Real Athletes play Wiffleball

Since the dawn of time, the competitive edge has dominated whatever life form inhabited the earth.  I've never met anyone that lived around the same time as the Dinosaurs, so I can't speak for them.  But I imagine that a T-Rex would get insanely pissed off whenever anyone tried to mess with whatever animal he or she was eating.  I bet he would also all of the sudden call time out whenever he was playing sandlot football with a bunch of other T-Rex's and the team that he was not on was about to score a touchdown.  No one likes to lose, even if its a friendly game of sandlot football.  Now a days competition is everywhere, politics, religion, education, burping contests and of course, sports.

What sucks about a lot of sports these days is its less about the competition and more about business.  How many times do you hear about some pompous pro athlete signing a "business decision" contract to play for a pro team. Specially in baseball  *COUGH* Albert Pujols and Prince Fielder this year *PUKE* Johnny Damon in 2005.  MLB, NBA, NFL you name it... money is first, winning is secondary.  The NHL kicks ass.  How many times do you hear about some spoiled hockey player holding out for a new contract?  Exactly.  Then again... how many times do you hear about hockey?  Exactly.  Fuck you ESPN.  World wide leader in sports my ass.  The best sports are the ones played in neighborhood driveways, and backyards.  Street Hockey, Sandlot Football, Pickup Basketball and my personal favorite, Wiffleball.

Whether you're playing in a tournament or just messing around with your friends its a sport that can be played by anyone of any age or fitness level.  Both the bat and ball are light enough for a 5 year old that still might be a little weak to handle a wooden bat or a 60 year old that cant really handle the ware and tare of throwing a real baseball without the shoulder flaring up.  There is also very little running involved. (fuck yeah)  While baseball relies on running the bases, wiffleball uses ghost runners.  So if you have a bad knee or weigh a little more than the average person, fear not.  Singles, doubles, triples and home runs are decided by how far you hit the ball.

Got nothing to do on a mid summer Saturday?  Load of a cooler with sandwiches and Gatorade and head to your nearest Wiffleball tournament.  If you thought you and your friends were the only people in the world that knew how to whip off a sweet wiffle curve ball think again.  Teams from all over the area flock to these tournaments every year and why wouldn't they?  There is no better way to spend a kick ass summer day then with some of your best friends playing a sport you've played since you were kids.   After a few years you get to know some of the other teams and become friends with them as well.  It does not take long for the tournament to become one giant backyard were everyone is joking around telling stories and having fun.  By the time the day is over, you're sunburned, tired, ready for a beer and your sides hurt from laughing.  Fuck the beach, I'd rather be playing wiffleball.

So if you're tired of watching 200 million dollar athletes complain about their back being to stiff to play or your favorite player signing a contract with another team because they were offering him a couple million dollars more just remember, there is a backyard with your best friends waiting for your turn to bat.  If you strike out, who gives a fuck.  No one is paying you anyway.

It also makes for a pretty sweet movie plot.  

 

Dorothy said it best...

After a long journey down the yellow brick road that featured a talking scarecrow that could not walk for shit, a tin man that danced like a sonofabitch, a lion that would tare a hippopotamus from top to bottomus and a wicked witch that would stop at nothing to get her ruby slippers back, we learn from Glinda the "good" witch of the north that all Dorthy had to do in order to return to her beloved Kansas was close her eyes, click her heals three times and repeat the phrase, "there's no place like home."  Next thing she knew she was waking up in her bed surrounded by her friends and family welcoming her back from the land of Oz.  Really?  Miles and miles of yellow brick road, lions tigers and bears, a shit load of flying monkeys ALL while a witch is trying to fucking kill her and her friends?  That's all she had to do to get home?

Put your fucking wand down and explain yourself...

HEY, GET BACK HERE!!!

While it might have seemed like a dick move by someone who's suppose to be good, in the end it was necessary for Dorothy to learn the true value of friends and family and how important it is to never forget who you are and where your from.  If it means having a witch throw huge fucking balls of fire at you then so be it.  It will teach you to not spontaneously run away from home again wont it?  Your poor auntie Em was worried sick.

After being away for close to five months I got a chance to visit my home town of Waterville Maine last weekend.  Unlike Dorothy I left my home town without the aide of a Tornado.  I packed everything I could fit into my 98' green ford ranger and put peddle to the metal towards Chicago.  It took me a while, but I'm finally starting to get things churning out here.  If you've ever made a big move like that it can be easy to forget that starting life over takes time.  You go from an area you know like the back of your hand to an area that you've never seen, heard or experienced before.  Not to mention its an area that's fucking HUGE compared to Waterville Maine.  Its almost like relearning how to walk.  When my plane touched down in Portland everything was exactly how I remembered it.  I could not help by think of those last lines in the Wizard of Oz "There's no place like home."  Seeing my parents and brother Matt (who had made his own trip from New York) for the first time since the end of August was a little bit surreal.  Its a weird feeling when your home state is no longer your home.

During that weekend I fell right back into place with my friends.  It was almost as if I had never left.  We all told the same stories, ate the same food, drank the same beer and had just as much fun as we always have.  Except this time my tiny apartment in Chicago was constantly in the back of my mind.  Even though I was having the time of my life with the best friends and family in the world, I was anxious to get back to my new life of not knowing what the next few days will hold.  It dawned on me that during these past five months, I have without even realizing it come to embrace what I was afraid of when I first got out here.  Everything in Maine was the same, everything back in Chicago was still new, exciting and even a little bit scary.  The rush I had been living for those past 5 months had slowed down to a crawl... as good as it was to be home I was not ready for things to slow down.  

Taking it one day at a time with a new job, new friends and new opportunities is something I will continue to look forward to while I plant my roots out here.  It might suck ass that I'm not three heal clicks away from Waterville, but that won't keep my friends and family away from my heart.  They will always be there along with the thoughts that if the roots don't grow the way I want them to out here, I've got no spaz of a wicked witch keeping me from going back.                             

          

The Catch of the Day.

For most people every day starts early in the morning when we fight ourselves out of bed knowing that we have a full day of work or school ahead of us.  As we rub our eyes and get dressed, we glare over at our comfortable looking beds and think how awesome it would be if we could crawl back underneath the warm covers and continue dreaming about really awesome shit.  Its amazing how hard it is to start the day when you know that day will be spent doing something you don't want to do.  Monday through Thursday the mental war can be brutal.  Friday mornings are usually a little easier to take knowing that the weekend is right around the corner. The chance to finally sleep in and not get up at the ass crack of dawn, unless you were sleeping at a little camp in Hartland Maine that sat on Moose Pond.

Getting up at 5am on a Saturday morning in Maine was always a lot easier when you looked out the window to see a layer of fog slowly rising off a dead calm lake.  America's day was just beginning and there was no better place in the world to witness it.  The dew was sparkling in the early morning sun, the birds were chirping and downstairs I could hear my Dad and Uncle John filling up the cooler with food and beer for a long day on the lake in a 14 foot aluminum boat.  The only living creatures that were not enjoying themselves were the fish that made their home underneath the surface of the water.  It would not be long before our lures would be hitting that same surface in hopes of rousting a 4lb rouge small mouth bass.  Knowing that my day would be filled with picturesque scenery, a few ice cold beers, some puffs on the god given herb and COUNTLESS fishing stories from my Dad and Uncle John made it a lot easier to jump out of bed to greet the day.

Even if the day itself was not particularly nice it would not stop us.  The best part about fishing in the rain was that you knew you would pretty much have the lake to yourself.  Aside from a select few local hardcore's, all the out of state summer residents were sulking at home because of a little rain, oblivious to the fact that out on the lake there were people reeling in a small mouth bass that could not believe he got caught by people stupid enough to be fishing on a rainy day.  The only thing that would slow us down was if the wind picked up.  Even then we would tuck into a stream or cove, kick back and wash down some puffs of the god given herb with a couple more oat sodas.   

TV would like you to think that the only people that know how to fish are those rich fucks in their $30,000 fishing boats.  

"Don't tell anyone that I told you my penis is really small.."

Underneath all the fancy equipment and 200 horse power motors are idiots that have no idea what they are doing.  As much as they hate to admit it they know that the dudes in the 14 foot boats know where the fish are.  I usually spot these assholes about 100 yards away from my boat doing everything they can to make it look like they are not trying to fish in the same spot I'm in.  I've lost track of how many times I've moved out of an area only to see some prick in a bass boat immediately move into the exact area I was just fishing in.  They may have the flash, but I've got the 4lb bass at the end of my stringer.  Good luck trying to catch a fish that was just caught.           

Whether you're a 3 year old kid with a plastic fisher price pole just learning how to cast a line or a 90 year old man sitting on the edge of his dock dangling a bobber at the end of his line not even giving a flying fuck if he catches a single fish.  

American Dream

The best part about fishing is that anyone can do it.  It could be in a boat, on the shore of a pond or in the middle of winter in a shack on the ice.  Even if you're to tired to fight yourself out of bed at 5am just remember that a hell of a day is out their waiting for you on the lake. Even if  they are not biting it beats the shit out of having to go to work.  As my great uncle Dick use to say "You can't catch'em sittin' on the porch!"    

  

          

Fuck the (Food) Police

Everyone has their own way of eating. Some people are always on the go and shove McDonald's or Subway into their mouths every day, some people are vegetarians and don't eat meat, while others are really hardcore and don't even eat food that came from an animal.  We call those crazy assholes vegans.  As insane as that lifestyle sounds I actually commend the vegan lifestyle simply because it seems really hard to do.  A lot of important vitamins, minerals and protein's that were easy to come by from meat, milk, eggs etc are out of the question.  If it did not seem like such a huge pain in the ass I would consider trying the vegan lifestyle for a change and clean out whatever horrible toxins that have remained dormant in my system since I was old enough to make my own meal choices.  Usually your body does not resent you when fruits and vegetables are the main staple of your diet.  Although if you have read some of my recent posts, you are aware that I eat a HELL of a lot better than I use to.

What gets on my nerves are the people that tell us what we can and can't eat.  It seems like every other day there is some new fad diet that has everyone going crazy because they thought they were suppose to be eating the shit they were told to eat last week by the same group of people.  They're called the food police.  They spend their time doing research and stupid scientific studies over a span of 30 years only to discover that putting ketchup on your french fries may lead to slowly and painfully dying of cancer.  Then again, that would explain why people in Holland put mayonnaise on their fries.    

I seen'em do it man, they fuckin drown'em in that shit!

Obviously its not "recommended" that you eat fast food every day.  All that sugar, salt and fat can be pretty hardcore.  We don't need any shit doesn't stink asshole scientist to tell us that.  But if its 3am, you've been out all night drinking with your buddies and your (hopefully) designated driver comes across a McDonald's or Burger king and wants to pull in for a snack then fuckin'a feast away.  There's a reason fast food places are open late.  

No matter what we have for breakfast, lunch, dinner or a late night snack some prick that spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to go to college is going to tell us that "a new study finds that banana's are the leading cause of peoples heads blowing off."  There actually are some lab coat wearing mother fuckers that believe fruits are bad for us.  Are you kidding me?  Sure a lot of today's produce are grown in a different environment.  They are bigger and sweeter than organically grown produce.  But until organic food companies stop charging an arm and a leg I will continue to chow down on apples and oranges that not only taste crisp and sweet but also help me shit my brains out if I need a little help with a bowel movement.  Organic food causes me to scratch my head.  A product that does not have anything added to it cost more than a product that has a bunch of stuff that I can't even pronounce added to it.  That makes as much sense as parents complaining about school lunch menus because they don't provide enough nutrition.  I remember when I was a kid I brought my lunch from home.            

At the end of the day I make a decent enough living that allows me to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner on a consistent basis.  That's more then a lot of people in the world can say.  It kicks ass that if I wanted to I could dial a number order a pizza and have it at my doorstep within half an hour.  If I don't eat the whole pizza, I'll stick it in the fridge and have the rest for breakfast tomorrow.  Cold pizza is the best breakfast of all time.  That is fucking luxury compared to a lot of other people in the world that dig through restaurant dumpsters and find a shit load of unused food that the restaurants just threw away.  How come the food police isn't doing anything about that?    

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

Whats happening?  Before I get into my letter I'd like to say those Best Buy commercials that have those parents buying trunk fulls of presents for their bratty kids telling you "Its on" are fucking horse shit.  Any stupid electronic store can slap a discount sticker on an I-Pad "Just in time for the holidays."  If I were you, I would run two sleighs this year.  One for all the kids you plan on visiting and another to dump a shit load of coal on the doorstep of the Best Buy CEO.  If you need me to drive the Best Buy one, I would be more than happy.  Now, on to my Christmas list.  

I know its been a long time between letters.  The last time I remember writing to you was when I wanted a Teddy Ruxpin doll.  Remember those talking bears that had a built in cassette tape player in his back?  You play a specific tape and it would tell you stories from his past that would keep a kid entertained for hours at a time.         

Play with me children....

It was one of the best Christmas presents I ever got.  To this day I can still remember how speechless I was when I tore off the wrapping paper and saw Teddy looking back at me.  What I also remember about that Christmas is you also brought my younger brother Matt a talking Alf doll.  It was one of those dolls that every time you gave him a squeeze he would say one of about 4 different catch phrases. 

How bout a hug for the old Alfer...

Two brothers, two 80's fad toy's, one very Merry Christmas's.  

This year my list is a little different.  Even though I'm gonna be home for a weekend in January, for the first time in my life I will be away from my friends and family while they are taring open presents and sitting down to Christmas dinner.  It will be a tough transition, but in a shitty way I know it will be good for me.  The whole experience of being away from home for the past four months has been eye opening.  I've never gone this long without seeing my parents.  Its taken me 27 years, but I'm finally starting to officially grow up.  

The only present I ask for myself would be to get a Job... I'm living in one of the coolest cities in the world and have almost ZERO money to get out there and experience it first hand.  

For my Brother it would be cool if he got some kind of break music wise.  Right now he's working some customer service Job in New York.  He's to awesome of a musician to not blossom.  

For both my Parents, see what you can do to make sure there are not any crazy winter storms that might fuck up my brother and I's travel plans in the first weekend of January.  Who knows when we will BOTH be home again.  Would be cool if the sky's remained clear and the roads remained bare.  

Also... share some warmth for my Grandfather down in South Carolina.  He's watching his wife, my Grandmother slowly slip away from Alzheimer's.  This time of year must be pretty lonely for him.  Stop in on him and have a beer.

In closing, keep up the good work.  You've been kicking ass for a long time making kids all over the world happy on Christmas morning.  Give your reindeer a pet for me, I'll be looking for Rudolph's nose Saturday night.  Love to the Mrs!

-Mike     

Faster than the speed of Time

The month of December is always a festive time of year.  Everywhere you look you're reminded that Christmas is around the corner.  Whether its a hardcore display of lights on your neighbors front lawn, or another commercial reminding us that every kiss begins with spending a shit load of money, its impossible to avoid.  It's also a reminder that another year is beginning to wrap up.  The Holiday season comes to its epic climax as the clock strikes midnight on January 1st.  We all joyfully toast our drinks, wussfully kiss our significant other and celebrate the fact that we've all made it through another calender year in one piece.  Later on that morning everyone wakes up in their post holiday fog.  On top of the fact that the christmas cookies are gone, a lot of us are all hung over and slowly coming to the conclusion that the holiday season is over... back to school, work and really starting to get pissed off at Winter.

This will be the year we turn the pages on 2011 and enter 2012.  The most talked about year since Y2K.  It will be another year filled with speculation concerning the end of the world.  I'm sure by the time December 21st rolls around you'll be so fucking tired of the doomsday media coverage and Discovery Channel specials that you'll welcome the end of the world with open arms.  

Time for some s'mores!!

For me, not only does 2012 signal the potential end of the world, it's also the 10 year anniversary of when I graduated high school.  I've grown from a timid 18 year old kid unsure of what the future holds to a much wiser confident (almost) 28 year old dude that's still unsure what the future holds.  It can be really fucking mind blowing to see and hear about people I went to school with settling down with a career, getting married and having kids.  While it's something I would certainly love to do at some point down the road, the thought of starting a family is still pretty intimidating.  I still feel I'm not even CLOSE to ready.  No more sleeping in, puffing on the god given herb in the middle of the day, or leaving the house whenever you want.  Life is all about changes.  As a kid you're always changing grade levels, changing clothing and shoe sizes.  As a young adult your body changes, you go from a little boy or girl, to a jacked stud or a smoking hot babe.  All of the sudden you're shaving areas that you only saw your mom and dad shave as a little kid.  You're voice starts cracking and getting deeper, next thing you know you're taking the girl that use to chase you on the playground to your senior prom.  

Some of you graduated High School knowing exactly what you wanted in life.  You went to college to make it happen and along the way you met a girl or guy that you fell in love with and got married.  Before you knew it, you were paying a mortgage and having kids... holy shit... out of all the changes that have taken place, having a kid takes the fucking cake    

Hundreds of THOUSANDS of dollars will be needed out of  your pocket for the next 20+ years!

When I was a young child I always assumed that things would always be the way they were for the rest of my life.   I had yet to come to the realization that the older I got the more things change.  Even though it seemed like childhood flew by I always remember thinking "When the fuck am I gonna be old enough to do shit on my own?  Being a kid takes fucking forever!  FUCK!! I DON'T WANNA GO TO BED ITS STILL LIGHT OUT!"  I was always told fairy tails by my parents about eventually growing up to be an adult. I would some day have my own job, my own house and if I'm lucky my own family.  I would always believe that to some degree, but at the same time would not really think about it.  When I did think about it never phased me. "Pfft, I'm 8 and that shit did not happen to my Parents until they were in their 30's.. I won't be in my 30's for at least another 50 years."

Now hear I am 20 years later.  I'm in a brand new surrounding, taking it one day at a time.  While I'm still a single dude in right smack dab in the middle of life's adventures and only a few of those changes that my parents talked about have taken place, it has certainly become clear to me that no matter what I end up doing with my life, time will always be moving and life will always be changing.  It may not always move as smooth as I would like it to, but that's life.  As far as I'm concerned I was dealt a pretty half decent hand.  I always remind myself that no matter how rough things can be, someone out there has it a lot worse than I do and unlike me.. they would welcome the end of the world with open arms.      

The Best Friend who Followed me Home, Chapter 4 - Saying Goodbye

As a younger Cat, Bud was a very free spirit.  He came and went as he pleased and only allowed affection to be poured on him if it did not interfere with him going outside and picking off unsuspecting birds.    After Cassie passed away Bud underwent a very clear personality change.  Not only was he getting older, he no longer had to worry about sharing the house.  He finally had his own turf.  When she was alive, Bud had clearly given her the respect of the Alpha Cat.  If you've ever had Cat's before you know they can be extremely territorial.  Even Cats that get along 99% of the time will go at it every now and then.  This constantly had Bud on edge.  Once it was clear to him that Cassie was not coming back he seemed to breath a big sigh of relief.  Not to mention we no longer were splitting our affection between two Cats.  He was now getting all the love from everyone and was not fucking complaining.

The older he got, the more he chilled out.  He spent less nights outside and more nights curled up at the foot of my bed.  Or if it was a night he felt like sleeping alone, he would quietly lay next to me until I dozed off.  Only then would he make his way downstairs and sprawl out in his favorite armchair.  

Fuck sharing a bed with that burly asshole 

Old age slowly began to set in, he graduated to only being able to eat wet food as he could no longer handle the crunchy kibble on his sensitive teeth.  Days that had normally been spent frolicking outside for hours on end were now spend inside sleeping in the sunbeam to keep his old bones nice and warm.

Catch your own god damn bird

What I noticed the most out of those last three years was how my Dad fully embraced him.  While he did not mind having Cassie around my Dad never seemed to fully warm up to her.  Mostly because Cassie knew where she was loved and did not waste her time.  It certainly would have been his preference to not have any Cats around at all.  He put up with it because he knew it made his family happy and had no interest in being the villain.  When we got Cassie, she was already fully grown and set in her ways.  When your not a cat person, its hard to form any kind of emotional bond with one that does not seem to give a fuck if you're around or not.  Bud on the other hand approached my Dad as a little baby kitten that needed someone to pay attention to him more than anything.  Bringing him home may not have been my Dads first choice, but in the end I know he did not regret it.  Towards the end of Bud's life my Dad even shared his sardines with him.  

The time had come to make a heartbreaking decision to end his suffering.  During his last few days, Bud never left the kitchen.  He could barley hold himself up anymore and began to develop an infection in his jaw making it nearly impossible for him to open his mouth.  Knowing I was never going to get a chance to pet him again I spent the last day he was with us sitting with him in the kitchen.  He slowly got up and made his way over to me and crawled into my lap.  I slowly stroked his bony frame and did my best to make sure the last moments we shared together were as comfortable as possible.

With heavy hearts, my Mom and I brought him to the Hospital.  When you spend that much time with a pet its just as bad as losing a family member.  The whole time I was there all I could think about was that summer morning 16 years ago when he trotted out to greet me as an 8 week old kitten.  I could not believe this day had finally come.  My Mom and I tearfully gave him a kiss on the head, told him we loved him, heartbreakingly let the vet end his pain and put him to sleep.  As I watched the life leave his eyes all I could think was "No way... No way this is happening right now"  We each stayed there for another five minutes or so as the Vet respectfully gave us some time alone to say our final goodbyes.  After my Mom and I each let it out we finally gathered ourselves together to make our way back home.  Before I left I sent him off with one more scratch behind his lifeless ears, turned and walked out of the room.

Its been about five months since I said goodbye.  I still miss the hell out of him.  For more than half of my life he was always there sleeping at the foot of my bed, waiting for me when I got home from school, or hopping up into my lap when he sensed I was having a rough day.  I think about him every day and as more time passes, I am think less and less about the heartbreaking day at the Animal Hospital and more and more about the good times.  Weather its fucking around with a piece of string, petting him until my arm falls off, and of course 16 years ago when I was an 11 year old boy getting out of the one church service I attended that summer and a little helpless kitten followed me home to eventually became the best Cat and friend I had ever had.

Rest in Peace old friend