Let's get one thing straight...

OK, my monkeys. There has been some debate over the outcome of a battle of me versus TMS. Let's look at some facts.

1. It is true I like beer and sausage more then TMS. Edge: TMS.
2. I move with the speed of a drunk mongoose with the speed of TWO drunken mongooses. Edge: Bunny.
3. Steve Perry is on my side. Edge: WAY Bunny.
4. TMS can see her feet. Edge: TMS.
5. I can see TMS's feet. Edge: Bunny.
6. TMS can recite every Supreme Justice ever born. Ever. Edge: Bunny (distraction by me.)
7. Bunny likes bacon. (ahh, the power of bacon.) Edge: Bunny.

Clearly, I would win by a score of 5-2. Of course, this does not factor in such elements as physical prowess or stamina, bu that doesn't matter.

Bacon rules us all in one form or another.

See you soon, monkeys.

I finally figured it out.

I always had a hard time articulating my love for baseball relative to football. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy football greatly, and follow it passionately when in season. I love my Pats, and the joyous barbeques they bring and cause.

But let's get one thing straight right now.

Football is no baseball, and it never will be. At least not for me.

For me, football is pablum when steak is not available. It is brown, when orange is sold out.

As I (frequently) get into battles with football fans, I usually fail miserably.

Untill now.

I have finally figured out a way to express my feelings for baseball versus football. Interestingly, it came to me in the form of a comparative statement. So, here it is.

My Baseball Comparative Statement

Baseball is to football as chess is to foxy boxing.

I think that works rather well. Of course, I invite all opinions on the matter.

Meanwhile, the Sox are 0-2, and Barry Fucking Bonds* is still roaming the planet, albeit on crutches (coincidence? Maybe Barry Fucking Bonds, as the piece of dog shit he is, is using the "injury" as time to allow his head to shrink back down to a normal human's head before resuming his pitiful subterfuge of denial.)

But I don't even care. I'll be in Boston soon (two days) hanging with the posse, awaiting Opening Day (fa-la-la-la-la-la-la) and the purchase of my shiny new jersey. (Who to get? I haven't decided.)

See you wacky cheeseburgers and hamburgers soon.

A.

A sad entry.

To Heather and Chuck;

I am truly sorry for the loss of your father. I can't begin to comprehend what that feels like; it scares me to know I will someday.

To everyone else;

Call your dad (and mom) and tell them you love them. Do it right now.

Mine Eyes Hath Seen The Glory...

My God.

I just finished watching A League Of Thier Own.

My God.

I never realized how much of a perfect synthesis of all that is right in this world that movie is.

Baseball and chicks.

Chicks and baseball.

Chicks playing baseball.

Hot chicks playing baseball.

Hot chicks playing baseball in skirts!

My God.

And if you took out Rosie "Ima Guy" O'Donell and Madonna, they'd be Hella-hot chicks playing baseball in skirts.

Although, truth be told, I can think of one other cutie that would look hella-hot in one of dem dere outfits, and she'd make one hell of a second baseman. (I'd pay to see her hit fifth or sixth. My money's on .295/20/85, OPB .800 anyway; she's too swank to throw out.)

Now, excuse me whilst I go do just that.

11 days, 23 hours, 16 minutes until spring training.

Fuck....us!

A treatise in self-doubt.

Hello, friends.

I am writing today to speak to an issue many feel uncomfortable talking about.

Yes, I'm speaking of the inner Steve Perry in us all.

I've gotten a really interesting smattering of responses from people regarding my Steve Perry test. Almost all have been positive, and I've really enjoyed watching people learn which SP they are. but, there are those that doubt. I guess I can understand this. And to those I say; don't be afraid. I know you question yourselves. I know you have concerns. But that's ok. Noone wants to learn more about themselves when that knowledge could compromise one's self-image.

I'm talking to you, Foxxe. Don't worry. Take the test, and have the courage to learn more about yourself than you thought possible.

And to others I say this; help me put the Foxxe at ease. Write to him. Comment on his blog. Let him know we will continue to love and respect him regardless of which Steve Perry is truly is.

We're here for you Foxxe.

I think Steve said it best when he penned Rubicon. Foxxe, here are the lyrics just for you. Garner strength from them, friend, and take the quiz.

We love you, Foxxe. Take a ride across the Rubicon, my friend; burning youth won't wait.


Rubicon

In this promised land
Fire burnin in our hands
The choice is ours to make
Realize your fantasy
You live the dream
With every step you take
Stand tall stand on the edge
Use the thin end of the wedge
The will to cast your fate
Don't turn around too late
Lose ground if we hesitate
Burning youth won't wait

Make a move across the rubicon
Futures knockin' at your door
Take your time
And choose the road you want
Opportunity is yours

See it all so clear
Time is right time is near
We know now what to do
All God's children learn
Which way to turn
Turning back we're through
We all refuse to lose
Live life and light the fuse
Burning youth won't wait

It's about friggin' time.

Everyone, stop what you are doing and take this test right now. I designed it to bring out the truth in everyone. Actually, all it does it show you what you already know.

Good luck!

The best of something or another...

Yeah, I've lived a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. Okay, a lot.

And what have I seen? What has life been gracious enough to show me, and divinity been kind enough to allow me to see it and appreciate it for what it is?

Well, let's just think about that, shall we?

What is the greatest x you've ever encountered or experienced?

I'll tell you what...I'll start. Then, I implore you to speak up; enthrall me with your acumen into your own lives.

Let's root around the dank, stale basements of our pasts and dust off those artifacts that shine the brightest in spite of the crust of funk the daily grind applies with a frightening speed...


The Best Wine I've Ever Drank Straight From the Bottle: 1998 Bernard Morey Grand Cru Batard-Montrachet. (Flippin' brilliant wine, even from the bottle.)

The Best Comfort Food I've Ever Had: Easy one; smack n' cheese with bits of hot dog in it.

The Best Temperature I've Ever Felt: 78 degrees fahrenheit, while basking on a beach in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

The Best Rock Concert I've Ever Attended: The Who, 2001, at the Tweeter Center in MA. It was soon after John Entwistle died of an overdose, so the band was kinda sad, but completely committed to providing a kick-ass show in his honor. If you've never heard a six-minute live introduction to Eminence Front, you have not lived, my friends.

The Best Beer I've Ever Had: Pete's Wicked Winter Brew. A retardedly yummy blend of beer, raspberries, and nutmeg. If they had added oral sex and sirloin steak to the recipe, I would have to have killed myself out of sheer recognition that life would simply never get any better.

The Best Snack Food I've Ever Had: Andy Capp's Pub Fries. They no longer make them. They were like Bugles, only with a rockstar factor of about twelve. So, of course, they discontinue them and risk evoking my ire. (Note to self: cut them. Cut them all.)

The Best Bullshit Excuse For Not Calling Me I've Ever Heard: "I'm sorry I didn't call. I was in Times Square and couldn't find a pay phone."

Ok, now it's your turn. And be creative. Favorite songs, movies, et al are great but somewhat mundane, eh? Let's drop trou and get to the nitty-gritty!

The Greatest Opening Lines.

Sometimes, I find myself experiencing an opening line to a book, song, or poem that is wonderous. And, since I know you little monkeys have opinions on the matter, I figured I'd open the floor up. I'll start it off with some entries (in no particular order.)


"Call me Ishmael"

-Moby Dick, Herman Melville



"Wasting away the hours that make up a lonely day/
fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way"

-Time, Pink Floyd


"Dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today
2 get through this thing called life"

-Let's Get Crazy, Prince

Naptown Dandy (or, New Character brings it.)

This just in... (not really)

New Character came to Naptown last weekend. The mission? To bring it to a whole new level.

Boy howdy.

A few first-period cocktails at 14F, then off to the local for a night of sippy-sippy and guy-spying for NC. We introduced her around a bit, and she took to the skies. many drinks later, she was getting felt-up on the dance floor, and invited to birthday parties.

Well done, madam. Well done.

Before I forget...

Here is a transcript of Master Clark's New Year's Eve Speech. As with last year, he chickened out at the last moment, and only I got to hear the speach. I coaxed the paper from his hand, as all should have access to the speech. So, here it is. (If you like, imagine yourself all dolled up and buzzed for effect.)


Clark Madden's 2005 New Year's Eve Speech

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen; let me first thank our kind hosts at 14 Fleet. The standard for parties here was already very high; but I think we can agree this one shatters all previous records.

Speaking of parties past, Adam kindly asked me to offer the toast last year, and I actually wrote one, but I chickened out at the last moment. Now, however, fortified by a small washbasin of excellent martinis and the events of the year, I hope I am ready to embark.

I considered a number of different approaches; an Annapolis-themed parody of War of the Worlds, a Donald Rumsfeld-style Q&A session, a discussion of the election to be entitled "What the Expletive Happened?" But, ultimately, I couldn't make any of them work. I was temped to recycle last year's "The Year That Was" format, but instead, in keeping with the party's theme I respectfully submit our "Year That Will Be: A Vision of Annapolis in 2015."

Much of this glimmering city of the future remains familiar; the State House, the ridiculously overpowered and unimaginative private motor yachts and parking, even of hover cars, continues to suck. But much has changed too; and entire "Escape From New York"-style district has sprung around the ruins of the old Mexican Cafe and only those actually able to breathe magnificant bathtub tequila dare enter to forage for Huevos Rancheros and barter for illicit Parliaments, the only cigarette available.

Polar melting has submerged much of City Dock, and the construction of seventy-two new circles, a project begun in 2006 and still largely incomplete, make accessing the city center harder than it's been in a hundred years. One building clings tenaciously to life in the waters off State Circle; a lively underwater cantina, known simply as "14 F." There atop nimble robot bodies are the heads of Centamore, (sic), and Marshall, immersed in sweet, delicious liquor hosting parties and thrilling the younger guests with stories of a time before Astrolounge (TM, 2010) became a household name.

This concludes our tour of Annapolee 2105, home of the nation's largest interstellar boat show. Thank you for indulging me; to 2005, happiness, prosperity, and two o'clock licenses for all.

Happy New Year.

HEED THIS WARNING, CHICKEN FUCKERS.

If ANYONE, repeat ANYONE, EVER gets me this for ANY occassion EVER (!) I will HUNT your ass down and I...will...CUT...YOU.

Thank you for your attention in these matters.

The Costs of Doing Business with The Foxxe.

Ok. We need to talk.

The Foxxe's reaction to my op-ed piece on his manse was, I think, misguided. Let me refresh your memories...

I wrote a delightful satirical piece on Dan's Mansion, and included some of his most fervent fans. Sure, I took the liberty of doing so in a light-hearted "Medieval" tongue, but what the heck? He wanted to keep the drawbridge up all the time!

his response?

"Oh, for shame! And oh how the mighty have fallen. Once the Bunny roamed the frozen wastes of the Greater Quincy area and neither rain nor sleet nor snow would keep him from his appointed rounds. Now he quivers in fear at the thought of a mere four inches of snow.The Land of Pleasant Living has made you soft and weak, oh fretful Bunny. You must be... corrected."

Soft and weak? SOFT AND WEAK?

Ahem.

My dear friend Dan, may I be the first to assure you I am neither soft nor weak. My reluctance to sojurn into the snowy day was not for want to do so, nor was it 'fear' of the snow. Unfortunately, you seem to forget the utter lack of quality snow response is here; they have none. Four inches to them shuts things down. (Case in point: it snowed two inches yesterday, and half the town closed mid-day.) They don't know how to deal with it. And DC, believe it or not, is actually worse. (TMS, Whisky, Josh, back me up here.)

As far as "correcting me", well my friend, the Rockstar sayeth...

...bring it on, bitch.

(See you next week! I am ALL sorts of fired up.)

(For those not in the know, The Foxxe is comin' to town next weekend. Word.)

A Commentary on "A Man's Home."

The Foxxe wishes a manse akin to this. Who can blame him? I would love it, and I don't really like large abodes. In this manner, I find my opinions commensurate with TSF.

From there out, we differ. Whereas Dan feels he would comport himself in a regal, medieval manner towards those who visited (denying all that refuse to address him in a particular lexicon), methinks the interactions would be more like this...


Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part I (...or, the Princess approaches)

Heather approaches the upraised drawbridge, scans it over for a moment, and calls to Dan.

Heather: Dan! I'm here. Open up.
Dan: Callst me Lord of the Manor, and I shalst lettith you in, fair maiden!
H: Ha ha. Open the fucking door.
D: Whoist thinketh thine isethed? Darest you speaketh to me in sucheth a manor(eth)?
H: No, me thinketh if you don'teth open thine friggin' doorst, thy will findeth my foot in thine ass.
D: A parlay it is then! Knave! Openth the gate!

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part II (...or, rock you like a Bunnycane.)

I apporach the castle (all the while, learning how to spell "approach,") and call to Dan.

Adam: Dan-o! You magnificant bastard! Open up!
Dan: Hark! Doeth mine ears tell me truly? Is thateth the Bunnyethest?
A: Yep. Open up.
D: I can'st doeth thateth, my goodly friendst. Thine are awarest of the rules of thiseth fine castle?
A: (no response)
D: Speaketh, goodly sir!
A: (no response)

Dan looks over the edge of the wall, and sees me sitting on the ground drinking a High Life from the case I brought, flipping him the bird.

D: A parlay it is, then! Knave! Openeth the gate!

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part III (...or, gee, I hope it doesn't stain!)

Snuggles drives up in his pickup truck. Parking out front, he unloads the portable meat smoker from the bed. Grabbing his porta-cooler, he calls to Dan.

Snuggles: Dan! Open up! I'm eatin' corn!
Dan: Willsteth keepeth thine voice downeth? Mine neighbors areth nosy!
Snuggles: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dan: Knave! Openeth the gate!
Snuggles: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Oh, shit(eth)! Sorry, Dan, I got some
barbeque sauce on your door! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dan: Cometh in, good sir, and leaveth some of the joy and pork ribs you bringst with you!
Snuggles: WHOOOP! WHOOOP! BOOBIES! Here, have a rib.
Dan: Methinks theseth are the finest ribs thou hast hadeth since morns goneth by!
Snuggles: Are you ok, Dan? Are you RETAHDED or somethin'? When's the game on?
Dan: Goodly friendeth, kindly useth mine "Bounty" brand paper towelseth, as thine are getting rib bits on myst coucheth.
Snuggles: You got the remote? The Sox are on.
Dan: Sigh(eth)(est).



Yeah, that seems much more like it. Good luck, Dan. And a bit of advice; put plastic over the really classy stuff...party at your house.

Into the breach once more...

Howdy, monkeys.

How you been?

Since I last wrote, many interesting thinks have crossed my stars. Many indeed. Of note...

1. I am amidst a 'career change' at the moment.
2. The Pats are returning to their 3rd Super Bowl in four years in a couple of weeks.
3. I haven't summoned up the courage to fight my non-existant heroin addiction.
4. I have a tête-à-tête over raw fish coming up with a most delightful unofficial singer.
5. I still have two (count 'em, two) testicles.
6. I'm catching a fair amount of flack over my lack of entries.

My apologies to all. It's been a VERY interesting 2005 thus far, and if these first few weeks are plotting any kind of a graph for the rest of the year, I submit the following odds for your considerations.

Odds & Event

10:1

Rampant, drunk jackaloupe holds me at gunpoint while humping
my leg and calling me "Tess."

77:1

Inexplicably, NASA calls me asking for advice on how to properly
perform a competent azimuth calibration while riding a train. Even
more inexplicably, I happen to know the answer.

4:1

One of you will receive a call from me seeing if you know the whereabouts of either my dignity, my kidneys, or my autographed picture of the cast from Gilligan's Island. These odds include the likelihood of their having run off together.

1,375,999:2

I trick a beautful woman into dating me, and she somehow overlooks my proclivity for being an utter jackass.

34,632,867,234:1

At some point she (willingly) gives it up for the home team (ooh! bet on this one! You'll win $34.6 billion dollars for each dollar you bet! Foxxe, this can pay for the bar we always wanted. Can you say "black and ham"?)

17:1

I will conquer the whole "light without heat" argument, and go on to win the Nobel Peace Prize for Pie Eating.

81:3

Hollywood digititizes my likeness and re-masters an episode of Knight Rider to include me driving next to Kit in the Trans-Am from Smokey and the Bandit. I would have a catch phrase like, "Hey, muffins, drop that hat!", or, "Smellin' fine, baby, what's your face?"

107:1

I survive to turn 35.

yep, sure is going to be interesting.

The Politics Of Dancing...

Sup, fools?

Having a good weekend, I hope. I am, of sorts anyway. I once again successfully drank the local out of High Life Light on Saturday night. Speaking of insane, we were all gettin' down Saturday night at the local to the docit tones of the housse band who was kickin' it old style. The door opens, and roughly 45 Santas come through the door on a pub crawl. Oh, and an Elvis impersonator from Vegas happened to be there as well. Crazy, crazy shite, folks.

Some updates for New Years;

a. Our confirmed list has cleared the sixty person mark. About 70 more responses to go.
b. My folks might attend (sweet. that is, until about 1130. eek. Sorry in advance, mom.)
c. We have a little somthin' somethin' for midnight that Chapman, the Foxxe, Jesse, Ronan, and Garrett will totally dig.
d. The soundtrack this year will be neat-o. Working on it as I type this.

We're getting closer.


As for the Foxxe's last entry. I agree with his selection. I will also add National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation for a few reasons. One, Beverly D'Angelo is tres hot. Two, Randy Quaid is hysterical. And three, it's one of Chevy Chase's swan songs. As far as accompanying activities, I don my authentic Chicago Blackhawks "Griswold" jersey, identical to the one he wore in the movie. Yes, kiddies, I was so enthralled with Clark W. Griswold when I was 19 that I spent $300 to have the Blackhawks make me that jersey. Well, the good news is that they thought it was such a cool idea, they made an additional jersey, had him sign it, and it is hanging in their corporate office. Hmmm.


Talk with ya soon!

Ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.

"Can't stay at home, can't stay at school
Old folks say, ya poor little fool
Down the street I'm the girl next door
I'm the fox you've been waiting for..."

Can I get a "what what"?

I mean it. Can somebody, anybody, give me a "what what"?

It's been that kind of day.

Why?

Damn good question. I can't even figure it out. Except for the following...

1. Christmas is almost here.
2. I'm not dead.
3. I got my live "Styx & REO Speedwagon: Arch Allies" CD today, and there isn't a damn thing that the Fox or Heather can do about it, even though they are likely writhing in agony as they read this.

(In fact, before I continue, I shall now publish the lyrics to Take It On The Run. Enjoy!)

"Take It On The Run" [Originally by REO Speedwagon]

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

They say you got a boy friend
You're out late every weekend
They're talkin' about you and it's bringin' me down
But I know the neighborhood
And talk is cheap when the story is good
And the tales grow taller on down the line

But I'm telling you, babe
That I don't think it's true, babe
And even if it is keep this in mind
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

You're thinking up your white lies
You're putting on your bedroom eyes
You say you're coming home but you won't say when
But I can feel it coming
If you leave tonight keep running
And you need never look back again

You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

Now, where was I? Oh, yes...

4. New Year's is not too dar away, and I have a wonderful collection of misfits coming down for Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!

Now, more than a few of you have been wondering what this "Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!" is all about, and I can't says I's blames ya! Oh well. I can say I am more than thrilled at the prospect of having everyone (especially my brother and sister; Team Centamore is ready to bring the shit and get it ON!!!

(And how do we like my fancy Trebuchet font?)

It's going to be hella good stuff, man. Remember!

1. If you're on the guest list, righteous!
2. If you're not on the guest list, ask yourself two questions.
a. am I a swank chick?
b. am I single?
If you can answer yes to those two questions, You're on the list!

I wish I could give you more details, but we want you to be surprised. I can tell you this, though.

-To make this party happen, we needed a chainsaw.
-When all is said and done, over ten pounds of metal will have been used.
-I will be extra, super charming that night, especially after nine or so. Be sure to stop by and say hi!

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go try and find the fox in that song...

More later, all.

Ciao!

Five Reasons Why Barry Bonds* Can Go Fuck Himself.

5. His Babe Ruth comments.
4. "T could mean anything," Bonds* replied. "G could mean anything. And pee could probably mean anything."
3. Captain fucknuts (er, Mr. Bonds*) has the audacity to state he took steroids under the assumption they were flaxseed oil and arthritis medications.
2. When asked why he hadn't purchased a "mansion" for his personal pusher, oops I mean trainer, he responded thusly; ""One, I'm black, and I'm keeping my money. And there's not too many rich black people in this world. There's more wealthy Asian people and Caucasian and white. And I ain't giving my money up." Boy, oh boy, can he go fuck himself.
1. He has disgraced baseball and insulted the fans that supply his "black" money. Mr. Bonds*, kindly go fuck yourself.

(To all the ladies out there, my apologies for the harsh language. Mr. Bonds* has that effect on me. Not to fear, though, I am still the same old loveable Bunny I always was; I'm just faster and can jump higher now. Thank you.)

Back in the saddle.

Hey ho, monkeys.

Been a spell, I know. Thanks for bearing with me.

In the interim since my last entry, everything and nothing has been occuring. No major news, I suppose. I was supposed to return to Boston this weekend, and once again work took care of that. At some point, one must ask if the existing circumstances merit continuing...

On the up side, I resumed writing and guitar playing. Sometimes we forget how good things can make you feel. These are two hobbies of mine that do it for me. (Thanks, whiskypants, for reminding me of that.)

New Year's Eve is fast approaching, and our plans are cruising along. Be on the lookout for an invitation shortly...

The battles on the chick front are not going so well. Ack. All sorts of garbage going on, but I will forego writing, as it will incur the wrath of at least one person (a DC socialite in particular). Same old poop, I guess.

Still in euphoria over the Sox win. It's really funny, because I often encounter someone wearing a yankees cap, and they can't look me in the face. Good. Fuck 'em. They're probably child molesters anyway. Next up, the Patriots.

More to follow, I promise. just in a bit of a funk.

Mason, Heather, and K.K., can't wait to see you guys. Three weeks. Get the Belhaven ready.

World Fuckin' Serious.

On the day of the eve of what could be a historic night before tomorrow, I have a few thoughts and ramblings to share.

1. I still believe in Baseball Jesus. As much now as ever before. He has been my beacon of hope since game 1 of the yanks series when He showed me that it's about the team, and not just Schilling. (Schilling getting creamed game 1 was my fault; I was pulling for him, not the team. I have since corrected that, obviously.)

2. You can grow to love a new hat. No, she's not like my first, but she's 3-0, and she's mine.

3. I feel badly for St. Louis fans, especially Abbypilot and New Character. No, I am being smug at all; my statement has NOTHING to do with tonight. Rather, it's a display of sadness that Cardinals fans haven't to this point gotten what they deserve; you guys won 105 games, and went 6-0 in the postseason before the idiot bus stopped in your stadium. I really am sorry for you fans. I still hope you lose, but I feel for you.

4. Tonight, there is to be a lunar eclipse that is reportedly going to turn the moon red for a spell. We HAVE to win tonight; the world is with us, hell, even the moon is looking out for us.

5. It is 18 years ago today that the ball passed through the legs. Like we've said before, let's get all the friggin' shackles off in one year. And hopefully on the same day.

6. I love my friends, I love my life. But for tonight, there is nowhere on God's green earth I would rather be than at Abbotts, sitting with K, Rosco, The Silver FOx, Heather, Chuck, Magnum P.E.I., Chef Mike, Sonny, Siobhan, Snuggles, Cass, Jim, my Bro, Kirk, and countless Sox fans drinking the best beer $2.25 can buy, and waiting for that final pitch, that last moment, the ending SNAP of the ball hitting the glove (oh, by the way I am convinced the World Series this year will end with a K. Don't ask why or who, but I believe.) I miss you guys, never more so than now. But I hold my head high, and prepare to celebrate with Johnny, Proctor, SoCo, Lipstick Mike, the Bertrands, K-Swick, Abbypilot, the Euros, Josh the mosh, BDB, Ronan, Timmy, Heather, D&Z, and myriad people that are backing the Sox largely because I am. Thanks, guys.

7. Weird fact in case you missed it: The Celtics won their first championship against St. Louis (1957); the Bruins broke a 41-year Stanley Cup drought against St. Louis (1970); and the Patriots won their first Super Bowl against St. Louis (2002).

8. I hope they win it for my parents. My dad gets SO pissed at them for all their foibles. My mom gets pissed because the Sox take away from the Patriots news. Enjoy, Mom & Dad.

9. Fuck the Yankees.

10. I propose nicknaming A-Rod and Jeter "Slappy" and "Short-Rod." More fitting, I think.

11. God, I hope we re-sign Varitek.

12. No matter what happens tonight, the Red Sox have earned every one of my tears, laughs, vomit sprees, and clenched fists. Great season guys, thanks. Now go kick some ass.

13. I'm running out of reasons now to leave work early and get this party started....

You know what?

Bye.

(My predicition: Sox 7-Cardinals 3)

Only a few hours more...

Sigh.

There is a delicate balance of power, influence, karma, and luck floating out there. Sometimes you are fortunate enough to have one or more of these elements swing in your favor. Other times, not so much as they move away from you. Ultimately, I believe, you break pretty much even, like in chance. For the brave and stupid, there are times where you try to evoke an element, or even (gulp) several. Brave and stupid indeed.

So, here I go at it. As you may recall, my precious BoSox hat was stolen by a cute Serbian chick. She even convinced me she had lost it. While I sat there, mumbling and almost weeping (the damn hat and I go back 10 years), it was divulged to me the hat is fine, resting comfortably and in good spirits while this ordeal perserveres. My tears of suffering turned to tears of happiness as I envisioned the streets of Annapolis running red with her blood. As I lept into action, I halted; the Sox are 4-0 with the hat in her possession. I can't break that. So, I have remained quiet, in the hopes the hat will stay exactly where it is. But I can't NOT wear anything Sox. That's just wrong. And my jersey has some weird vibes coming off it.

So I did the unthinkable. I went on the element-evoking offensive.

I bought a new hat.

It's cool. It's fitted, dark blue with a blue and white "B" on the front, and blue and white socks on the back. It similar to my old one, but not exact. There can only ever be one favorite hat in one's life.

I know it is a ballsy move, but I'll have you know I consulted with another member of Red Sox Nation. Thanks, Silver Fox, for giving me the go-ahead.

I've also changed my regimen. You may recall it was Dokken pre-game, no hat, and Raspberry Wheat. Well, I figure I have no right expecting more than the greatest comeback in sports history from that combination, so I changed it. And I'm kicking it up a notch by going alta-schula.

D.L.R.-era Van Halen pre-game, new hat with dark, angry colors, and bourbon (to be relieved only after having a sufficient amount. And then, the only acceptable substitute is Sox Nation's most stalwart ally, High Life.

Yeah, it's going to be messy, and some may not survive. But I'm ready to do what it takes.

I am the ruler of these nether worlds
The underground
On every wall and place my fearsome name is heard
Look around, whoa yeah
Nobody rules these streets at night like me,
nobody

The atomic punk.

Let's kick ass, boys.

Foxxe, man your positions. It's on.

World Fuckin' Serious.