rings for the first time, she'll learn what it means to be a member of the group, with all its privileges and its disadvantages, too. She'll learn in time that proper ladies do not laugh out loud or kiss dogs or keep frogs in pickle jars in bedrooms, or even watch ants scurry across cracks in the summer sidewalk. Today, she'll learn for the first time that all who smile at her are not her friends, and I'll stand on the front porch and watch her start out on the long lonely journey to becoming a woman.

So world, I bequeath to you today, one little girl in a crispy blue dress with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long, and a flash of blonde hair that bounces in the sunlight when she runs.

I trust you will treat her well.

Love you, sissy.

Where did the years go?

This picture was taken Easter, 2004. Ang and I were 34, Ciera was 5, Rakes was about 5 months old, and I was still in my 3 day stubble look with no gray hairs.

And my cap didn't look like a science experiment. Still have it, though; Sox won it all that year with me wearing that cap so I break it out in event of an emergency, i.e. Sox/Yankee series.

Flash forward 5 years. I look like Colonel Saunders, Rakes is a roving terror who I'm still convinced is cyborg sent from the future, Ang is prettier than ever, and tomorrow Ciera graduates Elementary School.

It should come as no shock to anyone I'm not freaking ready for this. Middle School? Boys, drama, and daily prayers in the morning that the same little girl I kiss goodbye will come back to me that afternoon?

When my Grandfather passed away I was given his prized shotgun and a box of shells.

Any boy stupid enough to come calling?

Consider yourself warned.

Best Thing About Today? The Fenway Hawk

*Image courtesy of Yahoosports.com*

Sometime around mid-game today, the Fenway Hawk did a drive by of the infield then flew majestically back out toward the Green Monster and beyond.

It was the highlight of today's game.

Even though Daisuke struck out 8 and walked 0, he still gave up 10 hits and 5 runs while the Red Sox managed a whopping 4 hits off the immortal Vincente Padilla in a 6-3 loss.

I could try and unravel the box score, break down the career statistics of batter vs hitter, and expand upon my views of baseball in the land of the rising sun, but it won't make a bit of difference.

I live my life by this simple credo.

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

Today?

The Red Sox were made of glass.

Off day tomorrow, then the Yankees come to town. 5-0 so far this year with Beckett going in Game 1.

It could be worse.

Disturbia Indeed.

It was yesterday I brought her home from the hospital.

Really.

Tonight in Boston? Lester throws a complete game; 2 hits, 2 walks, and 11 K's.

Having two studs at the front of your rotation?

It doesn't suck.

First place in the AL East rules.

Yep. That's my Daughter

Ciera and her friend Caroline won "Most Original and Creative Performance" at the talent show tonight dancing to "Disturbia" by Rhianna and making me long for the days of pig tails in her hair and cries of "Daddy Home!" when she was 2.

Proud doesn't begin to cover it and I'm currently uploading the video so I can post it later. However, due to the fact it's over 2 minutes long it's going to take approximately the same amount of time it took that dude to build the Statue of Liberty so hopefully by tomorrow night I can link it.

Really proud of you, Sissy. It took a lot of guts to get up in front of your peers to do that and you guys rocked.

That said, the next time I see you with that much make up on better be Halloween and you best be going as a clown.

Or we've got issues.

Another Letter from the Desk of Miss Hathaway

*Image courtesy of Kelly at www.sittingstill.net* (I think)

Dear Mr. Geritol,

Let me start off by saying I don't really think your name is Mr. Geritol. I'm only typing what my employer railed at me over the phone today; I'm guessing Geritol is the name of the gentleman who discovered your fine product who long ago sold out for millions of dollars and is now either dead or laying on a beach on some tropical island and sipping a fruity drink with an umbrella in it.

Please understand I'm a 50 year old spinster who needs the money and is just following the directive of my slightly insane superior. In his defense? Have you SEEN his children? Beasts, I tell you. BEASTS.

After a 10 hour day where, and I quote "I'm going to eventually shove a recliner in an area not exactly large enough", I received a call on the Bat Phone around 7 p.m. I've discovered these are usually never good calls and today was no exception.

After rambling for roughly 10 minutes about some "dink" stepping on Youk's ankle (Youk is a heavily bearded gentleman with anger issues and apparently a gland problem due to his excessive sweating that plays for the Red Sox), the fact Big Papi is THIS CLOSE to busting out, and a proclamation that "Josh Beckett say's FYYO" to the rest of the league he finally got around to the purpose of this letter.

Again, don't shoot the messenger; I'm just passing along the words of my, and I use this term loosely, esteemed employer.

"Why in the name of all that is good and holy have you idiots not signed Tim Wakefield to a lifetime contract as the spokesperson for your company? He's 7-3, has a beer belly Homer Simpson would envy, kisses babies and visits sick kids in the hospital, my 3 year old can throw harder than he does, and he's 43 years old."

I try and keep up for the benefit of my employer (he gives bonuses for knowing the team leaders in each category, although I'm pretty sure "How many times Terry Francona looks like he's having a seizure" isn't an "OFFICIAL STAT") and I'm fairly certain there aren't many teams where the guy most likely to be voted "Coolest Grandpa at Pre-School" is an official stat.

I do know this man is the epitome of what I'd like my Son's (If I'd ever gotten married) to emulate, knows his way around a lineup, and can make that doofus Alex Rodriguez look completely silly with a 61 mph pitch.

Which only makes me want him that much more.

Sorry; did I say that last line out loud?

Back on topic, whoever is in charge of market research/development and company spokesman, please seek out Mr. Wakefield's representation on this matter. According to the imbecile, I mean upstanding citizen I'm employed by, this will be of great benefit to your company.

In closing, please accept my condolences on the future phone calls you'll be recieving. It really is in your best interest to make Mr. Wakefield your spokesperson within the next few months. He's like a retarded pit bull in that regard.

I've tried to tell my employer that deranged and stupid is no way to go through life, but I'm fairly certain he's not listening.

Sincerely,

Miss Hathaway

P.S. Is there any way you could slip Timmeh my phone number?

Spitting Nails and Breathing Fire

No hit ball through 6 1/3 innings. Cheese with hair on it, curve balls that bend your knees, and roughly 179 profanities.

Josh Beckett on the hill has returned to being a beautiful thing.

He left with a 10- 0 lead and got the win with a 10-5 score. Not exactly how you draw it up but he and I will take it.

Combine the win with a MFY loss and the Sox are in first place on 6-4-09.

And Curtis Granderson can bite Beck's tweeter.

The Fenway Tour Will Never Be The Same

We Paloozed, we toured, we take an awesome picture.

Friday, May 22 is a day that will live in infamy.

Sorry I messed up the girl/boy lineup, Cyn.

Tex just HAD to be in the center of the picture. ;)

Just another picture confirming the best weekend, other than when I got married, that I've ever had.

Snakes on a Plane! Or at Grandma's House.

There are 3 things that cause Rakes and Trot to completely lose their minds.

One is Santa. Nothing like an overweight stranger flying a sleigh powered by a bunch of reindeer on HGH (how else do you explain to a 5 year old how 8 freaking deer can fly a guy that fat all over the world in a 12 hour period? I'm doing the best I can here; you got any better answers and I'm all ears) who is going to have you a bike, a video game, and some socks from Target waiting when you get up. And no; I haven't figured out the whole "Target" thing yet.

Second is fighting. ANY kind of fighting; WWE Wrestling, Power Rangers, Peter Pan, COPS, and Sponge Bob are all included. Even the Bible isn't safe; tell Rakes about Sampson killing a bunch of guys with the jawbone of a donkey and he's in the backyard looking for a the skeleton of Eyeore he left outside during the last rain storm just so he can go all Stone Cold Steve Austin on Trot and have the excuse to use the word ass as a bonus.

Third? Dead animals. Can be a dead possum on the highway, bird in the woods behind our house, or a colony of ants Ang killed with Round Up. It's like they turn into CSI agents, only if it involves the wild kingdom. But the holy grail of dead animals? The mysterious and rarely seen snake.

Which brings me to tonight.

Ang was over at my folks house helping my Mom with some Spring Cleaning and lo and behold the dreaded black snake made an appearance.

Now, he doesn't look all that imposing. Until Pop got out the yard stick and stretched him out just a bit.
After the great Python was beheaded, Rakes and Trot ambled over for a look.

Take note of the maniacal look they both have on their faces. Trot especially seems excited about the large, dead reptile 6 inches from his feet. God Help Me. I may have the 2022 version of the Crocodile Hunter on my hands.


Lastly, Lewis and Clark version Duh give their enemy a proper burial with a little help from my Dad.

Good Lord, they look like total psychopaths.

It's like an updated version of "American Gothic" gone terribly wrong.

Thankfully, the Red Sox are back on tv tomorrow night and I can blissfully continue to ignore the fact I'm raising the modern day equivalent of Jesse and Frank James for one more night.