The Answer to 'Numb Baseball'

Here’s the answer to “numb baseball:” Promotion and Relegation.

Can you imagine if the Reds could knock the Pirates down to AAA? That would make games in September insanely exciting. Could you imagine the being on the brink of demotion? Small market teams struggling at the bottom would be less willing to sell their players because doing so would seal their demise. Then they’d lose all sorts of sponsorship and media money.

Could you imagine if Louisville would win AAA and make it to the bigs? Pick up a few victories over huge clubs? See the rotten Yankees come to town?

Imagine teams of newly-promoted kids playing games in huge parks... not just one individual making his debut on a random summer night. The nation could fall in love with a team like the Toledo Mudhens. Who knows?

Finally, and perhaps more tangibly? Why not try an open cup, in which all of the nation's teams enter a single-elimination tournament?

Baseball could become magical. Attendance would skyrocket at all levels. And this system might help people forget about the steroids era. Hell, and ESPN might be forced to cover a topic beyond the Red Sox/Yankees.

At this point, it will never happen - we’re so entrenched in marketing deals and farm systems, and all that; I'm not sure how this idea could ever get off the ground.

Maybe the open cup is the proper first step.

Are you on board with this idea? If so, let me know and let’s start a movement.

Nani

Jeff Brantley Catches Thief "Reds" Handed

While feasting on a full rack of dripping pork ribs and a basket of ketchup-soaked french fries during a recent June evening baseball broadcast, 45-year old Cincinnati Reds announcer Jeff "The Cowboy" Brantley suddenly feasted eagle eyes on Brandon Phillips, who was chomping on some pretzels at second base. The former Reds closer, cheeks specked with an unidentified-but-zesty-looking condiment dip, shouted, "Aha, I Gotcha!" from the Great American Ballpark radio booth so loudly, that 63% of the Reds radio audience tuning into 700 WLW temporarily went deaf.

The short-sleeve dresshirted Brantley, known for his love of eating food of virtually any variety so long as it's covered in something with the consistency of gravy or Montgomery Inn BBQ sauce, or literally doused with a mixture of the two, made haste from the booth to confront Phillips, who he believed to be playing a prank by stealing his pretzels.

Booth mate Marty Brennaman reported that Brantley was overheard yelling. "They think it's so damn funny when they take my snacks! I'll show 'em funny!" he shouted, with the belly of his shirt stained by some rogue grape jelly that had abandoned its English muffin while he was dining at Denny's that morning.

In the end, Phillips was left unassailed and safely remained in the game due to the half-dozen vendors that distracted The Cowboy on his way to the field. Brantley, having eaten every variety of Skyline chili, LaRosa's pizza, frosty malt and fried bologna sandwich, between the booth and the field, only to top it all off with a jumbo sized cotton candy and bucket of popcorn, was ultimately too content to care about his burgled pretzels.

Having returned to the booth where Brennaman wasn't sure if it was blood or BBQ inhabiting the corners of Brantley's mouth, the Cowboy sighed under his breath, "There's 162 games in the season and I'll have my day. Mr. Phillips, I'll see you in hell; though more likely I'll see you at the Montgomery Inn Boathouse."

Then inexplicably, The Cowboy murmured the word "smokin'," and fell sound asleep, his hand reaching for Marty's brattwurst with spicy mustard.

Native Northern Kentuckian Enjoys Onion Story about Brandon Phillips and Pretzels

ATLANTA--A Native of northern Kentucky now living in Atlanta, Georgia, who grew up a diehard fan of the Cincinnati Reds, thoroughly enjoyed reading today's blurb in The Onion about Brandon Phillips eating Rold Gold pretzels while manning second base. Reached for comment, current Atlantan Nani J. Cootsack mused, "I liked the article about Brandon Phillips. I like BP, and I think he does just as well when he's packin' snacks. Although it gets a little wacky when he brings a cup of Kool-Aid out there too."

"It brought back memories of attending my Dad's softball games," the hungry 32-year old continued, "watching him pitch with a handful of pretzels in his glove hand and a can of Frito Lay's Mild Cheddar cheese dip in his back pocket. He ate the long thick pretzels though and usually would conceal them in his sock. He'd get so focused on eating pretzels and dip, that sometimes he'd forget the softball and serve up a watermelon in the form a puck-sized can of queso. Good thing his catcher wore a bib."
For reference, The Onion entry:

CINCINNATI—Claiming he just needed "a little something to nibble on," Reds second baseman Brandon Phillips brought out a glove full of miniature Rold Gold pretzels as a "between-pitches snack" during Tuesday night's game against the Braves. "Let's get 'em, guys," said Phillips, who perfectly timed his crunching with the crack of the bat to remove any suspicion. "Whattayasay now, infield! Let's turn two, let's, mmm, is that honey mustard?" Phillips was later marked with an error after scooping up a ground ball and accidentally showering shortstop Alex Gonzalez with a handful of pretzels while taking a bite out of the game ball.

What’s Crappening Cincinnati – Volume 3 – Baseball Style

Naïve Reds catcher, Ryan Hanigan, mysteriously filled his locker with Charmin Ultra Soft before the season began. “I came into this season hoping to be the Reds starting catcher,” explains Hanigan, “but when I heard Hernandez was signed I ran to the grocery store immediately.” Confused? Hanigan apparently took being named the Reds’ “number two catcher” too literally. “When Dusty told me I was going to be the ‘#2 catcher,’ I figured I’d be in for quite a messy season,” Hanigan, seen here chasing down a foul number 2 with TP in hand, tells the TTT. “Now that I know he just meant “backup catcher” I feel like a bit of a boob.”

(I must give credit for this article to my roommate, who stated, while I was watching Reds Live, “Number 2 catcher? That sounds like a terrible job.”)

He's Not Freel-ing Baltimore Anymore

Former Red Ryan Freel isn't happy in Baltimore.

Former Cincinnati teammates and fellow superheroes, Norris Hopper and Ryan Freel, go for a quick fly around Great American Ballpark before a 2008 game.

Maybe he's just pissed because they won't do a "Ryan Freel Dirty Shirt" promotion like they did in Cincinnati.

It's all downhill after a team creates a shirt that looks like a baby shit all over it. No wonder he's dissatisfied.

A Sad Day for Cincinnati Sports (and Cincy in general)

As if everyday isn’t a sad day for Cincinnati Sports…..

In this day and age when everyone and their brother (including me and my brother) has a blog, there are only two blogs I consistently follow. One is the Tricky Trail Times, which, as a contributor, I am forced to follow. The other is C Trent Rosecrans’ blog. The latter, in it's 1530Homer.com state, is currently no more. Luckily C Trent can still be followed via Twitter and ctrentrosecrans.com

Today WLW and Clear Channel announced the layoffs of sports/beat writers/radio personalities C Trent Rosecrans, Paul Daugherty, and Alan Cutler. I don’t listen to the radio much, so I really can’t tell you much about Alan Cutler except for the fact that his nickname is “The Cutman” and most people I talk to find him annoying. As for Paul Daugherty, aka PDoc, I could go either way. Sometimes I like his columns, sometimes I don’t. As for C Trent, he will be missed.

Weeks after being named by the readers of CityBeat as Cincinnati’s favorite journalist, C Trent has been let go by his employer. Aside from reporting on the Bengals/Reds, his daily “Thinking Out Loud” blog entries are a smorgasbord of information. Besides being mostly compiled of sports quips, C Trent also presents his readers with insight into the local music scene, the latest iPhone apps, as well as other random pop culture happenings. He is the perfect blogger for Gen X and Y, but sadly those aren’t the people running WLW and Clear Channel. Hopefully C Trent will land on his feet somewhere and be appreciated for the great writer he is. For my sake, I hope he stays in Cincinnati. For his sake, as far as sports cities go, there are much better ones out there besides the 'nati. If his next job takes him away from Cincinnati, then, I wish him the best, his local reporting and prowess on the broomball rink will be missed.

I know the Tricky Trail will always keep a slot open for him.

"One for Dinner, One for Midnight"

Living in Atlanta, I have the displeasure of listening to the Braves radio guys on 96.1. They're the kind of guys, I think one of them is Don Sutton, right, who are so boring that I want to go and by some Nike sneakers and join Heaven's Gate. Here's an example of some painful commentary from Sunday's Reds/Braves game: "you know, too often, when we talk about catchers who are good at throwing out baserunners, we forget to talk about their footwork..." To paraphrase a favorite one-liner from Conway Bangs - open arse, insert chainsaw.

The Braves radio guys are like George Grande, if George Grande cloned himself and both he and his clone worked the same booth. That's how mindless they are.

Did I mention it was Sunday? It must have been because one of them led off the game by saying, "Now that you've have a nice time at church, you can enjoy some Atlanta Braves baseball." That's a bit presumptive, isn't it? Actually, I had a nice time at my soccer game, albeit torturous playing with 9 guys versus 11, but thank you very much, Mr. Sutton or cohort that reminds me of George Grande.

Now, simultaneously, here's some color commentary from The Cowboy Jeff Brantley and Thom Brennaman from the Reds side of the radio booth:

Cowboy and Thom Brennaman:

Q (Thom): Would you run in the Reds 5K?

A (Cowboy): No chance.

Q: Would you walk in the Reds 5K?

A: No chance. I might sit on the side and eat ribs . . . maybe give water.

Q: How many racks of ribs? One?

A: No. No. Two. Always two. One for dinner, one for midnight.

Who would you rather enjoy some baseball with?

The Brilliant Mind of One George Grande

I think I have blogged about this before, but this one will be more in-depth. Baseball season is here again, which means our ears will once again be blessed by the eloquence of "Hi, Hello, and Welcome" George Grande (seen here wondering how he could use this piece of wood on Chris Welsh). If you are not from the Cincinnati area, or don't get Fox Sports Ohio/Cincinnati, then you may not know who this clown is. He is the play-by-play TV announcer for the Reds, and, quite simply, he is an absolute idiot and number one on my list of people I would like to punch in the face (even above Roethlisberger).

My plan for this year is to keep a journal of all the things he says that don't make sense or just flat out leave me dumbfounded and them send him the journal at the end of the year. We are only 10 games into the season and I have only watched 2 games in their entirety, so my sample size for this season is very small. Nonetheless, here are a few of his "go-to's." (Instead of logging them each time he says them I will just get these out of the way from the start.)

• He constantly chuckles at his own "jokes" (most aren't actually jokes)
• He introduces nearly every player that approaches the plate with "well, you all know his story"
  
• He calls Chris Welsh's house "The Ponderosa" at least once a game
• He says "Best Darn Sports Show" instead of "damn"
  
• And (my least favorite) he says "hit good" instead of "hit well" on every ball that is hit somewhat deep into the outfield.
  

(I know there are many more, but I that is all I can think of at the moment).

So, regarding individual, non-staple statements, here is the start of my journal of George Grande quotes:

1-"Barbara Bush is truly one of America’s treasures."

2-"In the WBC (World Baseball Classic) Joey Votto, ironically, went home to Toronto to play for team Canada."

3-"Ironically, if that ball wouldn’t have hit Harang’s glove it would have been a double play." (This one I am not 100% on, but every time he says "ironically" I just assume it is not ironic).

4-(I have to set the scene first for this one, pulled singles through the hole between 3^rd and SS, a left-hander batter then came up and sliced the ball through the same hole>) “After the first two singles “Batter X” also went the other way with a single.”

Well, that's my first installment. For more information on the worst baseball announcer ever, you can visit his myspace page.

The Mayor Steps Down

I've been away from the blog too long as I have been readying myself for the oncoming apocolypse that my fellow Kentuckians assure me is coming now that we've elected Barack Obama as PUSA. I peaked out from the bomb shelter long enough to hear the news that Sean Casey, the Mayor, has retired from baseball.

When I look back on my friendship with Nani, one of the discussions I remember us having is Sean Casey v. Mark Grace. It infuriated him to no end that I would call Casey a "poor man's Mark Grace". In actuality, they were about the same. Although Grace was a much better glove man. Just go to this awesome baseball site and you will notice that neither hit for average or drove in a lot of RBIs. They both were .300 batters who stretched a lot of triples into doubles and doubles into singles. Nothing that great, but better than average.

What each had going for them was a big personality that made them valuable in the clubhouse and popular in the stands. Baseball is a game where the past is just as important as the present and these two guys were the type of players that could be appreciated by fans of all ages.

So, farewell Mayor. Good luck in your new job at the MLB Network where you can swap stories about the old days with fellow Red Barry Larkin.

I expect Nani to begin the "Sean Casey for the Hall of Fame" blog any day now. That is unless President Obama has shut down the Hall of Fame because he hates America. That could really happen. Rush told me so!

Reds Sign League's Fastest Player from Home Plate to Dugout

Willy Taveras, our new Little Reds Corvette who can go from 0 to 60 in two seconds between the batter's box and the dugout, is notorious for his desire to get to where he's safe, under cover of the dugout, near a fresh supply of sunflower seeds and Gatorade.

The Taveras signing will be a sure upgrade on last year's speedster signing, Corey Patterson, who will likely have reached the dugout more often than Taveras will in 2009, but who will have not reached such amazing speeds in getting there.

Taveras, who stole a career high 68 bases in 2008, has clearly topped this feat by stealing two years of Reds payroll allocations.

Rally 'Round Our Reds!

Reds Sign Previously-Unknown Pitcher!

On Sunday evening, Cincinnati Reds GM Walt Jocketty held a press conference revealing that the Reds Hot Stove had just gotten hotter.

"We are pleased to announced the signing of Muntadar al-Zaidi, a right-hander whose blistering right arm is not afraid to throw at heads of state, much less heads of batters," Jocketty stated.

The former St. Louis GM went on, "al-Zaidi is a shoe-in for a spot in the rotation."

At Reds Fest, the TTT caught up with al-Zaidi's probable battery-mate, Ramon Hernandez, who must have heard about the deal in advance; the 32-year old catcher was getting sized for a mitt large enough to handle a size-10 penny-loafer.

It Was Freel Nice Knowin' Ya [alternate headline: The Freel Deal]

Today, one of everyone's favorite Reds, Ryan Freel, was traded (pending approval) to the Orioles for catcher Ramon Hernandez.

We'll sure miss seeing the all-too-rare-these-days hustle, but at least we won't suffer through possibly witnessing a man die each time a ball is hit to the wall in Great American.Best of luck, Freel.

A reminder why I love Reds off-season...

Great article by Larry Dobrow that rekindles my ignorant hope for Reds baseball in 2009.

Jesse Jackson wanted for questioning in disappearance of Marvin Lewis' Balls [alternate headline: Bengals Fire Marvin Lewis, Reds Sign Rafael Furcal]

Can you imagine Thanksgiving in Cincinnati if that was the Enquirer's headline early next week (the latter - the former would be weird as hell though)?

Kicking a field goal last night while down 13 with 6 minutes left against the Steelers, with the ball inside the 10-yard line, was absolutely inexcusable. Marvin Lewis should be fired. As our friend C. Trent Rosecrans puts it:

So, Marvin Lewis is talking at 2 and maybe he'll make more sense today than he did last night. It was like he was shell-shocked last night and making zero sense. Really, the only thing he can say about the field goal is 'yeah, I f'd up.'

On the bright side, the Reds are currently tied for the lead in the NL Central. Hopefully, they'll grow the pair that Lewis is currently without and sign Furcal, or some other playmaker.

I know I'm dreaming, and while the Naniette is fond to remind that "it's free to dream," I am not sure this is exactly true; I seem to always pay a severe emotional debt for my Cincinnati sports dreams.

"Coco Crisp almost a Red"

That was the headline at mlbtraderumors.com, which had me wound up for a second. Could the Reds really land a CF capable of batting 8th, or even 7th, in the lineup? Could it be?

No, it couldn't.

The Reds were out-gunned by the Royals, the powder-blue insignificance that reportedly, like the Reds, fields a collection of men who are paid professional contracts to play baseball in a fantastic stadium in front of people who spend their money to watch.

Let me repeat: the Reds were out-gunned by the Kansas City Royals. The Royals haven't done anything significant since two hooligan attendees of one of their games assaulted first base coach Tom Gamboa.

My favorite part of the baseball season has certainly tripped and stumbled out of the chute.

Walt Jocketty, what's next? Should we sign Mike Piazza to catch and sell haircare products?

Another Footstep On The Well-Worn Path To Irrelevance

Nice.

The Cincinnati Reds let reliever Jeremy Affeldt sign with San Fransisco. And it's a good thing too. He was only, good, talented, effective .... Maybe they're freeing up cap space to lure the worthless Todd Coffey back.

Thoughts? Tawlk Among y'selves.**

** A SNL "Coffee Talk" reference. Get it? Todd Coffey, Coffee Talk. Oh Nevermind!

Cincinnati Reds Baseball: The Formula to a Dynasty That Continues to Field a Collection of Men Who Wear Baseball Uniforms During Professional Contests

Surprisingly to many, men who once wore Reds uniforms were once professionals who succeeded at their task

The Off-Season Begins, Now.

My favorite sports season has begun: the baseball off-season, the time of year when the Reds have the best chance in baseball at winning the World Series, along with the other teams. Glorious for Reds fans is the fact that our off-season starts much earlier than many of the teams in the Majors. The off-season is a crucial period, especially these early weeks, when the Reds always take advantage of all those suckers still playing baseball in October.

(You see, this off-season the Reds will make all the right moves to bring home the pennant next year; I fall victim every time.)

Seriously, if anyone was serious about winning in future seasons, why wouldn't they tank in the present to give future prospects more playing time and their management more time to prepare for the following season? Even the reckless-as-the-Bush-administration Ryan Freel has grown to know when enough's enough.

And, with all that time spent playing pennant-race and post-season ball, think of all those players risking injury. Who are they to put a championship first, in front of the future of the club? It doesn't make any sense. The end of the regular season is a time to "shut her down," have that corrective surgery, spend a few more minutes in the training room, maybe a little extra time in the whirlpool, but definitely not a time for legging out an infield single. Chances are you pull your groin or a hammy. Then what? Exactly. No golf for at least a week.

Masters of the Off-Season Dynasty: The Cincinnati Reds and the Formula for Continuing to Field a Collection of Men Who Wear Baseball Uniforms

Hope springs eternal nowhere like in the off-season for Cincinnati Reds fans. The Reds, for the past 15 years or so (let us not count the one game playoff against Al Leiter and the New York Mets in 1999 when Barry Larkin could have caught a serious cold in that Wasilla-like weather), have epitomized this brand of smart baseball. In fact you could call them a dynasty. No other team has done as much to assure its fans that next season would be promising like the front office of the Reds, and no other franchise has done its best to assure fans of a respectably humble season finish like the Reds.

Finishing any higher than 4th raises too many eyebrows in the Midwestern, family values-oriented town of Cincinnati. In 2006, when the Reds finished 3rd, many wondered if that were too lofty; some called the Reds management "elitist." Likely as a result, then-Reds manager Jerry Narron was rightly fired by July of the 2007 season. He was replaced by the much-less ambitious Pete MacKanin.

Narron's goals may have been too much, too soon, and in this light perhaps the polar opposite of the Reds' sure-formula for existing for so long as as a franchise who lets men wear real baseball outfits during actual professional contests at large stadiums filled with on-lookers who are not paid to be there.

The Secret Formula as Might Have Been Found next to a Nazi Armband during the Auction of the Schott Estate

The secret sauce is composed of something like this: acquire young players already the recipients of some hype, medium hype, or event a lot of hype, and then apply some home-cooked Skyline Chili-powered ultimate hype pump fans' expectations astronomically. In recent years, this has been the promise of Homer Bailey and Jay Bruce, and, before them, Austin
Kearns and Brandon larson; remember him?

Remember when Todd Coffey was getting some hype and believed to be a better pitcher than mascot Mr. Red?

The formula is genius, especially in a small market town like Cincinnati. It would not work in New York.

So the first part of the formula is the Savior. Promise the Savior to the second part of the formula, a receptive Congregation of fans. Have the Reds' baseball Clergy and media Emmisaries promise fans a Deliverance from baseball Hell through this Savior. Promise them a player so great that he would even Sacrifice his body and actually bleed during games for them (leave out the notion that he would not let fans eat his body and drink his blood). Promise them a player who would deliver a Heavenly World Series championship, and one who would live his life without fallacy, someone like Pete Rose. Promise Faithful fans a God-send who would love the city of Cincinnati and all its inhabitants unconditionally (again, leave something out - that the player was heard praying after being drafted: "Father, why have thou forsaken me?" Also leave out that the player plays for a sinful amount of cash). And promise the Faithful that they would have ample opportunity to adore their hero via tasteful endorsements, `a la Bronson Arroyo and J.T.M. hamburgers. Maybe I meant "tasty" endorsements.

Anyway, let the formula play out so that it's really subtly familiar, hmmm, something a lot like a famous story they've heard before, something that's so familiar they probably do it ever week (or at least at Christmas and Easter), something so routinely familiar that they can't tell the difference between the formula and their routine. Let the formula repeat for generations until the formula is blended in with ritual to the point that it needs little or no guidance, much less victories. At this point the formula is working so well that the fans need Reds baseball to feel that life is whole. They don't need it to be good; they just need it to be.

With guys like Homer Bailey and Brandon Larson promised to deliver Reds fans from the MLB abyss, the formula is destined to succeed.

How the Formula Plays Out

The formula begins each offseason like the sun's rays on a clear morning. Birds are chirping, squirrels are gathering acorns, and maybe drinking from the Hudy Delights you left half-finished on the porch. After shaking off a brief hangover (you can't get that drunk from Hudy, nor can you get that elated from any Reds season with the formula), a few weeks of grumbling, fans renew their faith: "You know, the Reds could be a sleeper next year" turns into "Actually I think they'll win the division if they can pick up a 5th starter." By the commencement of the winter meetings, even your friend who swore them off during the strike declares that he has beer-bonged the Kool-Aid.

The formula delivers it's bread and butter during the orgy of off-season signings and acquisitions. Grown men hide wet dreams from their wives that they had about other grown men, typically starting pitchers with names like Erik Bedard or Joe Blanton. Sometimes the dreams come to fruition and the Reds land that big fish, guys like Eric Milton or Alex Gonzalez.

Finally, the best part of the sports season comes to a close and the actual playing begins. In taking the field, the Reds, game by game, wither grown men's dreams away and by the All-Star break the cycle is complete; only one piece is left: the Savior, the guy who will make next year better.

The Reds Will Win 100 Games Next Year

No one knows the joy of the off-season quite like a Reds fan, who opens mlbtraderumors.com each morning like a kid at Christmas, just wondering what precious free agent gifts await him in his RSS feed.

What's in store for the Reds this off-season? Will Santa bring them again the gift of Corey Patterson, a once-young and rising star who may have reached home more times with Dusty's daughter than at Great American? Or will Cincinnati be graced with a Jeff Conine, or some other golden-oldie who's "a great clubhouse presence?"

Conine struck out here, but his bat and wristband helped him reach second base after the game

No matter what other cubic zirconia is delivered via the formula to our fallen phoenix, one thing is already certain: a new star is slated to rise after a brief stop in the AAAshes. For 2009, its Yonder Alonso.

Bienvenido a Cincinnati, Yonder; there's the on-deck circle and Reds' management and media has already inserted into your helmet the crown of thorns worn by Jay Bruce this past season. Make sure its snug.

Batter up!

Reds Embarrass Blogger

This year was supposed to have been different. A highly touted former sportscaster and manager of the most miserable franchise in baseball was going to turn this team around. They had great young arms and Junior Griffey and Donkey Nuts to provide the offense. Add to that a star center fielder from the Cubs and this was a playoff team.

The Kool-Aid was easily drunk. But why? Why was it so easy? And now I am paying the price. I watched in horror as I flipped the calendar to September. And there it was, written so everyone could see. My prediction: The Reds would win 85 games this year, dated March 22. They have 23 games left but are 24 wins away from 85. Oncho Cinco… I should have known.

How irrelevant are the Cincinnati Reds?

Well, in about 4 days time, posts at the TTT on the topic of the Reds have almost been eclipsed by topics on Sarah Palin. Combined with the fact that readership at the TTT has more than tripled in this time (yes, we're up to 81 unique views today), it appears that anything Reds-related is officially pathetic and not worth the boredons comprising its syllables.

Nani looks forward to the baseball off-season when the Reds management can flirt with trying just enough to earn Nani's yet-again-naive interest.

By the way, the article on boredons is fantastic.

This guy I saw at at Reagan National who flew two rows behind me to O'Hare

Nani found himself at Reagan National airport the other day reminiscing about the last time he was there and saw James Carville. Nani thought that was pretty cool - Carville was wearing some blue jeans, some Pro-Wings tennis shoes, and a non-descript t-shirt.

Well this time around it may have been the antithesis of Carville at Reagan National. Contrasting the skinny, skull-face was a 6'1'' mega-hulk with biceps the size Carville's bald cranium, and a mini-mullet straight outta Covington, Kentucky, circa 1989. His sweet main looked a lot less like the kid to the right (just wanted to fit that boy in somehow), and a lot more like Bash Brother Jose Canseco [Hey Jose, how did that 1990 World Series turn out? Not as good as your sweet locks].

Anyway, back to Reagan National. So this guy who looked like the son of Jose Canseco and Janet Reno was wearing a John McCain t-shirt. Over the t-shirt was a fishing vest, I was hoping sans-gutting knife. The McCain t-shirt was tucked neatly into bright yellow SpongeBob SquarePants, umm, pants, which themselves were tucked nicely into some black hiking boots.

Okay, that's a weird look right? But nothing to write home about, or this blog about.

The cherry on top was that this guy was toting some carry-on luggage. But hey, so was I as well as everyone else on the flight; what's the big deal?

His baggage, probably more metaphorical than the baggage I could see, was a plastic tackle box - you might remember the first one you had as a kid - a little smaller than a shoe box. Okay, a little weird, I know. It gets better. The tackle box was fastened with clear masking tape to a Compton's World Atlas; that's right, an encyclopedic geographical volume.

My friend looked like he was either crazy or an Obama supporter touring the nation in a ridiculous outfit to make McCain look bad. The "I Suck at Photoshop" effort on the right should give you an idea of what he looked like.

Anyway, he boarded the plane ahead of me and sat about two rows behind me. I had visions of box cutters inside that tackle box. I had subsequent visions of Nani scissor kicking dude in the neck all the way from the window seat. Alas, Nani is not a soothsayer.

I fell asleep and never heard a peep out of the guy, but I couldn't help but feel I'd done my civic duty in remaining post-9/11 vigilant. "Take your family to Disney World, but remain vigilant," they said. Well, Chicago is Disney Land to some (those suckers from Gary) and Nani was on guard.

So, maybe this isn't the best blog post ever and maybe me being bitten on Saturday night by a dog was the karma preemptively striking me, but I had to get this off Nani's chest.

Actually the dog bite might explain the lack of coherence in this post.