The Wrath Of Fatdaddy

"From Hell's own heart, I stab at thee!"

Wow. Am I really quoting "Khan" from Star Trek?

If "high school me" were here he'd be kicking my butt. Since when was I able to quote Star Trek? That's the kind of crap that'll bring the shades of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan snooping around here looking for my Man Card.

Nevertheless, it's the thought that came to mind on Saturday night at ten when the Boss got a call from one of her piece of dirt managers, who waited until then to tell the Boss that she wasn't going to come in for her three am shift.

Guess who had to go work her sixth shift of the week at a job she should no longer give a fat rat's patoot about? Nothing like one last cheap shot from the ingrates, huh? It was a real slap in the Boss's face and I don't mind saying it made me mad enough to spit. I told her she should have called her "Idiot" supervisor up and give him a taste of what she's had to deal with.

The conversation could go like this:

Boss: "Yeah, I know it's ten at night and you're getting ready for bed and you probably worked today already, but I don't have anyone to cover my closing shift. I think if I were you I'd set my alarm for about 2:30"

The Idiot: "No way am I doing that for you. You can go to Blazes"

Boss: "Sorry, pal, I gave Blazes my two weeks notice. Fire me if you want. Welcome to the world you created. Enjoy."

The Idiot: "Gee. This really is a crappy thing to expect of someone. Who knew?"

This is why they are lucky it was the Boss they employed instead of me. I'd have had that conversation.

But because the Boss is the compassionate woman she is... she went to work on two hours sleep and pulled her second nine hour shift of the day.

Savor the flavor, Clowns. It'll never happen again.

In fact, I have a feeling that about a month from now there is going to be significant weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth when the Clowns above and below realize just how much the Boss was shielding them from each other. By then, she'll be too far away to hear it, and no longer paid to care. I told you I can be bitter, but Karma can be a real beast.

Just ask my Cubbies.

They keep finding new and unusual ways to break my heart. Yesterday, I watched Ted Lilly take a no-no into the bottom of the ninth inning. I don't know when the last time a Cubbie threw a no hitter was, but the TV said there hadn't been one at Wrigley since before I was born. I got really exited as Lilly mowed down the eighth and called my mother to make sure she was tuned into something good actually happening to the Cubbies.

I mean, come on. I've been on a real roll with the Boss finding a new job, my eye sight returning...Miracles have been popping up like daisies.

"Mom!", I shouted into the phone. "Are you watching the Cubs game? Lilly's dealing a no-no!"

"I'll turn it on", she said.

Two pitches into the inning, Lilly tosses a looping off-speed pitch that I could have hit with my contacts out and it gets drilled into short center.

No-no abolished. "From Hell's heart..." I know, I know. I get it.

Five little words.

Loopy pulled Lilly for "Rocket-fuel Marmol", who immediately proceeded to walk the guy representing the winning run, balk the runners to second and third, and try to throw the game away.

I turned to the Boss, who was napping on the couch, and said, "Only the Cubbies could get within three outs of a no-hitter and then proceed to lose."

I called Mom again. "They will..."

"...break your heart!" she finished.

In spite of my bitter sorrow over the lost no-no, they managed to at least squeek out the win.

I guess I was due for one more miracle last week after all.

In spite of those two sour notes, I have to say it does not suck to be me right now. We went to dinner with my parents on Saturday night between the Boss's eighteen hour shifts. We went to the Buffet to celebrate the Boss's new job and the return of my vision. It was a very good evening. The kids even minded their manners.

I gotta say, you have know idea how trippy it is to be able to see street signs and pedestrians again. I even snuck in a joy ride around the block on Friday night.

Just because I could. I kept pointing to signs and reading them. The poor Boss was subjected to me reading inane things for the whole ride home from the doctor. It reminded me of when Peff learned his letters and annoyed us for a month by reading every letter he saw. Remember "Dad has two heart attacks"?

Look at this! Did you see that? When did they put that there? When did they tear that down?

I saw mountains and clouds, and the leaves on trees. I saw the TV from the couch instead of three feet away. I saw that the Rockband game I've been playing for a few years has little gray lines that mark the beat for you. I didn't know that.

I saw that my carpet is far dirtier than I thought, and I saw that what I thought was a grass lawn is really a mowed down weed patch. I also saw that I might have done the world's worst paint job on my living room. I can't believe the Boss has put up me doing such "fractional donkey"(think about it, you'll get it) work for so long.

"What, did a blind man paint this room?" Um, funny you should ask. I think I have some work to do. Or redo.

I saw the Boss is still as good looking as she was fifteen years ago, and I saw Squizzle clearly for the first time in his life. Thank heaven he looks like his mother.

I've seen a lot this weekend. It ain't perfect. The lenses irritate my eyes after about eight hours, and I have some glare in the left eye, but it's so much better than what it was, I don't care.

Hell can stab at me all it wants.

It's good to be me.

Eat Turnbuckle, Heel!

We had professional wrestling at our house last night. The girls put pillows on the floor and covered them with a blanket to create a ring in the living room. Moe gave each of the little kids ferocious identities for her promotion. I sense more than a little bit of Bobby "The Brain" Hennan in this child.

She was "The Night Wrestler", Puzey was "The Pink Freak", Peff was "The Critter", and for my personal favorite, Squizzle became "The Grumpifier".

I remain stunned by the imaginations of my children. The Grumpifier? Where on earth does this kid come up with this stuff?

They had several individual matches that involved leaps from the top rope (the couch)and enough submission holds to put the Iron Sheik, Nickolai Volkov, and Andre the Giant out of commission for eternity (or at least the next pay-per-view). The main event was a battle royal where "The Grumpifier" received a double-ax handle to the back of his skull. It was dirty pool, and it caused a chain reaction no one saw coming. The legendary "Revolting Slob" left the stands (as well as a lengthy retirement) to return fair play and deal the heavy hands of justice to the forces of havoc.

It was quite the evening and the show may go on the road if the price is right.

Afterward the Boss and I reminisced about the heady days of George the Animal Steele, Gorilla Monsoon, Mean Gene Okerlund and the boys.

"Remember when the match everyone wanted to see was Hulk Hogan versus Ric Flair to see who was the "real" Heavyweight champion of the world?"

She did not.

Growing up in a house with only sisters is not an environment conducive to Professional Wrestling exposure. But I remember. My brothers and I were mad for the stuff. Couldn't get enough.

Later on, I was watching hockey while waiting for the Boss's show to start. During a commercial, I noticed that there was something called TNA wrestling on Spike. "What the heck" I thought, and turned it on. The first thing I heard was "Pomp and Circumstance".

Now that song combines with the sight of the "squared circle" to activate the most juvenile portion of my brain (I said the MOST juvenile portion. I am fully aware that all of my brain is juvenile in one sense or another, so keep you smart alec stuff to yourselves). "Pomp and Circumstance" was the entrance music for my all-time-can-never-be-replaced-most-favorite wrestler ever; "The Macho Man" Randy Savage.

Suddenly eager with anticipation to see Mach go "Down that Aisle!", I nearly giggled.

"I can't believe this guy is still wrestling!" I shouted to the Boss. "He's got to be a hundred and ninety". Well, in steroid years; anyway.

****Editor's Note
I once went to a show here in Salt Lake. I coughed up thirty bucks to sit on the twelfth row at the E-center with my brothers and a bunch of buddies. When Macho came out, he was getting booed and heckled because he was playing a "heel" at the time. Not me. I was whistling and cheering like the Cubbies had won the series, and when it got quiet so he could take the microphone, I used my best coach voice to bust out an impersonation of his trademarked "OHHHHHH YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAA!!!!!!!" growl that he used before he snapped into a slim jim or an opponents leg. He looked over to where we were sitting...pointed right at me...and gave us the growl. It was THE single greatest moment of my adolescence; even if I was in my mid-twenties at the time.
****

Alas, it was not to be. Some other punk was using the Macho Man entrance music. "He can't do that!" I hollered at the screen. "Only Macho can use that music. It's a rule. Someone needs to snatch that dude's Man Card. What a punk!"

That's why I started laughing when two dudes ambushed this usurper in the tunnel and beat down on him with a couple of folding chairs. He deserved it.

Disappointed I was not going to get to see my hero, I was nevertheless interested in who this poser was so I kept watching for a minute. Imagine my surprise when someone brought Ric Flair down the aisle in a wheelchair.

Stunned, I turned to the Boss who was now playing solitaire on her cellphone. "He looks terrible", I said. "Some guys don't know when to quit."

The Boss mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "HMMM", but probably meant "Grow up". Then all of a sudden, the Nature Boy hops out of his wheelchair like his butt is on fire, grabs a folding chair and starts hammering on the dude in the ring.

"Wow" I said for the third time in about forty seconds.

The only thing more mysterious than what was going on was why I was suddenly so interested.

Then IT happened. The camera swung to the top of the tunnel and right on cue, out stepped the Hulkster himself.

"Holy Cow!!" I started shouting, jumping nearly out of my seat. "Look at this, Hon! It's Hulk versus Flair; we were just talking about this! Right now... this very second! I don't believe it!"

"I don't believe it either", said the Boss patiently, but I'm not sure she was talking about the TV.

Unfortunately, the show started rolling the closing credits as the Nature Boy and the Hulkster glared at each other from thirty feet apart. It was soooo cool. I am absolutely tuning in next week. Vince and Jerry practically required it to keep my Man Card. Besides...now I want to.


I really, really need a hobby.

Chasing Tricycle Motors

I suppose that the writer of the "Destroying Angels" blog should not be stunned by the capabilities of a three year old. And yet...my nephew's miraculous run continues to astound. Thanks to my "brilliant" idea of granting an "Upset Special" bonus for the first round, we are still chasing a tricycle motor to glory.

Beckett managed to pull ten out of sixteen games, which is one less than his first day efforts but is still respectable enough for him to start wearing a plaid sports coat while appearing on ESPN "the Ocho" in commercials encouraging viewers to "Call my number right now to get my patented 'Diamond plated, five star, iron-clad' lock of the week! Only $29.99 a minute!"

I, myself had a better than respectable day, going 13 for 16. You can add the Pac 10 to the list of things I hate about the tourney. Two wins for a conference that sucked out loud during the season? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!!Thanks a heap Cal and Washington. My flier on Sienna also cost me, but none of them beyond the next round.

Didn't matter though, as the bonus points relegated my view to only the back of Beckett's curly head. I cut his lead over me from 24 to 13, but the kid has a gift and we'll all be lucky to catch him. I'm really sweating my BYU pick this morning.

At least the "Upset" bonus is off.

Brian Beebe had perhaps the best day of anyone, going from 9 picks and 47 points to 23 correct for 129 points. That's 14 out of 16 correct for a Beckett-like 82 points. 14 out of 16? Really? Are you sure you didn't let your son make your picks?

Puzilla's method of straight underdogs paid off handsomely in the first round. Even though only 10 of 32 games were won by 'dogs, the bonus points blasted her into a tie for fifth.

Squizzle, on the other hand, stuck to the favorites and got a hefty 22 correct (not bad for a kid who drools and can only say "numm!"), but his complete lack of bonus points relegated him to the middle of the pack. He's tied for 14th.

It will be very interesting to see how the lack of bonus points and the usual trend for fewer upsets in the later rounds will affect these two in the standings.

A quick shout to my sister-in-law, who continues to shine in a very respectable fifth place, despite her amateur standing. And to my cousin Holly. She may be in 25th place, but she is still killing her bum brothers by a whopping 17 correct picks. Way to go Holly! Tell them they can expect a "visit" from Vince and Jerry at any time.

Speaking of Vince and Jerry...Corbin, Jason, and Jess; you are all still getting whooped by your significant others. I would not be pandering to my target demographic if I didn't call you out for some public humiliation (insert smiley face here). Perhaps we can offer a pair of cards good for free combo meals at the golden arches for any wife who drops a hammer on her hubby? We can call it "The Boss Bonus". I'll put up a poll.

Here's the full rundown of the first two days.

Standings after the First Round

R Team Points Correct
1 Dawnell Moon (2) 150 21
2 Fatdaddy 137 24
3 Brian Beebe 129 23
4 Moe 120 23
5 Jil Bircher (1) 119 18
5 Puzey 119 10
7 Mandy Kelly 118 22
8 Jason Anderson 116 22
9 Anne Taylor 115 22
9 Jen Clark 115 22
11 Jil Bircher (3) 112 20
12 Peff 110 16
13 Dawnell Moon (1) 108 22
14 Kevin Kelly (2) 105 21
14 Squizzles 105 22
16 Corbin Taylor 104 21
17 The Boss 103 20
18 Jil Bircher (2) 102 19
18 Kevin Kelly (1) 102 20
18 Kevin Kelly (3) 102 21
21 Jess Clark 100 20
22 Haggis 97 18
23 Mike Kelly 94 20
24 Tim kelly 85 18
25 Hollie Downs 82 17

Good luck to everyone for today, and Go Cougars!!!

The Five Ring Circus to the North

I am an avid follower of all things sports so of course the five ring circus in Vancouver has not escaped my notice. I call it the "five ring circus" because I remember that in 2002 when it was here, anybody that even thought about using the "O" word in print or on merchandise without paying royalties was threatened with a lawsuit.

I have no doubt that as small as my readership is and in spite of the complete lack of monetary recompense for my services; any unauthorized use the "O" word would surely get me hunted down like the dog that I am.

I watched the opening and frankly I thought Salt Lake was a million times better; though I may be biased. The totem poles looked so much like Boris Karloff in "Frankenstein" that even my kids noticed. Moe asked, "Why do they have zombies?"

Good question.

I liked some of the special effects, though I'm still wondering whose brilliant idea it was to have a beat poet read. What the heck? I love poetry more than the next man, but that guy was A)the single most out of place moment in the history of the five ring circus(Poetry? What a blatant Man Card Violation), and B)was pretty sucky anyway. All he really said was "Hey, eh. You hosers stop making fun of the Great White North. Now take off!"

What, were Bob and Doug McKenzie booked elsewhere?

Personally, I think the judicious use of Bob and Doug would have been a terrific move. NBC could have used them as "Sideline reporters"to interview athletes and comment on the show. The potential for much needed comic relief was enormous.

Since I had no McKenzie brothers to keep me entertained, and the "culture pageant" was boring me to tears, I had to find my own fun. It didn't hurt that I was in a pretty snarky mood, so I started to invent bets for myself and think of creative broadcast ideas.

Of the latter, the best one I came up with is the Loner Channel. Its a cable station like NBC shopping or whatever that is devoted to covering the athletes from nations with fewer than 10 participants. I wanna see the cross country skier from Bermuda perform. And I am totally cheering for the Irish women's bobsled team (and not just because of my culture and heritage; those chickies are not hard to look at!). I also think it would be very interesting to see the stories about how these people from the middle east and tiny, tropical islands found themselves on skis and skates.

As far as the bets went, they were by far my favorite part of the evening. I was counting the number of Gretzky references (my pen ran out of ink after about ten million). I put even money on either a Celene Dion or Alanis Morissette performance, and was glad to lose the bet so as to be spared the broken eardrums (though Brian Adams was scary enough by himself, wasn't he? Can you imagine the deafening sound of channels changing if Brian Adams and Celene sang a duet? shudder).

Perhaps my favorite bet of the night was on a contest that won't be taking place. I wanted to see what would happen if a pack of PETA protesters and the Native Canadian dancers went at it, Gladiator style. Pardon the guilt of an easy pun, but I'll bet the fur would really fly.

Hmmm, not really politically correct, but a better fight than the last heavyweight boxing match, I'll bet. I wonder what Bob and Doug would have made of it?

Ah, well. I'm off to watch "Cool Runnings". I felt really old when I found out four of my kids had no clue as to why Jamaican Bobsled references were funny.

The Game

Not a bad ballgame. I would have liked it to end a little differently, but at least it wasn't a snoozer. If the Saints had played anyone other than the Colts, I'd have cheered for them (But I'd have wanted my Eagles to be in the game instead).

But when you have two BYU guys on one team and none on the other, I'm slanting Coltward. Plus, as much as I respect Drew Brees (the guy is a top QB and a leader of the highest order), I have liked Peyton Manning longer and for the same reasons.

That said, I do like to see new blood at the top. It gets old watching the Yankees, Cowboys, and Lakers win year after year after year (especially since I despise those three. It would not get old to see the Jazz, Cubbies or Eagles win year after year after year).

As far as the game goes, it was about what I expected. The defenses rose up and played well; even bad defenses get tired of hearing that they are going to get lit up and though these aren't the best D's in the land, they do have world class athletes who had two weeks to prepare and only had to lay it out for sixty minutes. I thought both teams did a good job of limiting the damage inflicted by the opposing "juggernaut" offenses. I thought the defenses were pretty much even but you have to give an edge to the Saints; their "Pick Six" surely trumped Indy's masterpiece four down, goal-line stand.

Perhaps because of the elevated play of the D's (did Freeney look like a guy playing on one wheel?) I thought Brees and Manning looked pretty mediocre. Neither did much to write home about with one very obvious exception.

Coaching was even. With the onside kick call by Sean Payton, he proved he has guts and nerves of steel, but it only served to offset his bonehead call to go for it on fourth and goal at the end of the first half. Caldwell was his usual level headed best, and he danced with the girl that brought him.

Unfortunately the "girl" that brought him was Peyton Manning. Just when he looked like he was headed for the "greatest QB ever" throne, he tossed the worst interception of his career. The blame for this one goes all on him.

I love the guy, I'd have him start my team any day, but he has to take the fire for the loss. He was forcing passes all day (if you watch the replay see how many passes he throws that are traveling "nose down" through the air--a sure fire sign he's throwing too hard) and he finally found one he couldn't keep safe. It was gut wrenching to see the best QB of this generation looking like Brett Fah-vre stole his uniform for the most important play of the game.

You could tell by the look on his face as he went to the sideline that he knew it too. If you look over on the Colt bench, you can see the shadows of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan waiting to take away his Man Card for throwing like a girl and blowing a Superbowl. He'll have to play better next year to get it back.

It will not be a good offseason in Indy.