The Circus is coming. Somebody warn the Ringling Brothers.

Rakes' First Grade class went to the circus for a Field Trip today. Half of me was hoping he'd have a blast and the other half was hoping he'd realize that a career as a clown wasn't exactly the road he wanted to take.

Meanwhile, one of the ladies who sells us advertising at the store called and let me know she got me 5 free tickets for said circus this weekend, and seeing as how Saturday is my day off, it looks like the family will be finally, truly "A 3 Ring Circus", at least for a few hours.

Armed with this bit of news I figured I'd call Rakes once he got home from school and ask him what I should be expecting in a few days. Per usual, I didn't get the answer's I thought I'd get.

Me: "Rakes, how was the circus today?"

Rakes: "Good".

Me: "What was your favorite part?"

Rakes: "I don't know".

Me: "Well, I've got tickets for all of us to go again on Saturday, so I wanna tell Trot what to look for".

Rakes: "I don't know".

Me: (After banging the phone against my head for 27 seconds) "OK, buddy. We'll figure it out when we get there".

Rakes: "Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad....... I saw a really cool sno-cone. Can we get one of those?"

After three hours of lions, tigers, bears, clowns, rings of fire, midgets, tight rope walkers and motorcycles going 70 mph in a round steel ball he wants the $8 sno-cone.

Jon Lester arrived at Ft. Myers today.

That news alone will get me through the circus, the sno-cone's, and most of Sunday.

Winter is offically coming to an end.

It's supposed to snow here tonight, the cold air has made my skin so dry I'm scratching like I've got the Defcon 9 version of the chicken pox, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to go all Howard Hughes, complete with keeping my toenail clippings in a mason jar before Ciera gets to High School.

Yet the image of a man named Adrian taking grounders in the Florida sun has got me positively giddy.

Pitchers and Catchers and the random off season free agent pick up have arrived at Spring Training.

And I feel fine.

Sometimes all it takes is a simple thing

My sister sent me this in an email today.

If you can watch this and not tear up?

You're a better person than me.

Sometimes people, and the redemptive power of sports, will surprise the crap out of you.

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

I spent 2 1/2 hours cleaning the house today only to have Trot merrily walk his way across the living room with about 3 inches of mud on his shoes this afternoon.

Ciera came home with more baggage from Middle School than Logan International Airport sees on a Holiday Weekend.

Rakes somehow managed to get to school and back with 100 Pokemon cards and a cell phone in his pockets and NOT get caught.

And I'm fine with it.

Care to take a guess why?

Tomorrow is Truck Day.

You Just Never Know

In Trot's 4 plus years on this earth I've seen him do a lot of off the wall stuff. Pee in everything BUT the toilet, put his shoes, shirt, AND pants on backwards, and I've even seen him with his legs crossed and sucking his big toe like some deranged Orangutan on his 5 minute break at the banana factory.

Today we crossed over into a new, disturbing and final frontier as I came downstairs and found my youngest son sitting on the couch merrily chewing on the end of the fly swatter.

Only an act of God is going to keep him from getting Ebola, Montezuma's Revenge, or Gangrene before the age of 20.

And the Commercials Won't Measure Up

Like most of my predictions, I'm pulling this one directly from my posterior.

And while I realize it's not the most popular pick due to his off season problems, the man is 2-0 so far in Super Bowls. And with the Samoan assassin playing safety like a man on fire, I just can't pick against the Steelers.

Pittsburgh 31, Green Bay 21.

So the final score will probably be Green Bay 56, Pittsburgh 3.

One thing I DO know?

Pitchers and Catchers are reporting soon.

Married. With Children.

It's 10 day's until the "Most Romantic Day of the Year", the kids spent the night at my parents, and Ang and I had a nice dinner at Outback tonight.

She's currently asleep and I'm watching the National Geographic Channel which is broadcasting a show about bear poachers and dreaming of Opening Day.

Who said romance is dead?

There's a Bright Light at the end of the Tunnel.

Trot may have a raging case of head lice?

No worries.

Letting Rakes watch part of "Gone in 60 Seconds" tonight, possibly leading to a future life of crime as a car thief?

He's fast; maybe he can out run 'em.

Ciera turning into a teenager in 6 short months?

I'll worry about it when it gets here.

Truck Day is 5 days, 127 hours, and 7657 minutes away. Yes, I realize that doesn't really add up but I got it from Tex's blog so the over/under on whether it's accurate is 9:1.

Bottom line? It's close, which means Spring Training isn't far behind and Opening Day is right after that.

I'd quote Red from Shawshank, but you already know where I'm going.

Hope is indeed a beautiful thing.

::Sigh::

Yeah, he's wearing flippers. Don't ask.

We got the call today that some kid at Trot's Pre-School came down with head lice (No, it wasn't him. He may be nuts but he's the cleanest little whacko you'll ever meet.) and school is closed until next Monday.

Thankfully, he was scheduled for a hair cut already for today, so he's got the next step up from The Marine Cut, had his hair washed with a special shampoo, and all his clothes, shoes, book bag, and anything else he touched today has been de-contaminated so hopefully we're in the clear.

My luck?

He finds two, breeds them in his bedroom next to his Wally doll, and I've got to fumigate my house for a month and go live with my parents.

BTW?

This is yet another thing in a VERY LONG list of things Dr. Spock never tells you about.

Dink.

For Amy. And Isaias. And Mom.

Sometimes, in the midst of my ranting about Trot peeing in the gas tank (hasn't happened yet, but I'm always fearful it will) or my worry Rakes will turn into Red from "Shawshank" (a guy who can get you anything you want for a price. He conned some kid out of $5 bucks and some Pokemon cards for basically a ball of lint so it's not exactly out of the realm of possibility) or driving myself nuts thinking about the day that punk shows up on my porch to take Ciera out on her first date, I forget there are some people out there who TRULY are dealing with some serious stuff.

Even though my Mom survived breast cancer and JB's Mom is fighting it now and so is an Uncle of mine, not to mention Mr. Andy I sometimes need a reality check about what is really important.

The little boy in the picture is named Isaias. His cousin is the wife of my brother from another mother. He was almost 10 years old when he died of cancer and he is the basis for Project Cupid, which Amy started last year. I'll let Josh speak now.......

"No doubt, Project Cupid is motivated by those we have lost, and for those that continue to fight against cancer. It is why we fight.

But for me, Project Cupid is about thanking all those folks that helped me and Amy get through the past couple years, when things just seemed to be impossible to overcome, when despair would come knocking, when it felt like we couldnt make progress. They enabled us to be able to fight. friends, family, complete strangers, twitter followers, random Red Sox fans, customers. Without them, Project Cupid would have never happened in the first place

So again this year, we give thanks to everyone that has helped us fight against cancer. We would love to see you come out for the event - this year is going to blow last year out of the water, in just about every respect. If you cant make it, and would still like to donate, please click on the link below. Even 5 dollars is helpful. But i know times are tough, so if you have a moment: just send a prayer, or send some PV's to those who are battling cancer, but also to those supporting them, to the families and friends. Every little bit helps."

Click on www.project-cupid.org to read more.

If you're in Boston this Friday night around 7 p.m., stop by Whiskey Park at the Park Plaza. Great items like an autographed Boston Celtic's team ball, a Dustin Pedroia 8x10, and a hockey puck from the Bruins are being auctioned off and great food, drinks, music, and a chance to hit Jr in the nether region are all being offered.

And if you see a guy that looks a little like Charles Manson wearing a suit standing next to a really pretty lady? Go up, say hello, and tell 'em Ted asked you to stop by.

And give 'em a hug for me while you're at it.

The Carl Crawford signing just keeps getting better.

*Image courtesy of Kelly O's www.sittingstill.smugmug.com*

From www.fannation.com:

"Give the Red Sox credit for taking no chances. Their $142 million deal with Carl Crawford includes a clause that prohibits any team he's traded to from then trading him to the Yankees. They rarely give no-trade clauses, and in Crawford's case allowed him to block trades to only two teams."

This is brilliant. I think with every free agent contract they sign in the future this should be enacted, along with "In the event we reach the post season you MUST re-enact the Kevin Millar "Don't let us win tonight" speech before every game" and "I will at all times I'm able tell Dustin Pedroia is short jokes".

Sweet Holy Moses, Truck Day is just around the corner.

Playing with House Money Again

Due to the abnormal snow we've gotten this winter, the kids have to go to school half a day tomorrow, which for everyone not name Horshamscouse is Saturday.

It's my week to drive Ciera and her cousin Jerry to school so I was all set to get up at the crack of dawn to ensure they continued their education, but was saved by my Saint of a wife who offered to drive them instead.

And all I had to do was rub her sore neck for about 30 minutes.

I think she's getting the short end of this deal but I'm not saying a flipping word.

Even if I am home alone with Trot for about 45 minutes and have to re-lock the entire house so he doesn't decide to visit our elderly neighbors down the street wearing his Star Wars pajama top, a smile, and nothing else.

Sleeping in until 8:15 a.m. is worth it.

The Situation wouldn't stand a chance.

As I sat on my couch tonight watching "America's Funniest Home Video's" while Rakes and Trot sat next to me and cackled like raving lunatics at the sight of a grown man getting hit in the marbles with a teeter totter, the following thought occurred to me.

I am a gigantic idiot.

Because if I'd have gone ahead with my initial plan of installing 24 hour video cameras when I built this house I'd have my own show on MTV, my star on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood, and these kids of mine would be making millions on their way to years of therapy.

Instead of JUST on their way to therapy.

Just Because

After a day that included a funeral, freezing weather, and a cold, steady rain I needed to end it with something that didn't include any of the above.






I believe it is now 18 days until pitchers and catchers report.

Annie

Ang took the kids to see their "Mawmaw Annie" at the rest home often. In a place filled with sickness and sadness, I'm sure the sight of 3 very loud, fast moving and quick talking kids caused a 50/50 mix of fear and delight depending on which resident you asked.

When Trot was a little over two and Rakes was probably just getting ready to turn five, while on one of those visits to see Annie, Ang turned her back for probably 15 seconds.

In those 15 seconds Rakes grabbed a flashlight off a nightstand, he and Trot snuck out the door and made their way down to the room of, I assume, a perfectly nice gentleman. When Ang found them, Trot was merrily unrolling this man's toilet paper at about 35 sheets per second while Rakes was standing over the thankfully sleeping man, shining the flashlight in his eyes and yelling "Wake up, Grandpa!"

Annie loved that story and loved seeing her "babies" as often as she could and the kids felt the same way.

Annie passed away early this morning. She'd been sick for a long time and while someone you love dying is never an easy thing, Ang and her family were glad they had her for 87 years.

As I get older I find myself being asked to be a pall bearer at more funerals than I like and even though it's an honor to ME it's not really easy to say yes every time.

But for this sweet, gentle lady full of love and warmth who for some reason thought Heckle and Jeckle were the greatest thing since the microwave?

It was a really easy decision.

Safe travels, Annie.

Super Bowl Pick. And Little Plastic Ants.

If you ever come home from work, feeling especially good because you had a great day, laughing and horsing around for 7 hours while making a good commission, and decide to play "Ants in the Pants" with a 7 year old control freak who hates to lose and a 4 year old lunatic who has the manual dexterity of a boulder, can I offer you a small piece of advice?

Don't.

Just don't. It won't end well.

You're gonna have to trust me on this.

Also, Rakes informed me tonight that he is by my side for the duration of the Championship games tomorrow, because, and I quote, "I wanna see who is gonna be in the World Series Super Bowl Tournament".

He's learning, slowly but surely.

I'm calling a Jets/Packers Super Bowl. They've shocked the world 2 weeks in a row now.

No reason to think they'll stop now.Can you imagine THAT crew at the Super Bowl?

3 and a Half Weeks. I can do that.

After working 9 hours, doing my very best to convince the people coming in my store who A. Don't need it, B. Don't have the money to pay for it, and C. Are going to pay out the wazoo for something they want to finance and would be better off just buying it straight out that they MUST HAVE IT NOW, all I look forward to is spending some quality time with my beautiful wife, precious daughter, and my two mildly active boys every night.

However, most nights I come home to a variation of THIS.

25 days until P & C.

If I make it that long.

Predicting the Future

Last night on "Two and a Half Men" Jake drank a warm coke, ate a Mentos, and did the "Human Volcano" on his Dad.

I have an eerie feeling a video of me, Trot, and possibly Rakes will end up on Youtube someday re-enacting this entire scenario.

Praying for Opening Day

One minute they're babies and before you know it she's 12 going on 50, he's rattling off about trading some kid on the bus 2 quarters and a Mexican nickle for a John Cena action figure, and you're REALLY starting to get concerned that HE is headed down the Road to Perdition.

All of a sudden I'm in the Twilight Zone; Ciera is officially grown up (This may have happened six months ago and I'm just now accepting it. This happens more than you think when you are a parent.), Rakes is a 7 year old shucker and jiver who has more trades, exchanges, deals, and near deals than your average NYSE employee and Mafia enforcer combined, and Trot just merrily marches his way through life leaving a trail of Goldfish crackers and mayhem in his wake.

And as much as I gripe about it? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Like the commercial says; Life comes at you fast.

Less than 30 days until pitchers and catchers report and I can crawl back into my hole of self-denial and avoidance.

Not Just Another Day Off

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

Sunday. Bloody Sunday.

My day started at 6:30 a.m., which was when Tweedle Dee an Tweedle Dum decided to wake up, come downstairs, and start playing Star Wars on the PS2, UFC style.

Then I taught 15 two year olds at church; 15. They just kept coming, like the robots in the future scenes in "Terminator 2". By the time the 13th kid was dropped off I was looking for the ghost of Alan Funt to jump out of a closet and tell me to smile: I was on Candid Camera.

The afternoon consisted of Ang and Trot taking a nap while I tried to watch the football game while Rakes asked me every question known to man. Seriously, I can't think of a single topic he DIDN'T bring up. Then we went over to my parents house for dinner where the combination of my three kids and my two nieces did a really nice job of sending my Dad's nerves into his 90's. And he's only 75.

Which all explains how I found myself sitting on the couch with Rakes where he somehow convinced me it was totally OK for him to watch "Iron Man".

I'm debating whether to change the name of the blog to "One Man's Journey Into Insanity: One Day at a Time".

You Gotta Touch The Stove To See It It's Hot.

Per the norm, my Redskins are at home watching the playoffs. I've got no stake in any of the teams involved, except for the fact most of my friends are rooting for the Patriots and my Uncle Henry was a die hard Packers fan from back in the day.

To all my New England compatriots, I really hope it's the Patriots vs the Packers in the Super Bowl.

But for the next few weeks?

I'm a Cheesehead.

Miss 'ya, Henry.

The Pack are doing you proud.

Another one of those "What was I Thinking?" Questions

We started watching this with the kids tonight, but due to school on Saturday (Rudy from "Fat Albert" is turning over in his grave; that is, if cartoon characters died.) we had to stop at the part where Billy goes out with the Pritchett boys and catch up tomorrow.

My kids are begging me to get them a dog and I pick the movie just down from "Old Yeller" in terms of tugging at the heart strings to watch.

I've got a sinking feeling there is going to be a four legged animal to go with all the two legged ones running around in here before I know it.......

Why can't we all just get along?

"There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day."

That's Psalms 46:4.

It's also what President Obama opened his remarks with at today's Arizona Memorial Service for the people killed in the tragic events of last Saturday.

I'm about as political as an orange, but for the love of Mother Goose can we stop with all the stupid rhetoric and have some freaking respect for the office? The man is NOT a Muslim, he's NOT the anti-christ and he's NOT the end of the world as we know it.

He's the leader of the free world trying to do the best job he can with the pile of elephant crap left for him by the previous regime.

Words matter. Whether we like it or not. And both sides need to realize that it's not US vs THEM but it's just, simply, US. Americans. Republican or Democrat, Black or White, Christian or Jew or Muslim or like many of my friends members of the Church of Baseball. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, we're Americans and we better figure out a way to by God live together or we're going to fall apart.

This message was brought to you courtesy of the off season.

Spring Training can hurry up and get here, thank you very much.

"If there are rain puddles in heaven, Christina is jumping in them today."

Well said, Mr. President.

Well said.

Always Be Closing. Or Something.

I've had days where it was 70 degrees outside and couldn't sell a glass of ice water to a man dying of thirst.

Today? It was 30 degrees, ice and snow everywhere, we were only open 5 hours, and Rakes spent the day at work with me.

I sold $3,575 dollars.

Retail, thy name is Sybil.

Pals

Like most of the serious moments so far in my kid's lives, tonight's came out of the clear blue. One minute I'm making eggs for the kids and the next minute Rakes, while looking at a picture of him and Mr. Andy on the refrigerator asks "Dad, are we going to a Bulls game with Mr. Andy this summer?"

It's been over a year since Andy passed away and I still hadn't found a way to tell Rakes; as usual he took care of that for me.

It's never easy dealing with the death of a friend, much less when you're 7 and your friend is someone you only saw once in a while. But as I explained to Rakes that we wouldn't be able to go to another game with Andy his expression saddened briefly, then he sort of lit up again.

"Dad. Even though we can't go WITH Andy anymore he can still sort of go with us, right? I mean, we went before and he knows how to get there so maybe even if we can't see him it's sort of like he's there, right?"

And once again that little maniac goes and surprises me; here I was worried how he'd take it and somehow he ends up comforting ME.

Oh yeah; BB, if you read this, I sort of promised him that we could still go with you and DB this summer so let's see if we can work something out, OK?

Day of Rest

Having a headache in my house while wishing for peace, happiness, good will toward men and for Trot to stop singing that song from "Aladdin" over and over again has about the same odds of Jr playing point guard for the Celtics.

So I spent the day with one eye open watching football while chaos and carnage raged on beside me and uttering the phrase "WILL YOU TRY AND BE QUIET" roughly 8,000 times. And as usually happens when I get a headache, it was cold enough outside I could have hung meat outside so no letting them run around the neighborhood terrorizing old ladies and random dogs.

Another given of me having a headache is I ended up apologizing to Ang several times for being a Grade A jack wagon and probably have to take the kids to the park AT LEAST 3 times to make up for the volcanic like eruptions that went off at various intervals.

Some days I really wish life came with a do-over button.

Stupid is as Stupid does

This post is directed to the person on Facebook who wondered why welfare recipients didn't have to pay taxes on their benefits.

Do me a favor. Walk a mile in a welfare recipient's shoes and THEN come talk to me.

What in the name of Ted William's head has happened to this country where people are complaining about welfare recipients NOT paying taxes?

Sorry, but the God I believe in implored us to help the poor and the down trodden, look after our fellow man, and in general not act like the south bound end of a north bound donkey.

P.S. Dear MLB; can you please hurry up and get here? 'Cause I'm about one more idiot and a pack of donuts away from fragging somebody.

At least it wasn't a Tumor

For about an hour and a half tonight I was fairly certain I was having a heart attack. No major trigger to explain it, unless you count taking Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to Target to buy Pokemon cards.

And toilet paper. Can't forget the toilet paper.

As I sat in the living room wondering why it felt like a two ton bulldozer was sitting on my chest I tried to figure out if I needed to alert Ang to this issue or just chalk it up to gas and call it a day.

Thankfully it went away on it's own and I'm going to blame the fact that I ate dinner in approximately 3.7 minutes, during which I discussed with Rakes all the reasons I wasn't going to let him spend $40 on the aforementioned Pokemon cards.

The fact pitchers and catchers are reporting in the very near future may well be the only thing keeping me from an EKG machine and some electric paddles.

I Pray for His Bus Driver Next Year

In taking Trot to school everyday, I've mastered the art of having a conversation about ANYTHING.

From asking me to "make the sun stop shining in my eyes" to discussions about why does Sponge Bob live in a Pineapple to the always popular "Where do babies come from?". I'd even go so far to say that driving that little maniac to school helps me prepare for my job, where the art of improv and thinking on your feet come in pretty handy.

Today was pretty standard fare; he sang "Angels We Have Heard On High", badly mangling the lyrics and at one point I'm pretty sure he warbled "Gloria, in except of speeding tickets" while I tried to come completely awake and not run the car off the road.

Our usual scenario once we get in the car line is him to climb into the front seat and either roll the window up and down 3,599 times or raise/lower the passenger seat so many times that I'm pretty sure Vegas has an over/under on when he'll burn the motor out while I wonder why I get him there at 9 when they don't ever bother to come get them until 9:05.

Today? He switched things up. Climbing up beside me, he put his book bag in the seat, climbed into the floor and laid on his back while propping his feet up on the seat. Watching all this in silence, once he was comfortable I asked the obvious question.

"Son. What in God's name are you doing?"

His answer?

" 'Tause it's WARM down here."

Can't argue logic I guess.

Another Day, Another Check Mark

"Relax, all right? Don't try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring; besides that, they're fascist. Throw some ground balls. It's more democratic."
- CRASH DAVIS (Kevin Costner) in Bull Durham (1988)

Is it Spring yet?

New Year, Same Result

I've made my official 2011 New Year's Resolution.

I pledge to have no more children!

That being said, I fully expect my first two Grandson's to be the re-incarnation of Jesse and Frank James.

Look at that picture and tell me you see otherwise.

Animal Planet meets THE Animal Planet

They named the new fish Pedroia and Tigger.

Tigger is the little one, and Pedroia, ironically, is the bigger one.

Turns out Tigger seems to love chasing after Pedroia incessantly and irritating the crap out of him.

Where have I seen this phenomenon before?

I got enough animals to take care of already

Ang and the kids have been after me for the past couple of years to get a pet. Before we moved into the house we're in now, we had a great Chow/Golden Retriever mix named Marino who was, in my humble opinion, the Best. Dog. Ever.

After we moved she ran away, which she'd never done before, and since then we've been pet-less. Unless you count Trot.

Naturally at first we talked about a dog. But with Angie's insistence it be an outdoor dog and the fact our neighborhood will only let you have a certain kind of fence combined with my insistence on hanging the Red Sox B on said fence which would violate said neighborhood ordinance, we moved on to cats.

It took approximately 3 minutes of discussion about cats to rule them out. Cats are high strung creatures of habit; 5 minutes with Rakes and Trot and the cat would need shock therapy and be on a lifetime supply of Prozac just to make it through each day.

So I somehow let Ang convince me to get the fish tank out of storage and tonight we spent 3 months salary on a heater, thermometer, some kind of drops that eliminate chlorine, and 2 months water bill to fill it up. Once we've reached 76 degrees, it's ready for some fish. Which is why after church tomorrow I'll be at the pet store buying, and I quote, "A Tiger Fish, one that looks like Dory, and this REALLY cute small one that is pink".

Which is all well and good. Fish are relatively low maintenance; feed 'em every other day, clean the tank once a month, and you should be good.

However, can you imagine what this lunatic is going to do when I tell him he can't take them out of the tank and carry them around the house?

Sometimes they surprise you.

Thanks to two couples who popped in the store at approximately 6:55 p.m. tonight and a quick drive to my Mom's to say goodbye to my sister and her family before they headed back to Oklahoma, I got home a little after 8 tonight.

Surprisingly, Rakes and Trot were actually sitting still on the couch watching some Charlie Brown special and not re-enacting the final 7 minutes of the Undertaker vs Mankind "Hell in a Cell" match and I was told Ciera was spending the night with her friend across the street.

It wasn't 2 minutes later the doorbell rang and Ciera was on my front porch. Letting her in, I gave her a big hug, asked about her day, and inquired why she was home.

Remember, she's 12 going on 30 and full of raging hormones. Her reply to my question?

"I was watching to see when you came home. I just wanted to come give you a hug and tell you I love you."

Sometimes?

They go and do something that breaks your heart.

In a totally great way.

Reflecting

I had my picture taken with Red Auerbach in Boston back in June.

It was that kind of year.

Unexpected trip to my favorite place on earth thanks to the kindness and generosity of JB and countless other great people combined with the Three Amigos Wandering Spectacular to Florida and Georgia helped make 2010 one for the ages.

It also greatly lessened the sting of turning 40 and the inevitable collateral damage of also turning officially middle aged.

My wife still loves me, my kids haven't killed me yet, I've got 2 great friends (one being a certifiable lunatic and the other just plain certifiable not withstanding) and the Red Sox have loaded up the Gatling Gun for the upcoming season.

Here's to 2011 being even better.

Coming Soon.

As the chaos know as the Christmas Holiday finally winds down and all the gifts have been open and dinners have been eaten and Trot has had, hopefully, his last epic meltdown of the Yuletide season I find myself taking a moment to reflect.

My family had a fantastic Christmas. I got to see friends from Boston and family from Oklahoma and got cards from all over the country that were sent by people who thought enough of me and my raging band of lunatics to take the time to send us a note saying they were thinking about us.

My kids got pretty much everything they wanted (Except Rakes and the elusive I Pod. I keep having to remind him he's SEVEN.) and while I didn't get Peace on Earth I at least got Nobody Went to the ER.

Yeah, my house is sort of a mess still, and yeah that is kicking my OCD into overdrive but I'm pretty sure by Sunday it'll be back to normal, the kids will be fussing about having to go to school, and I'll be back to debating with myself whether I should go ahead and buy that home Heart Attack Paddle kit I saw in the L.L. Bean catalog or just let it ride and hope for the best.

But as I sit here with snow on the ground, my driveway packed with ice and the sounds of Trot yelling like a banshee some 4 hours before echoing in my mind, there is one image that I found that reminds me better, warmer days are ahead.

I'm not sure how many days it is until pitchers and catchers report, but I do know it's closer today than it was yesterday.

And that's good enough for now.

*Image courtesy of boston.com*

Christmas Day Diary

5:30 a.m.

Trot wakes me up by coming down the stairs like a strung out Himalayan elephant and running into my room screaming "Santa came last night" while I do everything in my power not to throw the pillow my head is laying on at him.

5:31a.m. to 6:30 a.m.

I lay on my side and pray for death or the final present to be opened, whichever comes first. (Side note: I stayed up until 1 reading the new Dennis Lehane novel so I sort of did it to myself.)

6:30 a.m. to around 10 a.m.

Ever tried to sleep with 3 kids hopped up on Christmas Day adrenaline and remote control cars?

10 a.m. to 1 p.m.

Nana bought them the Wii Fit, and after several attempts to figure out why the remotes wouldn't work I realized you had to "sync" it. I was about 2 minutes from throwing it out the front door before figuring this out. Turns out reading the directions actually DOES help. Go figure.

This thing is wild; it tells you your Body Mass Index, how much weight you need to lose or gain, and your "Wii Fit" age. Turns out I'm really 48, which surprised me; due to my lack of any type of physical activity and questionable diet I was figuring on about 67.

1 p.m. to 6:45 p.m.

Late lunch with family at my Mom's house, followed by a couple of hours playing some card game called "Hand and Foot" which I'm pretty sure my brother in law made up on the spot just to screw with me. Throw in Trot doing SEVERAL renditions of Christmas Carols while sounding eerily like the Chinese waiters at the end of "A Christmas Story" and Rakes running around wearing a wrestling title belt and we were one turkey catching on fire away from an episode of COPS.

6:45 to 8:30 p.m.

Trot, Rakes, and Ciera playing the Wii while on 4 hours of sleep while Ang and I tried to read. Somehow Trot slipped through the defense lines and snuck an ice cream sandwich into the toy room, yet when found with chocolate all over his face and the wrapper STILL IN HIS HAND he had the marbles to yell "I Didn't do ANYTHING!" This is what happens to 4 year olds on Christmas Day who slept less than your average tweaker the night before, had sensory overload with free toys all day and hopped up on gum, ice cream, and roughly 2300 M&M's.

8:30 to present time of 9:46 p.m.

Ang and Ciera are curled up watching a movie, Trot and Rakes are sound asleep, and I'm desperately trying to get my heart beat back to normal after Ciera yelled out 30 minutes ago that she had a leak in her ceiling and the snow was coming through the roof.

Turns out her lava lamp went all Rosemary's Baby and was spewing whatever that liquid is in a lava lamp out all over her while she was reading.

I now know how Clark Griswold felt when he realized Cousin Eddie was, in fact, standing on his lawn.

Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Man, and Opening Day can't get here fast enough.

Christmas, however, is still in December

From my loud, deranged, and chaotic corner of the world to yours;

Merry Christmas.

Blue Christmas

It's been a few days since I posted, but that was due to the fact we got the Blues for a few days. JB and Amy came to visit and as usual it went by too fast and they left too soon.

We've got a day's worth of memories, along with some wicked awesome Sox stuff and speaking for the entire deranged crew?

We can't wait until they visit again.

My biggest wish for everyone who reads this blog is that there is someone in your life that you think as much about that you get to spend a little time with over the Christmas Holiday.

Up is Down and Down is Up.

My Mother in Law bought me Dennis Lehane's new novel "Moonlight Mile" for Christmas. But no matter how much I turn on the charm or beg or plead, she won't let me have it until Christmas.

Too lazy to go the library and too cheap to actually buy a new book, I'm reading Bill Simmons "Now I Can Die in Peace" for about the 3,694th time. Much to my amazement, I find something new each time I turn the page.

Tonight, I found this little blurb that not only made me smile, but in light of the Yankees chuckle inducing off season of missing out on Cliff Lee, Carl Crawford, AND Zack Greinke and due to the fact their biggest signs have been 41 year old Mariano Rivera and Jeets this is even MORE poignant.

Simmons, talking about Tom Gordon flipping out over Dave Roberts dancing off first base in Game 5 of the ALCS and giving up a single to Trot Nixon (regular readers know how much I love me some Trot) and causing Torre to bring in The Fruit Bat who then gave up a sac fly to Tek that tied the game:

"One of the most unfair blown saves. Then again, f*** him".

Other than the whole "One of the most unfair blown saves" thing, this was EXACTLY what I was thinking when it happened.

I have no idea how I'm making it through the next 4 months.

But the 2011 baseball season is gonna be one for the ages.

18 and Counting

Today marks the day Ang lost her ever loving mind and actually said "I do" and when she did I was as shocked as anybody. Her actually agreeing to spend the rest of her life with me ranks right up there in the "Holy Crap" Hall of Fame. J.R. Ewing getting shot, the Red Sox winning the '04 ALCS and Jack Bauer chopping his partners hand off in order to save the world are about the only three moments that actually top it.

Somehow we've made it another year without killing each other or the kids sending one of us off the reservation and Trot gave us the best anniversary present we could have asked for; he's finally completely, totally, 100% potty trained. No more diapers at night!

So we head into year 19 with Ciera on the threshold of teenager-land, Rakes edging ever so closer into "Hey Dad! Watch me ride my ripstick off the roof and onto the trampoline!" territory, and Trot.......well, let's just say it's gonna take a lot of Band Aids, super glue, and Prozac to get to a year from today.

Thanks to the prettiest girl who'll ever walk in the room for the best 18 years of my life.

Jerry Remy Stunk

Christmas is almost here and pitchers and catchers reporting is right around the corner.

Thank God.

El Gringo Guapo

I gotta give credit for the title to Jr, who texted me the news of the Bobby Jenks signing while I was at work today.

The fact that behemoth of a man with the pink paint brush hanging off his chin and the chest Dolly Parton would envy is now the Red Sox 7th inning set up man has me positively giddy.

Throw in the caveat that Theo signed him for TWO years and you've got more potential comedic situations than the average Three Stooges episode.

Let the Bobby Jenks Era begin!

When I dream, I dream BIG

//"It's plenty of money," Lee said. "When you hit a certain point, enough's enough. It's just a matter of where you're comfortable, where you're happy, where your family's the most comfortable, what team gives you the best chance to win."//

The more I think about this whole "Cliff Lee left a crap load of money on the table and basically told the Yankees he'd rather play in a city where they boo'd Santa Claus AND Mike Schmidt than take their money and deal with idiot reporters every day" thing the more amazed I get.

Look, the fact he's gonna be part of one of the best starting rotations ever factored in his decision, along with the fact he loved the manager, his teammates, and the city. And the Phillies are one of the top 5 teams in the game and figure to stay there for the foreseeable future. But what Lee did is completely opposite of what every other player the Yankees set their sights on has ever done; CC, Burnett, Slappy, Rogah, Kevin Brown, Damon, etc.. all paid lip service to listening to other teams offers only to bolt to the Yankees when they opened up the vault.

I jokingly referenced the scene in "Training Day" on Facebook the other day about how all of a sudden it's like the rest of the league has turned into the project residents that Washington's Alonzo Harris had crapped on for years and the Yankees were now Alonzo Harris. They've bullied and bribed and spent their way to the top for so many years that it's almost like the league is as sick of it as everybody whose not a Yankee fan walking the streets are. And they turn a deaf ear to his yelling and ordering and intimidating and simply walk away.

Like most things I come up with it was completely grabbed out of my rear end with no basis on fact and was, predictably, wrong. Lee is the exception, not the rule and I'm sure they'll be plenty of players in the near future who will follow the all-mighty dollar. The Yankees will always be the lead dog in the race to sign any big name free agents and it'll be a pier six brawl in the AL East until the day Gabriel blows his horn.

But for one brief instance in my addled, sleep deprived, Sponge Bob Squarepants saturated brain, it was Training Day all over again.

Thanks, Cliff.

How about that?

*Image from www.waitingfornextyear.com*

Eat it, Hank.

Lee goes to Philadelphia for 5 years, leaving roughly half the U.S. deficit on the table, and sends the collective Yankee fan base over the edge.

Merry Christmas Red Sox Nation!

The NFL: Not For Long Term

According to the Associate Press, concussions are up 21% this year over last year. After all the new rules and fines and general freaking out by the league, concussions have gone UP.

Watch the video I linked. There is the equivalent of a car wreck on every. single. play. After they reach the age of 45 I would bet you there aren't too many men who played professional football who don't need 30 minutes, a pie chart and an algebra teacher to figure out the physics of putting on a pair of pants in the morning due to chronic pain. Yes, they choose a violent way to make a living. And yes, they get compensated extremely well to play the game. Nobody put a gun to their head and told 'em to do it and most go into knowing they are giving up years on the back nine to play the front.

Saying all that, the NFL wants to INCREASE the number of games from 16 to EIGHTEEN next year.

The NFL is a printing press for money; the league, the owners, the players, the television networks and the advertisers all profit. And if they have a work stoppage or lock out or whatever they want to call it next year I'll be as ticked off as the next guy.

UNLESS it's over the players refusing to play those 2 extra games.

When it comes to their long term health?

I'll take their side every time.

I LOVE the Winter Meetings. Especially THIS year.

*Image courtesy of newyork.cbslocal.com*

Quote courtesy of my brother from another mother.

"[Bleeping] Theo," one GM said of Boston general manager Theo Epstein. "What a brilliant move."

To paraphrase the great Hannibal Smith?

I love it when a plan comes together.

It's a Beautiful Thing

Trying to wrap my mind around the past few days hasn't been easy; all of a sudden the Red Sox have gone from talking about things like "fiscal integrity", "bridge years" and fretting about the Yankees spending the equivalent of the budget of Bulgaria each season to what we've seen the past week or so.

The formerly conservative front office has turned into the baseball version of Richard Pryor in the all-time classic "Brewsters Millions". If I didn't know better I'd swear Henry told Theo he had to spend a gazillion dollars before Opening Day or his 2011 salary wouldn't kick in. They've given an 8 year and a 7 year contract that combined are worth around $300 million, made an offer to Mariano Rivera, were in on the Jason Werth deal, told Cliff Lee they'd give him a 7 year deal, are trying to sign Russell Martin, are rumored to be in on every available relief pitcher out there. At this point it wouldn't shock me if they brought back Pedro to pitch just Opening Day for $25 million and then have him coach third the rest of the year.

Don't get me wrong; as a fan, I love this stuff. And they're doing it the right way; giving long term deals to guys hitting their prime, locking up their young players to team friendly contracts, and keeping the fan base invested while at the same time causing the Yankees and their acolytes to go completely bats***. I'd give Jr's left marble to be a fly on the wall inside THEIR meetings right about now; Theo has ensured they will give idiotic money and idiotic years to try and get Cliff Lee, and they'll probably offer their entire farm system for Zack Greinke, who has to be at least 50/50 odds to totally go Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" after 3 months in that zoo.

Basically, this is better than that Christmas I had as a kid when I got a Redskins helmet, an Atari 2600 and my sister got a whipping for doing something terrible to me. I can't quite remember what she did, but I'm sure it was big time awful. However, that doesn't answer the question of "Why?". Why now, and not last year or 3 years ago or whenever you want to pick did they decide to do this? I don't KNOW why, but I've got as good a reason as any.

My guess? One day after the season ended and probably before he decided to buy a soccer team in England (Yes. John Henry bought a soccer team. Don't ask me why; could be as simple as he just can.) I think he had a come to Jesus moment.

He woke up, looked in the mirror and did what I imagine he does every morning; marveled at the fact he looks just like Crispin Glover in "Back to the Future" when Marty comes back home and his Dad and Mom are super cool and the guy who tried to rape his Mom back in the 50's is now washing his Dad's cars. (Think about THAT for a minute.)

Then he said "I'm John Freaking Henry. I own the Boston Red Sox, I've got more money than Thurston Howell III, my wife is smoking hot, and I haven't had to tie my own shoes in years. I'm the proprietor of one of the most revered and loved sports franchises with one of the national treasures of ball parks, have more boats, cars, homes, and pocket protectors of anyone I know. Sure I'm a little bit nerdy, and yeah I'm about as comfortable in front of a camera as The Elephant Man but I freaking OWN THE BOSTON RED SOX! For years I've let those thugs in New York throw money around like they print it in the basement of Yankee Stadium while I acted like I owned the Kansas City Royals instead of the FREAKING BOSTON RED SOX!"

"It's time to make the donuts!"

He probably immediately called Theo, told him to stroll into the winter meetings smoking Cuban cigars lit by $100 dollar bills while dressed like Sherlock Holmes and declare to the
entire throng in attendance "Gentlemen. The game is afoot."

I am officially GIDDY about the 2011 baseball season.

Moments in TIme

John Lennon died 30 years ago today.

Is it just me, or is the fact Howard Freaking Cosell was the guy who broke the news the height of irony?



6 years prior he had that conversation with Lennon.

The fact it was a Pats/Dolphin overtime game when he broke the news about Lennon's death only piles on to the issue.

One of the best musicians of all time died and Howard Cosell is the dude who announced it to the world.

That is the modern day equivalent of Chris Berman saying Bono died.

Only without all the inevitable "Back, back, back to the Joshua Tree!" crap.

RIP, John. And hopefully the rest of us will someday give Peace a Chance.

I'm only smiling to keep from crying

Ciera is as excited as I am about Gonzo arriving in Boston.

And if you plan on showing up on my doorstep one day wanting to take my baby girl out for the evening?

You better have a plan, a graph telling me where you're going, and her home by 10:30. And not in my driveway at 10:30 but in MY living room at 10:30.

BTW? YOU will be in your car on the way home at that point.

'Course this is 20 years in the future so you've got some time.

Sweet Holy Moses where has the last 12 years gone?

And is it too late for her to join the convent?

You call it weird. I call it Monday night supper.

*Image courtesy of my sister Sheri*

While I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Ciera was prattling off about her day, and Trot was mangling his roast beef and asking for the 4,000th time if he could be done, Rakes and I had the following exchange.

Rakes: "Dad. Is bench a bad word?"

Me: "What?"

Rakes: "Is bench a bad word?"

Me: (Thinking some kid taught him some Snoop Dog lyrics at school today) "Is bench a bad word? No. What are you talking about?"

Rakes: (Clearly annoyed) "Is BENCH a bad word?"

Me: "How do you mean?"

Rakes: "Like, you are a bench. Is it bad?"

Me: (Thinking, thinking, thinking.....) "Where did you hear it?"

Rakes: "In a book about Justin Beiber I read."

Me: (He can barely read I am Sam. How is he reading a book about Justin Beiber? Where did he get it? How fast can I burn it? What is he talking about?) "You read a book about Justin Beiber? Why would you do that?"

Rakes: "I don't know. Hey Dad. I got to the next level on Mario Brothers."

Me: (Thank God. I really didn't want to finish the road we were heading down.) "That's great, son. Keep up the good work."

In an unrelated note, the Adrian Gonzalez deal is official.

Jr, you can come inside off the ledge now.

Next?

Gonzo is in. I think.

Jason Werth took $126 million to play for....... The Nationals.

No, really. He signed with the Washington Nationals.

Rivera and Captain Intangibles are back in the Bronx, I'll be seeing Buzz Lightyear and Woody in my dreams, and I paid $30 FOR THREE ICEES IN A PLASTIC BOTTLE today.

Yep. Sounds about right.

Gonzo

Looks like Youk is moving back to Third Base and the Adrian Beltre era in Boston lasted approximately 1 year, which I gotta admit; sort of sucks. No more home runs hit from a kneeling position, no more defensive plays at third that looked like something out of "The Matrix", and no more demented looks while chasing some teammate who thought it would be hilarious to rub the head of an insane person.

Let the Adrian Gonzales era commence.

Check out his career stats here, playing close attention to 2007-2010.

This is gonna be fun to watch.

In an unrelated note, I'm taking the kids to THIS tomorrow afternoon.

God help me.

Cue the Music: Welcome Back.

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

Looks like the Captain is gonna be around for at least one more year. 1 year, $2 million base salary with another $300,000 possible with incentives are the figures that keep Jason Varitek in Boston, at least for next season.

I gotta admit; my stomach was in knots at the prospect of seeing him in a Dodger, Blue Jay, or Oriole uniform. The fact that he probably won't hit his body weight at the plate next year doesn't bother me.

There are still 3 certainties left in my life.

1. Trot is more than likely going to do SOMETHING tomorrow that would result in imprisonment in a foreign country.

2. Rakes will work the word "nuts" into a conversation at some point in the next 24 hours.

And 3? Jason Varitek will be wearing a Red Sox uniform with the letter "C" on his chest next year.

One out of Three ain't bad.

Let's Hear it for the Old Dudes.

I'm 40 years old and can't walk to the mailbox without stopping to catch my breath. Granted, I sell furniture for a living so the comparison is sort of skewed, but the fact Jamie Moyer just underwent Tommy John surgery and is already planning a comeback at the age of FORTY NINE in 2012 made me swell up with pride.

In a sport where you're considered "old" at 35 and ancient at the age of 40, Moyer is planning to come back from MAJOR surgery TWO years from now and pitch against a bunch of young pups full of youth, vigor, and not enough smarts to come in out of the rain.

From my perspective, this is the real-life equivalent of Rocky Balboa coming out of retirement to fight some 20 something punk itching to beat down a legend.

I think taking Rakes to Target on a Wednesday night to buy some Pokemon cards is tough; this cat is willing to have ligament transplant surgery, go through thousands of hours of rehab and weeks and months of pain and misery all for the prospect of throwing a 85 mile an hour fastball to Albert Freaking Pujols.

It almost makes me want to go out, join the local gym, and put in hours of pain and suffering so I can play on the church's softball team next season.

Almost.

I may be old but I'm not senile.

Yet.