Wire report-
During the off season, the Cubs were sold by the Tribune Corporation to the Ricketts family (No puns, please). This morning there are rumors that the family was contacted by ATK corporation about a possible takeover.
It seems that the Aerospace giant, which manufactures the solid rocket fuel boosters for the space shuttle program, is interested in testing the flammability of the Cubbie bullpen for possible use in the next generation of spacecraft boosters.
"Those guys are quite possibly the most ferociously combustible material in the known universe," said one anonymous ATK source. "Their bizarre ability to simultaneously implode and explode is unique among terrestrial elements. If we could find a way to harness that... to use it for good, we could really be on to something. We could ride those guys right into space!"
"Good luck with that," replied Lou Pinnella, the Cubs embattled manager when told of the impending acquisition. "We can't even use the bums to climb out of the NL basement."
Pinella added that he might be willing to trade his entire relief staff to ATK for as little as case of "Big League Chew" and a new water cooler and he would involve himself in any future talks.
No one at ATK or the Cubbies front office had any official comment.
*******
Bottom of the 8th: Cubbies 3, Reds 1.
Top of the 9th: Reds 5, Cubs 3.
There's more to say but I can't. It just hurts too much.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Cubs Win, Cubs Win, Hooooly Cow! The Cubs Win!
I should have known last night that everything was going to be on it's head this morning. My hint came when the Cubbies actually held on to a two run lead; even though they walked the tying run in the bottom of the ninth. I would have bet all I had that some Brave or another was going to put one into orbit, but it didn't happen. So the Cubbies are off the schnide. Wheee!!
Unfortunately the karmic retribution has been brutal this morning. You know it's going to be scary when the first few sentences you hear from your children contain the following Phrases:
"No Toilet diving, Squizzle!"
"Squizzle, get out of the trash can!"
and my personal favorite,
"Dad! There's a yellow puddle on the kitchen floor and I don't think it's lemonade because Squizzle doesn't have a bum on again."
Uh-huh.
That last one was courtesy of Moe who came upstairs to make lunches and found her brother had removed his pajama pants and his diaper. Again.
I'm seriously considering breaking out the duct tape.
We switched diaper brands a few weeks ago. I admit it; it was entirely a cost cutting move. I cheaped out and got the least expensive stuff at the store. It has not been worth it.
On the rare occasion that the boy leaves them on long enough to do their job, they leak. Every time. Plastic crib sheets have been a must. The money I saved on the diapers I have wound up spending on laundry detergent. Plus I'm gonna have to get some duct tape to whip up some Squizzle belts.
And now....I gotta go mop the kitchen.
Again. It's going to be a long morning.
Unfortunately the karmic retribution has been brutal this morning. You know it's going to be scary when the first few sentences you hear from your children contain the following Phrases:
"No Toilet diving, Squizzle!"
"Squizzle, get out of the trash can!"
and my personal favorite,
"Dad! There's a yellow puddle on the kitchen floor and I don't think it's lemonade because Squizzle doesn't have a bum on again."
Uh-huh.
That last one was courtesy of Moe who came upstairs to make lunches and found her brother had removed his pajama pants and his diaper. Again.
I'm seriously considering breaking out the duct tape.
We switched diaper brands a few weeks ago. I admit it; it was entirely a cost cutting move. I cheaped out and got the least expensive stuff at the store. It has not been worth it.
On the rare occasion that the boy leaves them on long enough to do their job, they leak. Every time. Plastic crib sheets have been a must. The money I saved on the diapers I have wound up spending on laundry detergent. Plus I'm gonna have to get some duct tape to whip up some Squizzle belts.
And now....I gotta go mop the kitchen.
Again. It's going to be a long morning.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Diary of a Mad Cubs Fan
Last night sucked.
Speaking strictly from a sports standpoint. The Jazz got blown out of the water (and the 2 seed in the West) by a mediocre Houston team, and my Cubbies were at it again in Atlanta.
Dempster pitched pretty well, but Giovanni "So-So" Soto was...so-so. In the bottom of the second, the Cubs had a chance for a strike-'em-out, throw-'em-out double play, but the throw was late and the secondbaseman dropped it. Instead of ending the inning, the next guy up shot a double down the line and it was 1-0 ATL.
Of course I grumbled and changed the channel, and the %$#! Jazz were already down by fifteen in the first half. Wow.
I put it back on the Cubs in time to see Alphonso "Sorry"-ano get a hit and then score a run. While he was on base I told the Boss, "Every time I watch Soriano run, I hold my breath. I keep waiting for his hamstring to snap like an old rubber band."
Seriously, the guy is a trip to the injured list waiting to happen. He has the weakest hamstrings this side of Carlos Boozer. His twigs are constantly on the verge of self destruction. If he isn't on the DL with some leg injury or another by the all-star break, I'll be stunned.
By the time the Boss left for her church assignment at ten to seven, things were looking up. The Jazz had cut the lead to 4 and the Cubbies were up 2-1 and Dempster was mowing down Braves with impunity.
"Maybe they'll win one", said the Boss as she got up to leave.
"I wouldn't hold my breath", I told her.
****Editor's Note
Due to time and space constraints we now take you forward to the bottom of the eight inning.
****
So by this time, the Jazz are back to down by twenty and the talking heads on ESPN are getting ruthless in their criticism of the Jazz road woes. I can't help but agree with them, but it still ticks me off. So I roll back to the Cubs just in time to watch the bottom of the eighth when Chipper Jones hit a 3-0 changeup from John Grabow so far that it still hasn't landed. Just like that, 2-1 becomes 2-3 and the Cubbies are doomed. Again.
The best part of the night (and I mean that in the most facetious way possible) was watching the Cubs send four guys to the plate in the ninth, down by a run and three of them struck out looking. Come on. At least take a cut at something. Three guys punch out LOOKING, and they're down by a run? You'd think they already didn't give a hangnail. I'd almost rather they lost by thirty again, just so I would only have to watch the first three innings before throwing up my dinner.
And speaking of dinner, I am led now to the "greatest" part of the night. I was flipping channels to see if there was anything on to take my mind off my lousy teams when I happened across "Top Chef" on Bravo. The Boss and I like to watch cooking shows on Food Network, but I'd never seen Top Chef before. They had these 4 star chefs competing and the first challenge was to make a gourmet meal out of ingredients they had to purchase at a gas station.
One of the teams made Macaroni and Cheetos!
I had stroke. Right there on the couch.
THOSE FILTHY BEGGARS STOLE MY RECIPE!!!!!!
I want it officially stated for the record that I thought of it first. Go read the post. Friday, March 12, 2010 titled "Best Idea Ever".
The Jazz ripped my heart out. The Cubbies took my legs, and Top Chef kicked me right in the mouth.
I gotta find a hobby.
Speaking strictly from a sports standpoint. The Jazz got blown out of the water (and the 2 seed in the West) by a mediocre Houston team, and my Cubbies were at it again in Atlanta.
Dempster pitched pretty well, but Giovanni "So-So" Soto was...so-so. In the bottom of the second, the Cubs had a chance for a strike-'em-out, throw-'em-out double play, but the throw was late and the secondbaseman dropped it. Instead of ending the inning, the next guy up shot a double down the line and it was 1-0 ATL.
Of course I grumbled and changed the channel, and the %$#! Jazz were already down by fifteen in the first half. Wow.
I put it back on the Cubs in time to see Alphonso "Sorry"-ano get a hit and then score a run. While he was on base I told the Boss, "Every time I watch Soriano run, I hold my breath. I keep waiting for his hamstring to snap like an old rubber band."
Seriously, the guy is a trip to the injured list waiting to happen. He has the weakest hamstrings this side of Carlos Boozer. His twigs are constantly on the verge of self destruction. If he isn't on the DL with some leg injury or another by the all-star break, I'll be stunned.
By the time the Boss left for her church assignment at ten to seven, things were looking up. The Jazz had cut the lead to 4 and the Cubbies were up 2-1 and Dempster was mowing down Braves with impunity.
"Maybe they'll win one", said the Boss as she got up to leave.
"I wouldn't hold my breath", I told her.
****Editor's Note
Due to time and space constraints we now take you forward to the bottom of the eight inning.
****
So by this time, the Jazz are back to down by twenty and the talking heads on ESPN are getting ruthless in their criticism of the Jazz road woes. I can't help but agree with them, but it still ticks me off. So I roll back to the Cubs just in time to watch the bottom of the eighth when Chipper Jones hit a 3-0 changeup from John Grabow so far that it still hasn't landed. Just like that, 2-1 becomes 2-3 and the Cubbies are doomed. Again.
The best part of the night (and I mean that in the most facetious way possible) was watching the Cubs send four guys to the plate in the ninth, down by a run and three of them struck out looking. Come on. At least take a cut at something. Three guys punch out LOOKING, and they're down by a run? You'd think they already didn't give a hangnail. I'd almost rather they lost by thirty again, just so I would only have to watch the first three innings before throwing up my dinner.
And speaking of dinner, I am led now to the "greatest" part of the night. I was flipping channels to see if there was anything on to take my mind off my lousy teams when I happened across "Top Chef" on Bravo. The Boss and I like to watch cooking shows on Food Network, but I'd never seen Top Chef before. They had these 4 star chefs competing and the first challenge was to make a gourmet meal out of ingredients they had to purchase at a gas station.
One of the teams made Macaroni and Cheetos!
I had stroke. Right there on the couch.
THOSE FILTHY BEGGARS STOLE MY RECIPE!!!!!!
I want it officially stated for the record that I thought of it first. Go read the post. Friday, March 12, 2010 titled "Best Idea Ever".
The Jazz ripped my heart out. The Cubbies took my legs, and Top Chef kicked me right in the mouth.
I gotta find a hobby.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Happy Birthday William Wordsworth!
I cannot let today pass without commenting on the 240th anniversary of William Wordsworth's birth. I was just helping Haggis prepare a report on him and happened to notice that it was his birthday today. I sure as heck hope that someone is reading the stuff I write 200 years from now. That would be an impressive feat!
I will not make my mother sad by posting a copy of "We Are Seven" here, but you should google it. It is one of mom's favorite poems, and mine too. It just hits a little closer to the mark than it used to. Wordsworth has always been one of my very favorite poets.
Happy Birthday, Wordsworth.
I will not make my mother sad by posting a copy of "We Are Seven" here, but you should google it. It is one of mom's favorite poems, and mine too. It just hits a little closer to the mark than it used to. Wordsworth has always been one of my very favorite poets.
Happy Birthday, Wordsworth.
Quite the Ash Hole
I'll bet that's the most intriguing post title you've seen in a while, huh? Only took me a second or two to come up with.
I'm trying to get the house picked up a little this morning because today marks the return of "Wednesday Treat Day" and Motor will be joining Peff, Reagers, Bub and Squizzle (if he's still alive) in an early afternoon round of brownie baking. Yeah, I know, premix brownies don't qualify as actual "baking", but I'm out of practice so leave me alone.
I've spent the first part of the morning in the kitchen washing dishes and sweeping the floor. One might think that I would have learned better by now, but I asked Peff and Reaggers to if not watch Squizzle, at least let me know when he was headed for disaster.
What can I say? I'm a slow learner and I've got the scars to prove it.
I'm loading the dishwasher and Reaggers comes up to me and says. "Um, Uncle Fatdaddy...Squizzle is into something."
"What, pray tell, is he into?"
"I'm not sure, but it's black."
Now, I can't think of one single substance that he might be into that is black in color and not going to be a force of major destruction in my home. Construction paper, maybe?
So I mad dash it into the living room and find my one year old Destroying Angel up to his toddler armpits in fireplace ash. Not that fine gray powder that's left from burning a pressed wax firelog. Oh, no. I'm talkin' that industrial, heavy duty, blacker than a coal miner's backside kind of ash. And the little ash monster is trying desperately to wipe himself off...on my carpet.
Fortunately for me, the Kool-aid stains act as some form of Ash repellent, so a few passes of a rug doctor, and it'll be the same embarrassing, stained and ugly mess that it was before. Is this what I get for fulfilling the commandment to multiply and replenish the earth? Eternally dirty carpet? Someone ought to put a warning label on these kids.
I guess it was a good thing I had just been doing the dishes so Squizzle could spend ten minutes in the "hot tub" sink. Damage report is minimal, but this is a bad omen for the start of treat day.
I'm trying to get the house picked up a little this morning because today marks the return of "Wednesday Treat Day" and Motor will be joining Peff, Reagers, Bub and Squizzle (if he's still alive) in an early afternoon round of brownie baking. Yeah, I know, premix brownies don't qualify as actual "baking", but I'm out of practice so leave me alone.
I've spent the first part of the morning in the kitchen washing dishes and sweeping the floor. One might think that I would have learned better by now, but I asked Peff and Reaggers to if not watch Squizzle, at least let me know when he was headed for disaster.
What can I say? I'm a slow learner and I've got the scars to prove it.
I'm loading the dishwasher and Reaggers comes up to me and says. "Um, Uncle Fatdaddy...Squizzle is into something."
"What, pray tell, is he into?"
"I'm not sure, but it's black."
Now, I can't think of one single substance that he might be into that is black in color and not going to be a force of major destruction in my home. Construction paper, maybe?
So I mad dash it into the living room and find my one year old Destroying Angel up to his toddler armpits in fireplace ash. Not that fine gray powder that's left from burning a pressed wax firelog. Oh, no. I'm talkin' that industrial, heavy duty, blacker than a coal miner's backside kind of ash. And the little ash monster is trying desperately to wipe himself off...on my carpet.
Fortunately for me, the Kool-aid stains act as some form of Ash repellent, so a few passes of a rug doctor, and it'll be the same embarrassing, stained and ugly mess that it was before. Is this what I get for fulfilling the commandment to multiply and replenish the earth? Eternally dirty carpet? Someone ought to put a warning label on these kids.
I guess it was a good thing I had just been doing the dishes so Squizzle could spend ten minutes in the "hot tub" sink. Damage report is minimal, but this is a bad omen for the start of treat day.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?
Now that we have discussed the winners (from the Fatdaddy Bracket Challenge) let us move on to something slightly less pleasant. Now, those who know me know that I am loyal to an absolute fault. I hate bandwagon jumpers, and I love my teams with the same passion and fire most people reserve for things like politics or pre-meditated homicides.
So for just a moment, let us pretend that this empty blog space is a water cooler and I am Carlos Zambrano, and let me go ballistic about the one thing I hate to love.
The Chicago Cubs.
Did any of you see the implosion that was opening day?
What the crap was that all about? I asked for you to pretend I was Carlos Zambrano, but the way that fat, screaming lunatic pitched yesterday, it might as well have been this fat, screaming, lunatic out there.
He had an ERA of 54! That means that if he pitched that way all the time, he'd give up 54 runs EVERY NINE INNINGS!!! No one has gotten lit up like that since Ted Kennedy died. Then Loopynella pulls him (about ten pitches too late) in favor of that Notre Dame football reject Jeff Samardzija who goes out there and flames out for another 5 or 10 runs. They removed the rosin bag from the mound in favor of a fire extinguisher. Did someone forget to tell them that batting practice was over?
Lest the hitters chuckle...that robust .154 team batting average was very nice. So much for the new hitting coach being the man to lead the Cubbies into the promised land. I've seen more contact at a seminary girls pref dance. Unforgivable.
Now they may rebound and rally. Even if they don't, I'll keep watching anyway, because I'm pathetic and unemployed, and I've been cheering for the Cubs from the time I could understand the game. But geez....
My Brother in law (a Dodger fan who has forgotten more about baseball than I'll ever know) tells me every year that there are five little words that every true Cubs fan must memorize and repeat in an endless loop. You can change the emphasis to modify the meanings.
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
The thing about being a Cubs fan is the creative and unusual way they go about breaking the hearts of their fans. One year, they get four outs away from a world series only to have Bartman interfere with a foul ball. Another year, they get the best record in baseball only to melt down in the first round of the playoffs against a Wild Card team that has one hot home run hitter surrounded by a batch of triple-A scrubs. But most years they are wont to remove suspense and my heart with an early exit from the race and a year long chase for the first pick in the draft.
I got me a bad feeling about this batch. I hope I'm wrong. I really do.
In "Ode to the West Wind" Percy Shelley sums up the heart felt pain of every Cubs fan when he writes "If winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" Wait til next year we tell ourselves. Wait til next year.
Is Opening Day too soon to start looking toward next year?
So for just a moment, let us pretend that this empty blog space is a water cooler and I am Carlos Zambrano, and let me go ballistic about the one thing I hate to love.
The Chicago Cubs.
Did any of you see the implosion that was opening day?
What the crap was that all about? I asked for you to pretend I was Carlos Zambrano, but the way that fat, screaming lunatic pitched yesterday, it might as well have been this fat, screaming, lunatic out there.
He had an ERA of 54! That means that if he pitched that way all the time, he'd give up 54 runs EVERY NINE INNINGS!!! No one has gotten lit up like that since Ted Kennedy died. Then Loopynella pulls him (about ten pitches too late) in favor of that Notre Dame football reject Jeff Samardzija who goes out there and flames out for another 5 or 10 runs. They removed the rosin bag from the mound in favor of a fire extinguisher. Did someone forget to tell them that batting practice was over?
Lest the hitters chuckle...that robust .154 team batting average was very nice. So much for the new hitting coach being the man to lead the Cubbies into the promised land. I've seen more contact at a seminary girls pref dance. Unforgivable.
Now they may rebound and rally. Even if they don't, I'll keep watching anyway, because I'm pathetic and unemployed, and I've been cheering for the Cubs from the time I could understand the game. But geez....
My Brother in law (a Dodger fan who has forgotten more about baseball than I'll ever know) tells me every year that there are five little words that every true Cubs fan must memorize and repeat in an endless loop. You can change the emphasis to modify the meanings.
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
They will break your heart!
The thing about being a Cubs fan is the creative and unusual way they go about breaking the hearts of their fans. One year, they get four outs away from a world series only to have Bartman interfere with a foul ball. Another year, they get the best record in baseball only to melt down in the first round of the playoffs against a Wild Card team that has one hot home run hitter surrounded by a batch of triple-A scrubs. But most years they are wont to remove suspense and my heart with an early exit from the race and a year long chase for the first pick in the draft.
I got me a bad feeling about this batch. I hope I'm wrong. I really do.
In "Ode to the West Wind" Percy Shelley sums up the heart felt pain of every Cubs fan when he writes "If winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" Wait til next year we tell ourselves. Wait til next year.
Is Opening Day too soon to start looking toward next year?
To The Victor Go the Spoils!
In spite of the fact that the snotty, entitled, drunken frat-boy team from Duke lucked out when the last second heave from half court clanked off the rim, there was still a major upset in the tournament last night.
Ignoring grade books and library shelves everywhere and causing obsessive-compulsive alphabetizers to have an apoplexy, "D" for Dawnell and Duke was better than "B" for Beckett and Butler.
****Editor's Note:
Google John Scheyer from Duke and tell me that he is not central casting's first choice to play Beavis in the live action Beavis and Butthead movie. Right down to the shorts with white ankle socks and black shoes. All he needs is an AC/DC t-shirt.
"I am CORNHOLIO!!!!!! Are you...threatening me?"
****
Our pint sized picker got his own pocket picked when his mother...his own MOTHER, snuck up from behind and took his redbox rentals away in the waning seconds of the tournament. Had Butler hit their half court heave, we'd have all been bested by a three year old. Alas, it was not to be and when midnight struck, David was slain by Goliath.
That's not a slight on you, Dawnell, we all love you. It's just that you also won your husband's work pool and let's be honest. Who is not amazed by your son's savant-like selections?
Congratulations and honors to Dawnell; Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, the Champion of the First Annual Fatdaddy Bracket Challenge. You have the laurels, the crown, and the glory. You may refer to yourself on this blog as Queen Dawnell the first and your reign will last for one year...or until scandal, dishonor, or Donald Trump says you're done.
Hail to the victor!
And speaking of victors, the following also had major victories during the challenge and I will find a means of rewarding them all.
First, Congratulations to my niece Elizabeth, who also picked Duke to win it all and thus catapulted herself over her esteemed favorite uncle to snag the third spot. First they let the kid date and drive and then she beats me in a sports game. Someone is having a pretty good year!
Second, to Jen Clark who whooped her husband by 3 picks and 14 points. Well done, Jen, and according to the results of the poll, you will be rewarded! (Find me at church Sunday and I'll get you your prize). Mandy will also be getting rewarded for sneaking past Jason, but Beak was unable to grab the trifecta by beating Corbin.
One of Kevin's kids got past him (Not sure which one) so they will get to harass their old man for a year.
Lastly, we have to point out the fantastic rally by Hollie. Stuck at the bottom for the better part of the show, she came roaring back in the later stages to place a very respectable 18th. And she beat her nancy-boy brothers by thirty picks (I am going to continue to trash talk them until they get on here and respond! haha).
Thank you all for playing, I hope you had as much fun with it as I did!
Rank Team Name Score Correct Best Score Best Correct Champion
1 Dawnell Moon (1) 210 40 210 40 Duke (168)
2 Dawnell Moon (2) 202 36 202 36 Baylor (112)
3 Jil Bircher (2) 186 33 186 33 Duke (77)
4 Fatdaddy 175 36 175 36 Kentucky (110)
5 Mandy Kelly 166 33 166 33 Syracuse (146)
6 Corbin Taylor 162 36 162 36 Kansas (134)
7 Jil Bircher (3) 160 34 160 34 Kansas (97)
8 Brian Beebe 159 32 159 32 Ohio St. (173)
9 Moe 158 37 158 37 BYU (32)
10 Jason Anderson 152 36 152 36 Kentucky (142)
11 Anne Taylor 145 34 145 34 Syracuse (109)
12 Squizzles 145 35 145 35 Kansas (100)
13 Kevin Kelly (2) 143 34 143 34 BYU (130)
14 Kevin Kelly (1) 136 31 136 31 Kansas (152)
15 Jen Clark 135 31 135 31 Kansas (165)
16 The Boss 129 30 129 30 Kentucky (122)
17 Jil Bircher (1) 123 20 123 20 BYU (134)
18 Hollie Downs 122 30 122 30 Syracuse (133)
19 Kevin Kelly (3) 122 30 122 30 Kentucky (165)
20 Jess Clark 120 28 120 28 Kansas (150)
21 Puzey 119 10 119 10 Ark.-Pine Bluff (42)
22 Mike Kelly 116 29 116 29 Syracuse (164)
23 Peff 116 19 116 19 BYU (37)
24 Haggis 115 25 115 25 Kentucky (130)
25 tim kelly 103 26 103 26 Syracuse (135)
Ignoring grade books and library shelves everywhere and causing obsessive-compulsive alphabetizers to have an apoplexy, "D" for Dawnell and Duke was better than "B" for Beckett and Butler.
****Editor's Note:
Google John Scheyer from Duke and tell me that he is not central casting's first choice to play Beavis in the live action Beavis and Butthead movie. Right down to the shorts with white ankle socks and black shoes. All he needs is an AC/DC t-shirt.
"I am CORNHOLIO!!!!!! Are you...threatening me?"
****
Our pint sized picker got his own pocket picked when his mother...his own MOTHER, snuck up from behind and took his redbox rentals away in the waning seconds of the tournament. Had Butler hit their half court heave, we'd have all been bested by a three year old. Alas, it was not to be and when midnight struck, David was slain by Goliath.
That's not a slight on you, Dawnell, we all love you. It's just that you also won your husband's work pool and let's be honest. Who is not amazed by your son's savant-like selections?
Congratulations and honors to Dawnell; Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, the Champion of the First Annual Fatdaddy Bracket Challenge. You have the laurels, the crown, and the glory. You may refer to yourself on this blog as Queen Dawnell the first and your reign will last for one year...or until scandal, dishonor, or Donald Trump says you're done.
Hail to the victor!
And speaking of victors, the following also had major victories during the challenge and I will find a means of rewarding them all.
First, Congratulations to my niece Elizabeth, who also picked Duke to win it all and thus catapulted herself over her esteemed favorite uncle to snag the third spot. First they let the kid date and drive and then she beats me in a sports game. Someone is having a pretty good year!
Second, to Jen Clark who whooped her husband by 3 picks and 14 points. Well done, Jen, and according to the results of the poll, you will be rewarded! (Find me at church Sunday and I'll get you your prize). Mandy will also be getting rewarded for sneaking past Jason, but Beak was unable to grab the trifecta by beating Corbin.
One of Kevin's kids got past him (Not sure which one) so they will get to harass their old man for a year.
Lastly, we have to point out the fantastic rally by Hollie. Stuck at the bottom for the better part of the show, she came roaring back in the later stages to place a very respectable 18th. And she beat her nancy-boy brothers by thirty picks (I am going to continue to trash talk them until they get on here and respond! haha).
Thank you all for playing, I hope you had as much fun with it as I did!
Rank Team Name Score Correct Best Score Best Correct Champion
1 Dawnell Moon (1) 210 40 210 40 Duke (168)
2 Dawnell Moon (2) 202 36 202 36 Baylor (112)
3 Jil Bircher (2) 186 33 186 33 Duke (77)
4 Fatdaddy 175 36 175 36 Kentucky (110)
5 Mandy Kelly 166 33 166 33 Syracuse (146)
6 Corbin Taylor 162 36 162 36 Kansas (134)
7 Jil Bircher (3) 160 34 160 34 Kansas (97)
8 Brian Beebe 159 32 159 32 Ohio St. (173)
9 Moe 158 37 158 37 BYU (32)
10 Jason Anderson 152 36 152 36 Kentucky (142)
11 Anne Taylor 145 34 145 34 Syracuse (109)
12 Squizzles 145 35 145 35 Kansas (100)
13 Kevin Kelly (2) 143 34 143 34 BYU (130)
14 Kevin Kelly (1) 136 31 136 31 Kansas (152)
15 Jen Clark 135 31 135 31 Kansas (165)
16 The Boss 129 30 129 30 Kentucky (122)
17 Jil Bircher (1) 123 20 123 20 BYU (134)
18 Hollie Downs 122 30 122 30 Syracuse (133)
19 Kevin Kelly (3) 122 30 122 30 Kentucky (165)
20 Jess Clark 120 28 120 28 Kansas (150)
21 Puzey 119 10 119 10 Ark.-Pine Bluff (42)
22 Mike Kelly 116 29 116 29 Syracuse (164)
23 Peff 116 19 116 19 BYU (37)
24 Haggis 115 25 115 25 Kentucky (130)
25 tim kelly 103 26 103 26 Syracuse (135)
Monday, April 5, 2010
April Fools
I recognize that April Fools day was nearly a week ago but for once in my life, I've been busy. With the Boss working nights and a little from home I have even been able to leave the house. We went to the Grandparents, to the grocery store, took the kids to the dollar movies, all kinds of errands that usually get taken for granted. But for me they have managed to become genuine events simply for the fact that I get out of the house.
On April Fools day, my kids actually pulled off a pretty decent prank. Haggis got some toilet paper and wrote on it with a sharpie marker. They then snuck into my bathroom and laid the note in the toilet. The water "melted" the tp so it was translucent, but the words were pretty easy to read. When I got up in the morning, I had to ask the Boss just what the heck it was (Blind man can't see even that far).
It sounded like one of those Foxworthy "you might be a redneck if..." jokes.
"If you've ever spoken the phrase, "Hey hon...what the heck is this that's floating in the toilet... you might be a red neck..."
At the very least it has been added to the list of phrases that I never, ever thought would escape my lips. It turns out the note said, "Halt, who goes there? Happy April Fools, love your children".
Not too bad an effort, I must say.
It may surprise you that I myself do not participate in April Fools jokes. I know, a guy with the wildly inappropriate sense of humor that I have would skip a day like that? It does seem bizarre but it's true and there are reasons.
Two of them.
First, the last time I tried an April Fools joke it backfired...badly. I was 15 or 16and got the brilliant idea to loosen the lid on the salt shaker. The whole family was sitting down to dinner, which was a real treat because April first also happens to be Uncle T's birthday (We will refrain from making any comments on the irony. Uncle T has heard it all before). We got to have steak, and with seven kids in the family, that was a fairly rare (pardon the pun) delicacy.
One of my bone head friends had told me that he'd loosened the lid on the salt shaker at breakfast at his house and assured me it had been hilarious. Not one to miss a chance to get a laugh, I gave it a go myself.
My sister L got the lucky(?) draw to be first with the salt, and when the lid came off, I cackled and laughed and shouted (way too loudly) "April fools!!!"
No one laughed.
My sister did start to sob, though. Dad got about three quarters of the way between irritated and homicidal and I instantly knew I had way way way overplayed the "prank". I wanted to crawl under the table and figured I was in for something awful. Dad just reached over, took my sister's plate and swapped it with mine.
Looking back, I see this as a brilliant parental move. Not only did I have to eat the saltiest piece of meat this side of a slim jim, but since I was older, my portion had been significantly larger. He wouldn't excuse me from the table until I cleared the plate (no Iodine deficiency here) and when I was finished he gave me his patented piercing stare that I wish I could a) never see again and b) duplicate myself for my own kids. It was worse than a spanking, worse than a grounding, way worse than a time out (which no one had ever heard of back then because parents still had brain cells that worked).
"Was it worth the laugh?" he asked.
It wasn't.
So let me take this opportunity to again apologize to my sister for being a mean spirited jerk all those years ago. Sorry about your steak, sis.
Secondly, when you have been a personal witness to the single greatest April Fools joke in the history of all creation, there seems little sense in trying to one up it. And let me tell you friends, I was present on that day.
Burley, Idaho.
I was nine or ten. My brother and I were watching TV in my Grandparents living room with my Dad and my Grandpa. Mom and Grandma were in the kitchen which was adjacent to the living room.
The living room had a large throw-rug on the floor and my brother and I were laying on the carpet. Suddenly Grandpa got really excited and started to shout "There's a mouse under the rug! There's a mouse under the rug!"
Now, my grandfather was a very large fan of the same things that we found interesting. He was always giving my brothers and I things like rubber snakes, sling shots (and since he sold bearings for a living, he had the greatest wrist rocket ammunition supply dump this side of anywhere), and once he had even shot a jack rabbit and gave my brothers and I real, no longer live, but honest to goodness rabbits feet. They were ten times cooler than those fake little colored things that you could buy in "Boys Life" magazine. We were envied by all our friends back home.
Looking back, I'm sure my mother was not thrilled at having four severed rabbits feet in her house, but she'd have had to sever our hands to take them away from us.
But with a Grandfather like ours, even if there wasn't an actual mouse under the rug there was a fifty-fifty chance that there was at least a rubber rat hiding somewhere for us. So K and I shot up like we'd been blasted out of cannons, and started tossing the rug and looking under the couches for that mouse.
I remember Dad laughing while Grandpa whooped and cheered us on. If all he'd caught with this little prank had been my brother and I, I would say that it was a pretty good gag, and worth the time to write down for posterity. But Grandpa had one other fish on the line, and it was that one which made this the single greatest April Fools Prank ever.
Grandma had been washing dishes in the kitchen and had heard every word. She didn't know how on earth a vermin could have found it's way into her spotlessly clean house; but any rodent with the intestinal fortitude to invade her abode had a VERY SHORT and pain filled existence to look toward. She had grabbed her broom and came into the living room swinging. I still remember the look on her face and it said that if she'd had the time, she'd have gone downstairs and loaded one of Grandpa's shotguns instead of swinging a broom. That would have been the unluckiest mouse under heaven's blue sky.
It suddenly dawned on Grandpa what he had done and he erupted into laughter. Dad was near tears, and my brother and I didn't really get what had happened.
"Where is it?" Grandma asked like she was part of the Spanish Inquisition.
"There isn't one." said Grandpa between peals of laughter. "I was giving the boys a little April Fools fun."
"Not funny" said Grandma.
I think this is probably the only time in eternity that my Grandmother was wrong about anything.
It was funny. Very funny. And Grandpa agrees with me.
Which is why I never play an April Fools joke.
How could I ever hope to top the Master?
On April Fools day, my kids actually pulled off a pretty decent prank. Haggis got some toilet paper and wrote on it with a sharpie marker. They then snuck into my bathroom and laid the note in the toilet. The water "melted" the tp so it was translucent, but the words were pretty easy to read. When I got up in the morning, I had to ask the Boss just what the heck it was (Blind man can't see even that far).
It sounded like one of those Foxworthy "you might be a redneck if..." jokes.
"If you've ever spoken the phrase, "Hey hon...what the heck is this that's floating in the toilet... you might be a red neck..."
At the very least it has been added to the list of phrases that I never, ever thought would escape my lips. It turns out the note said, "Halt, who goes there? Happy April Fools, love your children".
Not too bad an effort, I must say.
It may surprise you that I myself do not participate in April Fools jokes. I know, a guy with the wildly inappropriate sense of humor that I have would skip a day like that? It does seem bizarre but it's true and there are reasons.
Two of them.
First, the last time I tried an April Fools joke it backfired...badly. I was 15 or 16and got the brilliant idea to loosen the lid on the salt shaker. The whole family was sitting down to dinner, which was a real treat because April first also happens to be Uncle T's birthday (We will refrain from making any comments on the irony. Uncle T has heard it all before). We got to have steak, and with seven kids in the family, that was a fairly rare (pardon the pun) delicacy.
One of my bone head friends had told me that he'd loosened the lid on the salt shaker at breakfast at his house and assured me it had been hilarious. Not one to miss a chance to get a laugh, I gave it a go myself.
My sister L got the lucky(?) draw to be first with the salt, and when the lid came off, I cackled and laughed and shouted (way too loudly) "April fools!!!"
No one laughed.
My sister did start to sob, though. Dad got about three quarters of the way between irritated and homicidal and I instantly knew I had way way way overplayed the "prank". I wanted to crawl under the table and figured I was in for something awful. Dad just reached over, took my sister's plate and swapped it with mine.
Looking back, I see this as a brilliant parental move. Not only did I have to eat the saltiest piece of meat this side of a slim jim, but since I was older, my portion had been significantly larger. He wouldn't excuse me from the table until I cleared the plate (no Iodine deficiency here) and when I was finished he gave me his patented piercing stare that I wish I could a) never see again and b) duplicate myself for my own kids. It was worse than a spanking, worse than a grounding, way worse than a time out (which no one had ever heard of back then because parents still had brain cells that worked).
"Was it worth the laugh?" he asked.
It wasn't.
So let me take this opportunity to again apologize to my sister for being a mean spirited jerk all those years ago. Sorry about your steak, sis.
Secondly, when you have been a personal witness to the single greatest April Fools joke in the history of all creation, there seems little sense in trying to one up it. And let me tell you friends, I was present on that day.
Burley, Idaho.
I was nine or ten. My brother and I were watching TV in my Grandparents living room with my Dad and my Grandpa. Mom and Grandma were in the kitchen which was adjacent to the living room.
The living room had a large throw-rug on the floor and my brother and I were laying on the carpet. Suddenly Grandpa got really excited and started to shout "There's a mouse under the rug! There's a mouse under the rug!"
Now, my grandfather was a very large fan of the same things that we found interesting. He was always giving my brothers and I things like rubber snakes, sling shots (and since he sold bearings for a living, he had the greatest wrist rocket ammunition supply dump this side of anywhere), and once he had even shot a jack rabbit and gave my brothers and I real, no longer live, but honest to goodness rabbits feet. They were ten times cooler than those fake little colored things that you could buy in "Boys Life" magazine. We were envied by all our friends back home.
Looking back, I'm sure my mother was not thrilled at having four severed rabbits feet in her house, but she'd have had to sever our hands to take them away from us.
But with a Grandfather like ours, even if there wasn't an actual mouse under the rug there was a fifty-fifty chance that there was at least a rubber rat hiding somewhere for us. So K and I shot up like we'd been blasted out of cannons, and started tossing the rug and looking under the couches for that mouse.
I remember Dad laughing while Grandpa whooped and cheered us on. If all he'd caught with this little prank had been my brother and I, I would say that it was a pretty good gag, and worth the time to write down for posterity. But Grandpa had one other fish on the line, and it was that one which made this the single greatest April Fools Prank ever.
Grandma had been washing dishes in the kitchen and had heard every word. She didn't know how on earth a vermin could have found it's way into her spotlessly clean house; but any rodent with the intestinal fortitude to invade her abode had a VERY SHORT and pain filled existence to look toward. She had grabbed her broom and came into the living room swinging. I still remember the look on her face and it said that if she'd had the time, she'd have gone downstairs and loaded one of Grandpa's shotguns instead of swinging a broom. That would have been the unluckiest mouse under heaven's blue sky.
It suddenly dawned on Grandpa what he had done and he erupted into laughter. Dad was near tears, and my brother and I didn't really get what had happened.
"Where is it?" Grandma asked like she was part of the Spanish Inquisition.
"There isn't one." said Grandpa between peals of laughter. "I was giving the boys a little April Fools fun."
"Not funny" said Grandma.
I think this is probably the only time in eternity that my Grandmother was wrong about anything.
It was funny. Very funny. And Grandpa agrees with me.
Which is why I never play an April Fools joke.
How could I ever hope to top the Master?
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