FLETCHCETERA

Snorkle Me, Jim! I'm Going In!

2008-08-19T18:25:00.000-07:00

If I take any more plunges, I might become a Chinese diver (thus, guaranteeing gold!). On Monday, I took a deep breath and plunged into the depths of "trading away best player on favorite team" in fantasy football. So long, Drew Brees! Hope you enjoyed your time as a DeNogginizer. My other plunge is into the deep end of Dorkdom. I'm a Facebook guy now. "I'm out there, Jerry... and I'm Loving Every Minute Of It!" Who knew how much fun Facebook could be? Oh---nearly 97% of Americans with internet access? Hmmm... count me OUT of the dark-aged 3%, Chester!

Onto the sports... Jamaica is having a helluva'n August. Utain Bolt is the world's fastest man... Jamaican ladies finish 1-2-3 in the 100 meters... and now, Ricky Williams is on top again! They are pouring out bong water in Kingston to celebrate Williams' ascension up the depth chart in Miami.

Well... if you are in the corner
that believes God doesn't
necessarily care who wins an
NFL game- - -you obviously
aren't from Wisconsin.

Fella's... be leery if your wife receives any literature from WAFS. More dangerous than Hillary in a Dress Barn with a Platinum AMEX.

Lindsay Lohan wants to get back in the box on the "other side" of the plate? If you take her text message serious, then... yes! And for the record, I don't think Lohan actually text'ed, "bleepin awesome". Something tells me she used her skankionary for a "meatier" term.

Pity the poor Timberwolves next season. Oh, Mylanta- - -these are the worst uni's since the White Sox wore collars and shorts.

I've Got A Fever! Down In My Groin!

2008-08-14T12:41:00.001-07:00

Bad news for Saints fans, good news for Crescent City eateries: Hollis Thomas will be on the shelf for a couple of months. The Fleur-de-lis fella's and Houston Texans didn't play nice this morning in their joint workout (not to be confused with Woody Harrelson's exercise regime) but the fisticuffs had nothing to do with Thomas' triceps injury. Neither did lifting his tray at the team's training table... the Girth Of The Earth was injured Wednesday in a one-on-one drill. With a vending machine.

Oh, pity the Trojans. Ironic, the team named after a prophylactic is suffering a severe case of tinea cruris. This gives new meaning to the term, "Burned Rubber."

But that's not the only groinal situation developing on the sports scene today. Oh, goodness me. He ran to the water fountain to get the taste out of his mouth? Dude, I'd be running to the rubbing alcohol fountain. With all the oil used in WWE, isn't it surprising they haven't had something like this happen?

The "Redeem Team (hate that name)" threw some flour on Greece today, putting the "Stif" in the Greeks "Stifado". Not surprsing... LeBron turned in an eye-opening performance. It seems to me that the King has really risen to the occasion in Beijing. If he isn't careful, he's going to rub the stars off that American Flag. I'm sure that Bron Bron was actually looking past the wedgie-woman, eye-balling the Chinese swimmer on the block to make sure he didn't leave too early.

Hank Haney, Tiger's personal coach, is turning his attention to... Charles Barkley? If he can fix the Round Mound Of Out Of Bounds' swing, get Haney to work on the common cold, stat!

If you're wondering whether or not that was Sean Salisbury bagging your groceries yesterday---chances are--it was! But he has full-time employment now, with OpenSports.com. If you care enough about the journeyman QB and "alleged" fan of snapping pic's of one's own "junk"... read on.

The Gold Medal For Lip-Synching Goes To...

2008-08-12T05:01:00.000-07:00

Yes... it's a day old, but if you haven't read Dan Steinberg's interview with Craig Sager... whew! I'll never look at the NBA's most vivid sideline (baseline? free throw line?) reporter the same way again. Next season, if LeBron doesn't give him a wedgie, then---I lose all respect for King James.

I epitomize the saying,

"Face Made For Radio."

The Chinese now have a kid

with a face made for lip-synching.

Outside of being late for your wedding or funeral, this might be the third worst example of bad timing.

Coach K's sneer

is now getting

world-wide attention.

Can you say,

"Take A SHOW Boat To China?"

Packer fans burning things... and it's not Brats. It's Brett's.

Speaking of Broadway Brett,

the Jets make a "sassy hire?"

And it's NOT Brett... or Deanna Favre?

Eli Manning... Super Bowl Champion.

Eli Manning... SuperHero, complete with trenchcoat cape!

The Giants QB has enough mousse

in his hair, just call him Bullwinkle.

Awwww...Mr. Sheffieeeeeld!! Before complaining to the media about your "platoon" system.... might want to grab a Webster's for the definition.

Okay... Glenn Guilbeau's list of the Top 12 Coaches in the SEC is out. I disagree with nine of his 12 "placements."

Mine:

1. Tuberville

2. Miles

3. Saban

4. Spurrier

5. Nutt

6. Meyer

7. Richt

8. Petrino

9. Croom

10. Brooks

11. Fulmer

12. Johnson

And finally, when THIS guy gets nabbed, doesn't that end hope for all of us?

Gold Medal In Nutcracking

2008-08-11T07:48:00.000-07:00

Before moving on to the NFL preseason, Olympic moments, President Bush with the Beach Volleyball team... anyone else spend the weekend suffering pain and injury on the water? No? Good, because I experienced enough agony and emasculation for all of us. Tubing on Lake Cherokee in Longview, TX sounds innocent and harmless, right? Unfortunately, the original tube we used was not built for a 6'2" 225 (cough) pound man. When laying belly-side down on the triangle-shaped contraption, the "vertice" across the bottom is right at crotch level. If I had been wearing one of these, I would have been a-o.k. Unfortunately, there was only a thin layer of polyester serving as my protection, so every wake, wave, bump or aerial felt like this:
Alright... after having the lake nearly reverse my "frozen pinto bean" surgery, I decided to park the ol' keister in the bottom of the tube. Sitting down on the job is something I excel at, so this was going to be perfect. Hmmm... apparently my was a little "heavy". This allowed me to experience the joy of a colonic at 25 miles per hour! Although, it wasn't so much a cleansing as a violation, know what I mean?

So, what was on your plate this weekend? Cowboys-Chargers on Saturday night where Jacob Hester laid to rest any doubts about his ability to succeed in the NFL. Brock Berlin may have solidified his spot as the Rams #3 QB... he also appears on the verge of challenging Trent Green for the backup spot.

Did you check on Padraig Harrington's run to the PGA Championship? Seriously, though... if Tiger is in the field in the British Open and/or the PGA Championship, would Harrington have been able to track him down (like he did Sergio and Ben Curtis)? As Billy noted on the show this morning, Harrington did something Tiger hasn't and that's rally from behind to win a major. However, you will have a hard time convincing me Harrington wouldn't have "gacked" if Tiger is breathing down his neck on Sunday in either championship... or that Harrington would have chased down a front-running Tiger at the B.O. or PGA. For instance, what IF Michael Phelps was out of the lineup for the American squad last night in the 4 x 100 meter relay? France would certainly have knocked off a Phelps-less team, but wouldn't that victory be a little hollow? Knowing your best is good enough to beat the "current" field is certainly an achievement, but when the creme de la creme is missing, the just desserts are a little less sweet for the victor.

Okay... I don't get political on here because that's the touchiest subject this side of a prostate exam. No matter which way you're leaning, you've got to like President Bush's attention to our Olympians (thanks to deadspin):

And how about a sample of, "One of these things is not like the other..."

Can anyone explain to me why all the jerseys and uniforms at the Olympics feature names and countries spelled out in English? Don't get me wrong... I'm all for it. Just wondering if the competitors from non-English speaking countries are clueless on which jersey belongs to them. For instance, it appears Team Spain is having difficulty with their identity.

One more thing about the Olympics... watching (men's... no 'boing') Beach Volleyball featuring USA vs. Swiss. In between points I've heard "Centerfold," and "Glory Days". With the early and mid 80's tunes blaring, shouldn't the guys be wearing "Ocean Pacific" T-Shirts?

Who Dat Flaps Past Cardinals

2008-08-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's only the preseason. Yes, it's only Arizona. But Saints fans are probably one notch below giddy after New Orleans destroyed the Cardinals tonight, 24-10. Reggie had 30 yards of electric yardage nullified by penalties; Brees was near perfect while leading the Saints to a touchdown on their opening drive; and Robert Meachem delivered on the potential the Saints drafted last year with a highlight-reel, 60 yard catch and run touchdown to cap the scoring.

Yes, I will be using "electric yardage," again throughout the season.

The defense looked "okay" against Arizona's first-team offense... however, it's hard to complain about ten points on the board in game one.

Overall, I'll give the Saints a B-. Keep it up and I smell the honor roll in New Orleans' future. As well as vomit and urine. Hey, it's New Orleans, what else do you expect?

Vacation Has Been Punted. Life Fair Catches.

2008-08-05T18:31:00.001-07:00

So long, Elk. Good-bye, chipmunks.

Hello, Tigers. Howdy, Bulldogs.
The vacation is a memory,
it's time to move forward with my life.

For the next five months,
the advancements for yours
truly will be measured in
ten-yard increments.

With high school and college football practices firing up all over the area... NFL Training Camps well underway, it's about time to start focusing on the important things: SEC predictions from the all-knowing, all-seeing, all-paneled Kige Ramsey. I am not going to apologize at all for possessing the exact set of miniature SEC helmets.

Dude... speaking of the Southeastern Conference. Weird dream during nap-time today.

While waiting for public transportation to arrive at this circular drive surrounded by shops, I bit down so hard, I lost both of my lower canine teeth. That didn't bother me, since I picked one of the excommunicated cog's off the ground and thought, 'Hmmm... I could threaten Nick Saban with this one!" At this point, an inebriated Saban appears behind me, challenging me to a fight. Thank goodness the other citizens gathered 'round broke out into song, sending the 'Bama head coach into a singing and dancing frenzy, or I would have sliced and diced him like a Bass-O-Matic running on a car battery.

I told you it was an odd dream.

of course, the big news today involves an NFL stud possibly moving into a different arena to make a living. Yes, I'm talking about Minnesota Vikings punter, Chris Kluwe. I love the comment in the article, "For a guy that basically has a full-time job, that's pretty impressive." Yes... even in Guitar Hero circles, NFL punters get no respect. "Basically has a full-time job?" Has the guy SEEN Tarvaris Jackson play? Kluwe will earn his letter in the season opener at Green Bay.

Speaking of the frozen tundra. Brett Favre won't be there anytime soon. Perhaps he can hang out with this dude. Gives new meaning to the term, "Go Long!"

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted: Day 7

2008-08-04T21:40:00.001-07:00

Day 7 (Friday):

Time to go home! But first… another trek. To the Shops downtown. Many T-Shirts were bought (Thanks Thomas and Sherm!)… and we’re off to Shreveport. Wait a second. We’ve been seeing these T-Shirts with “Long’s Peak” on them. 14,446’ feet above sea level. The highest peak around. And we haven’t explored it? That’s Crazy-Talk! Pack it in, kids---we’ve got one last adventure!! After driving as far as possible toward Long’s Peak, we get some info from the Rangers Station. If you plan on climbing to the top, you need to get going by 3am to avoid the ever-present afternoon lightning strikes. It’s about an 11-hour hike/expedition for experienced outdoorsmen. A few people die ever-so-often making the climb, since the last portion is all rock-climbing. Oh yeah… Black Bears are all around. Where do we start and how can we sign up?! We decide instead on a relaxing 1.5 mile hike to an abandoned gold mine. Son of a Chicago-area horse jumper! That’s a looooong 1.5 mile hike! We note our water and snack quotient isn’t really cool at this point and talk turns to, which family member gets eaten first if we get lost in the woods. Syd ends the conversation by saying, “Dad, we’d eat you first. Pop open your stomach and it’s like a pantry!” Kids. Got to love them! Again---the trip is worth it for the pictures of the kids. Unfortunately, the escalator was broken, so we had to hike BACK 1.5 miles to the car. We wanted photos of the crew with Long’s Peak in the background, but there was too much tree cover. Easy to fix… we’ll stop on the side of the road on the way down and get some shots. Which is what we did. With the wrong mountain as a backdrop. Ooops! Finally, with Long’s Peak lurking over our shoulder’s, this mountainous vacation is in the books and it’s time to go home.

Let’s just make it to Amarillo (going down I-25 through Denver, Colorado Springs, Pueblo, CO into New Mexico and cutting over) by 11pm… get a hotel; wake up refreshed and drive home on Saturday. One problem… just south of Denver, Magellan Mike calls and tells Aly we need to be on Hwy. 86 East, heading toward Limon, CO so we can get on the “high and mighty, Hwy. 287!”. We take the bait, and are reeled in on the worst piece of advice this side of Hillary Clinton should wear short-skirts. Land O’Goshen. We don’t make it to Limon until 9pm. From there, it’s another FOUR HOURS to get out of Colorado!!! Boise City, Texas is our first stop at 1:50 a.m. for gas… and trust me… there isn’t a hotel in that town that I’d recommend to a horse-jumping clan from Chicago. We make the decision to hunker down and drive on. Aly takes over at this point (with only a :30 minute nap under her belt!) and drives all the way to Iowa City, Texas by 6:45 a.m. From there, it’s a Pearce sling-shot to Dallas; a Caroline head-popping to Longview and a Sydney kick to Marshall. Throw in a speedy Sports-wife and we’re home… safe and sound, Sunday afternoon by 4pm.

Nightfall is upon us. Syd has retreated back to her Mom’s and is now with friends. Caroline and Pearce are with their dad and his parents. It’s just Aly, me and Gracie. Baxter is still at Jerry’s. We’re home…but we could sure use one more night in the Rockies. We all could. Two days from now, it’s back to the real world. A world we know and love. Great friends… fun workplace. If we could just convince all of you to load up and move to Estes Park, we’d be right there with you. Or in front of you, if Aly’s driving. Or hollering at Mohawk-coiffed kids if Syd’s in the saddle. Or paddling strongly beside you if Caroline has anything to say about it. Or, Letting It Be A Rodeo with Pearce in charge. Or asking a stranger to use his CostCo Card to put gas in the tank if I’m at the wheel. But we’ll be there. I promise.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted: Day 6

2008-08-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

Day 6 (Thursday):

This is not a highlight portion of the trip. I blame cabin-fever. Or perhaps one of those hungry chipmunks gave me the plague. Let’s just say… I snapped. On the side of a mountain. Big temper-tantrum. I needed new diapers after this one. There were many apologies to the kids and Aly. Let’s just say, I owe back-scratches to the crew for about six years.

Aly here… Fletcher basically took off ahead of three of us (with the water) imagining we could “catch up.” Not so easy at an altitude of 12,000 ft and with two small kids lagging. So, when we caught up, Aly was not happy… but curiously, neither was Fletcher. “You told me to climb ahead.” Was his explanation. Um, yeah.

Scenery was great… wonderful pictures of the kids… AND, we’re okay! Pearce has picked up a sling-shot today and can’t wait to try it out on the Big Thompson River right behind our cabin. Did I mention we moved cabins the other night? After two nights in the Bears-R-Us Suite, we moved to “Riverside.” Trust me… this cabin couldn’t have been more on the banks with an ATM on the porch! A family is moving their gear into the cabin next to ours, and they have a little man close to Pearce’s size (but two years older). Of course, many rocks are slung, tossed and dropped by newfound buddies. After Aly and Caroline return from town with groceries for a little Fletcher-Grillin’, Syd and Caroline get back in the vehicle and hit the town. Two cute girls, cruising Estes Park on a Thursday night. Sounds like trouble waiting to happen. Nope. No problems…no stories. Perhaps because no one walking around the sidewalks of Estes Park could hear their fake-British accents. The day before, when we were traipsing around downtown, their accents worked to perfection. It drew stares from bystanders and even got some Skater Punks to make snide remarks. Mission accomplished for Thelma and Louise. Beer, Steaks, S’mores, Family, Rocky Mountains all around, Big Thompson River at our feet. Holy Smokes. Thank you God for putting us here.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted: Day 5

2008-08-04T21:38:00.000-07:00

Day 5 (Wednesday):

We awake to a 40% empty cabin. Aly and Caroline have hit the hiking trail early, leaving Syd, Pearce and I snoozing. As you can see, a large male Elk was around to greet Caroline on her jaunt. Minutes later, she had the big fella’ on a skewer!! They arrive back at the cabin… we all get ready… to take the Aerial Tram to a Chipmunk Spa. Seriously… we ride the tram up the mountain; buy a couple of bags of peanuts; hit the mountain trails; and voila’! Chipmunks!!! These little fella’s were so people friendly, I really did expect to see them wearing sweaters with their initials on the front. Caroline, aka, “The Chipmunk Whisperer,” had them eating out of her hand in no time. Pearce fed plenty of them---but also tried to catch a few, making him Public Enemy #1 in Chipmunk Shang-Ri-La. Syd was slow out of the gate, but quickly realized there would be no cool points lost by having a fuzzy rodent crawl up your leg. Again---call us weird, but it was so cool for Aly and I to see our kids having a blast feeding disease-carrying rodents! If heading to Estes Park in the future and you want your kids to have a memory burned into their brains---take them up the Tram to feed the Chipmunks. Well worth the trip. Estes Park has a brewery, so of course we thought that would be a great place to take the kids for lunch! Apparently, there is some law about letting your kids sip Raspberry Beer… Child Protection… Undercover Cops, yada-yada-yada. Soooo…. That’s it. That’s all we did today.

Unless you count my first horse-back ride; burned steaks; a guide throwing his hunting knife at a chipmunk; Aly chewing out pretentious Chicago-area a-holes as something else. There were two groups heading out for the Steak Dinner horseback ride from the Sombrero Ranch. Us. And Them. “Them” are the jerks from Chicago who show up at the ranch wearing their riding breeches. “So… I didn’t know we would have some professionals on the trip with us,” I say. Through clenched teeth, the mom replies, “Oh, we’re not pro’s. This is our first time on horses.” Hmmmm…. Then why did they later tell our guides (Bad Cop and Good Cop) they were in town for the Horse-Jumping Competition? I think they lied to us!! First of all, who in the hell wears their “riding breeches” to a casual, sunset horseback ride? This would be like showing up the company flag-football game wearing eye-black, shoulder pads and a helmet. Or, throwing on the Harley-Davidson Black Leather ensemble with a skull and crossbones do-rag so you can take your kid to the park for their first bicycle ride. Our guide on the way out failed to explain the proper way to take your horse down a steep, rocky hill. Since none of us are named Festus or Miss Kitty, we weren’t too hip on our horse-riding skillz. It didn’t help matters that Syd’s horse (LongLeaf) must have had a 2-Gallon drum of Beef-A-Rino before the journey. I was aboard “Swish,” a fine horse that was about as wide as an interstate. Since my flexibility is on par with a crescent wrench, my groin was being stretched in ways only thought possible in my dreams. Back to the a-holes. We get to the “steak dinner” portion of our trip---burned steaks; our guide trying to impale a chipmunk---and then “saddle up” for the journey back to the stable. The “Good Cop” guide (a 19 year old girl) is now in front with the a-holes’ 9 year old (smaller than some of Pearce’s snacks); Pearce, Caroline and Aly next in line. When the Momma A-Hole tries to wedge her horse between her son and Caroline, the guide said, “Ma’am… I need to be able to reach the younger kids.” This fair statement didn’t deter the Windy City Wench. She kept nosing her way in front… the guide said again, “Ma’am. I really need you to fall back in line so I can keep an eye on the kids.”

“You’re just a b**ch, aren’t you,” said the Midwestern Moose. To a 19-year old girl making .50 cents an hour (plus tips), in front of three pre-teens… AND Aly. That last one might have been her biggest mistake. The sports-wife, high in her saddle, says, “Hey! Watch your language!” The Cowpoked heads back to her family and their fancy riding breeches… but It doesn’t end there. Since “Swish” and I were bringing up the rear, I got to hear bits and pieces of their verbal volleys. We were called everything but the Fletcher Crew… sooo, after about 10 minutes of their “wit and wisdom,” I yell. “Yo… Can we let these folks get ahead of us? They obviously have someplace to be, since they’re in such a hurry! “

The dad of the crew says, “We didn’t mean any harm…blah blah blah.” “No worries… just remember, pretentiousness isn’t a quality trait,” I yell out. Zing! Uh… not quite. Aly’s was a LEETLE better. “I tell you what… why don’t we drop you guys off in a Louisiana Swamp and see how y’all do there!” The Cowpoke-Chipmunk hunter was on their side and proceeded to dust us en route to the stable. We enjoyed a relaxing, informative ride back with our new guide. One more thing… Aly and I are having a margarita on the patio of a restaurant in town later that night while watching Pearce help 2 year old kids onto playground equipment (Imagine:“I’ll love him and pet him, and call him George!”) when who comes tumbling like a tumbleweed to the table next to us? The Cowpoke and the rest of the staff from Sombrero Ranch---who obviously have been talking about us---and us them!

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted: Day 4

2008-08-04T21:37:00.000-07:00

Day 4 (Tuesday):

River Rafting Day is here! Day started slow because of lack of sleep, my anxiety attack over packing and getting to the rafting camp on time, but we made it. Turns out we were 1hour and 15 minutes early! So, all of my snapping and short-tempered bursts of anger were pointless. Back to the rafting…

We sat next to one of the guides on the bus ride out to the drop off point so we got lots of inside scoop on the float. People die. Folks are maimed. But it’s FUN! The trip down 13 miles of the Cache La Poudre (pronounced: Pooter… hee-hee) River begins about 30 minutes outside Ft. Collins, CO., the home of Fat Tire Beer! After waiting around 30 minutes for safety instructions (“If you’re unconscious and swallowing water, enjoy the vibe, dude!”) in the 95 degree heat, I was ready to raft my butt through a six-pack of Ft. Collin’s finest. We arrive at our destination and immediately are put to work. Both Aly and I help load the rafts into the Pooter and quickly learn the water temperature is beyond shrinkage level… more like, making appendages disappear-temperature. 55 degree water. And me, shirtless! The five of us load into the raft with Traci as our guide. This isn’t Traci with a smiley-face dotting her “i”. She could shoot smiley face between the eyes with the pair of guns she was toting around. Off we go into the wild, raging yonder… Whoa!! Aiigghhh!! Cold Water! Cold Water!! Those first splashes and dips through Class III Rapids were enough to get the paddle out of Big Boy’s hands AND make the rest of us realize this isn’t like strapping into a rollercoaster for thrills. There would be hard work; danger; chills; screams… pretty much what I go through while putting on make up before the 6:00 sportscast. If you’ve never gone white-water rafting (like us!), it is the most fun you can have while seriously going through bouts of insane thrills. The sense of accomplishment after our family (and traci) made it through “Cardiac Corner” or “” rivals any challenge met on the field (23 interceptions, 1 TD), the court (“He ain’t no Larry Bird”) or the track (“He’s not the winner!! He’s a lap behind!”) in my life. From the teeny-tiny sports-wife behind me (“Fletcher! Every time you scoot over, you trap my foot under the tube!!”); to Syd alongside me at the front of the raft (“Dad! She said ‘FORWARD’!! Not BACK!!”); to Caroline’s quiet precision; to Pearce holding onto the rope in the middle of the raft before graduating to a paddle by the end of the trip… we all pitched in and tamed the beast! Which is more than I can say for three other people on the trip. One guy… 6’6”, somersaulted over the front when his raft hit the bottom of a Class IV rapid. A husband and wife team suffered matching scrape marks courtesy of unplanned dips into the agua. Us? Unscathed. Except the ego. You see… they take photos of your crew along the journey. While I thought I was showcasing a couple of Winchesters outside my Life Jacket, the photos make my arms look like something all-together different. “Good Lord. Those look like Tyson’s Chicken Wings sprouting out of my vest. Big, fat chicken wings,” I say as we peruse the pic’s.

At dinner, Aly attempted to educate our waiter on her homemade Rammoulade Sauce. A fruitless endeavor due a language/culture barrier. Despite the restaurant being named for the Native American word for White Elk, I still haven’t had my Elk burrito.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted: Day 3

2008-08-04T21:36:00.000-07:00

Day 3 (Monday):

Time to hit the slopes! We load into the LR3 for a little jaunt from the 7,200’ elevation area to 12,000’. We cruise a short way to one of the entrances to the Rocky Mountain National Forest. Me? I’m ready to get to the top! Everyone else? “Did you see …? Slow down!” “Was that Bigfoot?… slow down!” Apparently, I passed a couple of Trail Head’s that were meant to be explored. Any-Who… we pull over at one Trail Head to get our bearings strait (Get it? Bering Strait?), when the kids notice a cool waterfall-rock formation combo that is perfect for climbing. Except it’s raining. That takes away a lot of the perfection for Aly, who remains in the vehicle. Syd and Caroline tackle the climb as if the keys to a new Jeep or the Jonas Brothers are at the top. Pearce and I start making our way toward the girls when the Little Man tries to step onto a really slippery rock… out go the feet! Slam goes the butt onto the rock! Down goes Pearce, sliding down the rock! “Pearce! Are you okay, buddy?” “Yeah, Fletcher…Ouch! I had a ginormous butt accident!” Haven’t we all, big-boy, haven’t we all. Trust me… “Ginormous Butt Accident” became a catch-phrase for the rest of the trip--- and hopefully the name of Pearce’s first punk-rock band when he gets older.

We re-load, wet but fired up, into the vehicle… preparing for the most breath-taking ride of our lives. There are two ways to reach the Alpine Center---via the highest paved road in the Continental United States… or… a one-lane, dirt-top trail with more twists and turns than a bag of pretzels. We chose the latter. Wow. In addition to spotting a yellow-bellied Marmot on the way up, we found something even more rare! Louisiana Tech fans!! I kid!! Seriously, a family trekking their way on the same path to the top as us hail Ruston as their home-town. All five of this very nice crew either graduated, work(ed) or attend Louisiana Tech. Pretty wild… Now, if they can just convince the adults in the stands at Joe Aillet Stadium this fall to act like they’re at a football game, their journey will be complete. Words can’t do the scenery justice along Fall River Road. Every time we turned another corner, a post-card scene splashed before our eyes. Our destination reached (Alpine Center), it was time to hike our butt’s up to the peak. Once again, Syd and Caroline are off to the races. Aly, Pearce and I take it a little slower. A seven-iron to the mid-section doesn’t take your breath away as quickly and decidedly as ten or twelve steps 11,800’ above sea level. We all make it to the top, some with full lung capacity, others working on about a quarter-tank. There’s only one way to go from here… and it’s back down. We come across a viewing spot that also features a hungry set of chipmunks… and NONE of them, thank goodness, spoke with helium-inflected voices. Also on the way back to the base, a snowfield for Pearce and Caroline to romp around in… not exactly common-place back home; in July!

We hit the Smiling Elk Restaurant for dinner. The place features outdoor dining with spectacular views of course. And enough wind to make T. Boone Pickens throw away the little blue pills. While watching his menu whip around and eventually, off the table, Pearce exclaims:”Let it be a rodeo!” Where that came from, I have no clue. But we now have another catch-phrase to use!! “Do you guys want to hang out at the cabin today, or ‘Let it be a rodeo?!’”

The night was long and noisy and it had nothing to do with our fiber intake or rambunctious children… the bumps in the night that lasted until 4am were later attributed to a rummaging bear. We never saw it because we were too afraid to look out the window, but the ravaged foliage and torn potato chip bag lead to the camp manager’s suggestion that we were visited by A BEAR! Noting there were no empty Jack Daniels bottles around, we surmise that it wasn’t Rex Grossman or Kyle Orton.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted: Day 2

2008-08-04T21:34:00.000-07:00

Day 2 (Sunday):

We are awakened at our spacious “Sleep Inn” hotel room in Thornton, Colorado with a thud to the bed and the children yelling at Fletcher… “DAD! Stop snoring!” “Fletcher you were snoring really loud!”

Leaving the Sleep Inn we need to get gas. Instead of pulling up to one of the gas stations there by the hotel, I proclaim (without a GPS, mind you!) that there will be a gas station at each of the next few exits. According to our instrument panel, we have 35 miles of fuel remaining in the tank… Plenty of gas! Hmmm… no gas station at this exit. Fuel Range down to 27 miles. No biggie… we’ll take this ex… uh-oh. No gas here, either. Fuel Range down to 16 miles. Wait! There’s a shopping center---‘bound to be a gas station there! Fuel Range down to 5 miles… 4, 3, 2 miles. CostCo! Yes! And there is the gas station!! Oh, my family doubted me, but here I am, saving the day with my savvy. You have to be a what to get fuel here? A Member? Of CostCo? “Sir…(50’ish man gassing up his ‘Vette)… we’re from Louisiana on our way to Estes Park… (blah, blah, blah. The family thinks I give out too much information--- but I choose to believe the chap WANTED to hear about our hometown; the birth of the kids; our wedding; my “frozen pea” procedure, etc.). We have one mile of fuel left in the tank---is there any way I can give you $10 cash and then have YOU put $10 of gas in our car?” I know what he’s thinking; “Aren’t you the punk that turned your parents Texaco Card into the first ATM, costing your mom and dad over $2,100?” He puts aside his skepticism (“Fool!!”) to assist us and send us on our merry way. “See,” I explain to the fam, “I told you we’d get gas at one of the next exits.” If we were near a cliff, Aly would have tested my gravitational pull right then and there.

Jerry… Aly’s pop and general good guy, has been calling frequently to check our whereabouts along the journey. His buddy, let’s call him Mike… has been feeding Jerry information along the way. “They should be going through Amarillo on Hwy. 287 instead of going through Kansas to get to Denver,” is their mantra. A regular Lewis and Clark, these guys. Trust me… we’ll revisit Magellan and DeSoto a little later. Jerry calls again, but Aly can’t answer in time. She says, “I guarantee you I know what Dad’s message will say; “Well… I was just calling to see if y’all were in the mountains yet.” She checks the voice mail---and yes, it’s nearly verbatim with her forecast. If Aly becomes more like her dad, I feel sorry for the sweet gum balls in our yard---they won’t last a day without being picked up. As we ascend the mountains, Aly reminds everyone to yawn, swallow or chew gum at the same time! Nooo… those are her tips to avoid the ear-pop-itis that awaits. Apparently, we need more large-scale tips because Caroline has just said, “My head is starting to pop!”

Fletcher Family Vacation Happy Crazy Fun Time!

2008-07-27T21:12:00.000-07:00

Day 1

of the Fletcher Family Vacation is officially in the books. Unless you count the 18-Hour trip to Denver on Saturday---not much of a vacay day. Although... come to think of it, we DID have some interesting things happen on the journey to the great Tetons. Didn't realize we were being chauferred by Danica Patrick herself (without the towels to the face). Between Oklahoma City and Wichita, the Sports-Wife was clocked doing 116 in a 35 mph zone- - -or at least that's the story it will become as time goes on. She was rather upset to have nabbed by the Fuzz---but seemed to be more upset with some friendly ribbin'. For instance, when the receipt was dispensed at an Oklahoma toll booth, someone (ahem!) said, "Look... Aly is getting another ticket!" It was a dark and stormy cockpit in the LR3 for a few minutes after that.

We saw The Great Cathedral Of The Plains (and no, Auburn fans, that's not Tommy Tuberville's house)... interesting tidbit. Somewhere around this portion of the trip, I had to relieve myself. As always, I think of others when I'm preparing to pee, so I ask (specifically addressing the boynster, Pearce), "Anyone else need to use the bathroom?" Silence. Cool... after Bachman-Turner Overdriving, we are back on the road. Two minutes later, Pearce clutches himself and makes it known the nozzle has been turned on and the faucet was preparing to pour. "Pearce... I just asked two minutes ago if anyone needed to go to the bathroom."
"Oh, I forgot... I think my penis didn't want to come out then."

At the Dairy Queen in Kansas, Syd kicked me in the arse and quickly pointed to a middle-aged Asian woman as the culprit. Still wondering about that one.

Driving past the exit for the town of "Hydraulic..." a comment was made;"I bet hitchhikers love that town---they can always get a lift!" Any wondering who dropped that gem? Thank you... I thank you. Stop... please.

Day 2

Vacation Arrival:
We're here!! Woo-Hoo!! Can't wait to get all the crap out of the vehicle and crash inside the cabin for awhile... unfortunately, the family who spent the previous five nights in our temporary home partied like Lindsey Lohan. The owner of the place had to defrost the refrigerator and a team, literally a team, of cleaning folks were delousing the place. What the heck occurred here? Elk Sacrifice?

Speaking of... the deer and antelope must have had the day off... only the Elk were playing today in Estes Park. Check out the pics.

Unfortunately, the camera clogged while I milked the mommy and Syd rode it to Safeway. Don't tell Caroline and Pearce that their Raisan Bran will have a special flavor tomorrow.

While visiting some downtown shops tonight, we ducked into a bookstore... Pearce wasn't too keen on the idea---but now seems to be a fan of the place. Could be because we caught him checking a book with a drawing of a large, naked lady on the cover.

"Heeeeeeerrrrre's... Wait. Who?"

2008-07-25T18:45:00.000-07:00

Well, here goes nothing. For the first time in my (insert adjective) radio career, I'm leaving, "The Morning Sportsline," in the hands of guest hosts. This should go well. Right?
Right?

John Sherman will handle, "The Board (Boing!)" Duties all of next week, leaving your entertainment mainly in the hands of the following:
Monday-Dr. Dick and Justin
Tuesday-Patrick Netherton
Wednesday-Dr. Dick and Justin
Thursday-Roy Lang
Friday-Rebecca, Friend Of The Sports-Wife

I hope all of you kids realize, I marked the liquor, so I know how much was in there when I left the studio! And don't try to add water to the vodka just to get it back to the line. You can't imagine how angry Sherman gets when I mix his Cosmo with watered down TAAKA. We will check in on occasion while on the road, mainly to ensure the airwaves aren't being used for illicit purposes... like raising funds to send Slayer to a Saints game; or making N.O.C.H. put on a Jessica Simpson outfit and sing the Cowboys fight song.

If there is any money raised, for whatever odd reason the guest-hosts decide to get their Jerry Lewis on, please purchase Billy-a cleaner phone line; Puckman-the DVD collection of "WKRP"; Adam-a Vince Young FatHead; Splenda for the coffee room; Houndstooth trailer-hitches, fountain pens, book covers, etc. for Gomer and Chris; and prize packages for all of those who have won contests, but who remain Cheese-Doodle-Less.

If, for any reason, any freak decides to rob Fletcher Manor while we're away... word to the wise. Serious gun freak is house-sitting this week. His bath sponge is made of Kevlar. His favorite cereal? Honey Bunches Of Oats... and Bullets. Honestly, he also has a snake (boing!). That eats your soul if step on the property!

The blogging will continue while we're away---if I survive my first River Rapids Rafting Trip and horseback ride. I think I'll butter up my filly (boing!) by offering her some pork tenderloin before we strike out on our trek. Horses eat meat, right?

What's Next? Flaming Dog Poop On Saban's Doorstep? Yes!

2008-07-22T19:13:00.000-07:00

If you were an attractive young female member of the LPGA Tour---would you rather cash a cardboard check after a win? Orrrrr, pose in Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Edition? Thank goodness Craig Stadler never had to make that choice. Hmm. Yep, that's vomit in my mouth.

If you're going to tamper with another team, Mr. Minnesota Viking, you may want to make sure the tamperee isn't using his Green Bay Packers-issued phone! Nixon didn't use the White House phone! Houston Nutt didn't use his University of Arkansas issued phone to text like a teenager in church! Wait... bad examples.

Tim Tebow, by all accounts a deeply religious young man, didn't even want to be considered for Playboy Magazine's All-American Team. Good for him, honestly. Any-who, I believe there is a certain Razorback who would be a better fit. Wink-Wink... nudge-nudge.

With SEC Media Days less than 24 hours away, now may be the perfect time to remind you guys of the perfect gift for your lady. Wouldn't it have been better if Victoria's Secret had the college coaches model their new line? Phil Fulmer in a baby-T; Mack Brown in the zip-hoodie; Charlie Weis in the 39-gallon leaf bag? Ohhhh, yeah.How is Les Miles like Hugh Grant? He just can't leave well-enough alone. Already squiring around the prettiest program in college football, Miles couldn't resist getting down and dirty with some LSU fans Sunday in New Orleans. And I... love it! From the Times-Picayune:

There was no question the attendees still bask in last November's victory over former LSU head coach and Tide boss Nick Saban, and Miles brought down the house when he urged the faithful "not to make too much of that game as it seems like a lot of teams in Louisiana beat that team," referencing Alabama's shocking subsequent loss to Louisiana-Monroe.

Prepare For The Shockey Treatment!

2008-07-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

Saints fans, rejoice! Or... Saints fans, regurgitate! Jeremy Shockey is heading to the Crescent City. We will find out soon enough if the former Giants tight end is that missing puzzle piece for Sean Payton's krewe, or the maddening piece that has slid under the sofa, leaving the covered bridge puzzle missing 1/4 plank and 1/8 of the handrail. Mark Campbell, Eric Johnson and Billy Miller have instantly gone from tight-knit workmanlike outfit, to a"scratch each other's eyes out to hold on to a roster spot," triumverate. Perhaps Payton can help Shockey reel in that WWE-type personality, while re-capturing the magic of his rookie season. Perhaps Shockey becomes entranced by the intoxicating smells emanating from Bourbon Street and never re-appears after ducking into a Larry Flynt establishment. Only time, or a VooDoo priestess, will tell.

Pity Carson Palmer. To be painfully unaware that words spoken on a radio show on the left coast would make their way to Columbus, Ohio in some shape, form or fashion is just sad. If the Cincinnati quarterback returns home one night to find his master bedroom closet has been filled with sweater-vests, he only has himself to blame.

Who's not a fan of the wiffle bat to the groin? Skateboarder's crashing down a municipalities public library stairs? Baseball fans who couldn't catch a disease after a weekend in the Pocono's with Paris Hilton, showing their lack of prowess in the simple task of not letting a baseball hit them in the face? Rub some dirt on it, young fella'... or just keep pinching it with a used hot dog wrapper.

Oh, my. Oh, me-oh-my. Guys, looking for that perfect gift to lighten the mood at this year's Office Christmas Party? Have I got the balm for you! And thank you, DZ, for highlighting the "Taint" in the purposefully misspelled Maintaintanance. Thank goodness, there is a products page! "Lube 'em or Lose 'em," is a phrase that has been passed down for generations in the Fletcher family, and apparently is a part of the Pittsburgh Pirates game-day routine:

Speaking of Thunder Down Under, I wonder if Aussie, Greg Norman wishes his wife would have kept her (sand) trap shut? The vineyard baron and occasional threat to win a Major Golf Tournament spent 96 hours as the feel-good story in sports. Come to find out, he didn't discover a hot putter at the British Open---he's had it all along! Hi-Yo! Mrs. Chris Evert-Lloyd-Norman isn't her husband's caddy but she has had a working knowledge of Norman's shaft for quite some time.

A Just A Swingin'

2008-07-15T18:06:00.000-07:00

I'm not one to condone gambling, due to it's illegality at Bushwood. However... the upstanding young lads in Vegas have provided college football fans---and those that choose to place a wager on the outcome of a football contest played by studious collegians---a handy guide to the expectations of the university set. The Vandy-Duke game, based on Vegas projections, should be crappier than a construction site port-a-let.

Speaking of Vegas---it was brought up on the radio show today: Scott Van Pelt's oneupmanship of Jon Favreau's character, Mike Peters from "Swingers." Granted, the reason Van Pelt was discussed involved his blanket statement that all Fantasy Football participants are dorks. I believe he even went so far as to suggest Fantasy players are on par with Star Wars freaks who dress up and have light saber wars in the backyard. Come on... It's not like I dress up in my Saints Hutch uniform and "pretend" to be Drew Brees! I only pretend to be someone else when I visit Casino's. Or Cafeterias.

If you don't like Gilbert Arenas, then you obviously haven't read enough about the Wizards (sleeve) star. First, he COULD have signed a $126 Million deal with Washington last week, but knocked it down to $110 Million. Yes... he left $16 Million on the table, which beats Roy Williams tipping habits to hell and back. Secondly, Gilbert is a blogger. A darn, fine blogger at that. Who else in the NBA would shell out this truthful nugget: "Every player hates Milwaukee. Nobody wants to live in Milwaukee." Think about it- - -the Big Ragoo wanted out; Richie Cunningham's older brother scooted out of there pretty quick; Mork's visits to the city were shorter than Pinky and/or Leather Tuscadaro. Pity the Bucks, folks.

See this guy:

Well... his coach, Jerry Sloan of the Jazz, apparently isn't a fan of Kyrylo Fresenko's Vidal Sassoon'ish-ness. Wait a minute coach, if only Clowns bleach their hair---wouldn't all those guys piling out of a VW look more like Andy Warhol instead of Carrot-Top?

And finally---Awful Announcing comes up with a doozy out of the vault. That's the most uncomfortable on-camera performance this side of Cindy Brady on a game show.

"This is retired Rhett." "It's Brett... and I'm not really retired."

2008-07-12T11:15:00.000-07:00

Brett Favre should have just followed the lead of the youngster in "Sixteen Candles" whose parents drag him to the dance. "I want to stay with you guys!!" His decision to retire; un-retire; retire; and finally, un-retire once again could be backfiring on him.

I'm such a softy, the sports-wife
says I put the "Mental" in sentiMental.
That's why I get a lump in the
throat when I see a boy and his dad
(or some other adult off camera)
enjoy a day at the ol' ballpark.
Speaking of---"Hey, l'il sport.
That frosty brew would sure
help me with this lump in my throat!"

The old Fletcher resume' doesn't include any stint as an NBA General Manager---but even I know when you've got a chance to dump a turd onto another roster, you flush it down (Note to self: Try to use "flush it down" in sportscast; create new catch-phrase that sweeps the country; retire on t-shirt money)! But the Knicks, like a man whose diet is heavy on the Velveeta, decide to hold on to their hoops excrement. Makes me think the Knicks have worse mojo than the Washington Generals.

Speaking of the movement of the bowel region,
those crazy hockey boys (scroll down to the bottom.
Get it? the bottom?!)!! If you get a chance to
sip Molson's or Sarah McLachlan's toilet water
from Lord Stanley's Cup---make sure you send
the trophy through a full cycle in the ol' Maytag, first.

I Got Gassed At The Reception!

2008-07-11T12:37:00.001-07:00

Not since the really, really ridiculously good-looking friends of Zoolander gathered at the pump...... has there been this much excitement around 89 Octane. It appears one happy couple in South Carolina
has tied the knot by pump numbers 5-8. Shouldn't the wedding photographer be careful with that cell-phone camera around the petrol? My favorite part, by far: The wedding bouquet features an actual gas-pump hose. Nothin' says lovin' like a squeeze trigger... have to wonder if the aroma of the diesel overwhelms the Gladiolas?

If only the Shreveport Captains
were still in existence,
we MIGHT have been the
host city for this managerial meltdown.
Damn SwampDragons!

Ah, how the tables turn, sweet Lou! For years, ESPN commentator; amateur magician; former (takes deep breath) William&Mary, NC State, NY Jets, Arkansas, Minnesota, Notre Dame and South Carolina head coach unleashed enough saliva from his jowls to spit-shine an aircraft carrier--- but now SOMEONE ELSE wants to see the spittle fly ... in the OTHER DIRECTION!!

Is it asking too much for the Olympic host country to be able to furnish electricity? The winner of the 100 Meter Dash may be needed to power the generator at Beijing's Olympic Stadium.

"Sorry Mr. Phelps... we didn't
have the power to heat the pool
today. You may want a wrap to
cover your trunks when you exit
the pool."

"There is Shrinkage!!"

Jonesing For Some Coke!

2008-07-10T19:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay. Let the ribbing begin.
The dude whom I thought would
"change the NFL" apparently is a coke-ologist.
And I'm not talking about Max Head-Room.

I guess there's a reason Matt Jones was slow coming off the Line of scrimmage for the Jag's---He was too busy cutting the hashmarks with his credit card. Geez, La-Pete. Our crime-team reporter, Chris Redford made a good point---aren't cocaine-freeks skinny? Man, I know how to pick favorite players---Golden Richards, Matt Jones... next thing you're going to tell me, Jerramy Stevens has been kicked out of the Boy Scouts.

Never a fun time, I'm sure... walking outsidethe Police Stationafter a night of "alleged"coke-cutting with your boyz. Perhaps the only other stroll that comes close to matchingthe Perp Walk, is... The Walk Of Shame. Priceless!

While never an Olympic Sport, the WOS is certainly an
athletic endeavor. The skulking... the dodging...the walk-sprint. You really use your core muscles. Much more than some of the extinct games of the Olympiad.
My personal favorite is the "Dueling Pistols." And we think Grand Theft Auto 4 is a bad influence on the kids?

Yes, it's been an ugly Thursday---a perfect time to introduce the most unsightly logos in sports history.

"I Found A Titleist... And Some Dockers!"

2008-07-08T17:33:00.001-07:00

I'm not that big ("are you looking at my gut? I'm working on it!!!") on straight pimpin' the four-letter evil empire (ESPN)... but SEC football fans who visit this site take note: There's a new blog in town, and he doesn't have a Candy-Gram for Mongo.

Well, well, well Coach Dye. I've lost my shirt on the golf course before... but I've always somehow held onto my pants... the secret? No golf course has ever played "Hot For Teacher," over a loudspeaker system during my round. Blame it on my upbringing in the strip joints of Monticello, Arkansas---when I hear that song, it's off with the pants and on with the over-priced drinks! My favorite part of the story is that Coach Dye doesn't remember how he lost his pants in the lake. THAT is one helluva' foursome (Boing!)!

Speaking of nekkidness in The Natural State... of COURSE Sacha Baren Cohen attempts to slip one past the collective goalie of Arkansans----but we're too damn smart for that! "Them men's is kissing!! Run!! Throw Things!!!" The Ft. Smith police sergeant's comment: “They had beers in plastic cups. Those things can get some distance on them actually," is being lauded as a classic. As a native Arkie---I take offense at his statement. He sounds SURPRISED at the air-ability (learned that one from Jay Bilas) of PBR in a Plastic Cup. Hell---back in my day, chunkin' beer in plastic cups served as an award-winning science project. What does Sgt. Holland think irate fans would throw---empty cups? If those got some distance---THAT would be shocking!

I am very fortunate to love my job.
Anchoring, Shooting, Editing, Napping...
it's all good. When ding-dong, Joe Buck makes Massengill-wannabe comments,
it makes all sportscasters look
like feminine hygiene products.
You know---like nail polish.

A-Rod, A-Saw, A-Cheated

2008-07-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

The Pin-Striped Philanderer, if you believe Madonna, hasn't even reached second base with The Material Girl, much less been waved home. Still---there have been enough "round-trippers" for the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Rodriguez to fill a dugout with A-Rod's d'oh!! In the strangest case of "pop icon possibly brainwashing highest paid big leaguer," I can remember (Unless those rumors involving Blondie and Carlton Fisk are true), Rodriguez appears to be a spineless twit who only looks for the "take" or "steal" sign---never "sacrificing". Yes, when he's "at the plate", his mind is on "driving in the run" or "knocking it out of the park". Either way, he loves the "curtain call"---and will do anything to avoid being "boo'd out of the park." By the way, I know that's Demi Moore next to A-Rod---but if you look closely over Demi's (what her friends call her) right shoulder, you see Madonna. Or Matthew McConaughey.

Perhaps Rodriguez could follow the path of his more suave Yankees teammate. The one who receives tributes and honors on a regular basis. Yes, I'm talking about... Jason Giambi. When the American Mustache Institute speaks, you can see the the cheetos crumbs bounce around in their respective lip-jacket.

Now if either of the aforementioned fella's need lady-tips---Doctor Romo is in. Unless Jessica says he's not. If Jessica says it's okay for him to be in, that's cool. But if he needs to take her somewhere, forget about the Doctor being in the office.

Finally... there are grown men purchasing very large litter boxes today---hoping the largest cat-fight moves from the sideline to the frontline. I, for one, am not one of them. The sports-wife and I frown on the term "cat-fight". We prefer, "grown women disrobing," right, honey?

"How About A Shot Out To My Man, Jay!"

2008-07-01T09:12:00.001-07:00

Jose Cuervo, you are no friend of Jay Bilas'! Much to the chagrin of 20-29 year old drinking-game veterans who counted on the ESPN basketball anal-yst to give them many opportunities to toss back tequila or shotgun PBR, the Duke bred lawyer figured out a way to avoid the "key" word that launched a thousand shots in years past. My question is, what are the sports-wife and I going to do with all of this Patron'? Frankly, I think it makes a nice lawnmower oil/gas substitute.

I love the headline on Sportingnews.com this morning:
WVU prez: Rodriguez upset before quitting
MORGANTOWN, W.Va. (AP) -- West Virginia University President Mike Garrison said in a deposition that former football coach Rich Rodriguez was "very distraught" in a private meeting the night before he resigned and accepted the top job at Michigan, complaining about harsh public reaction to a lost shot at a national championship.

Hmm... Odd, isn't it? An employee actually "Upset" and/or "very distraught" before quitting! Who would have thought? "Rodriguez was bouncing around the halls with glee, exclaiming his love for West Virginia the night before quitting." Looking forward to this headline in the near future (preferably describing my reaction):

PowerBall Winner: Happy After Cashing $147 Million Ticket

Jerry Jones, in a search for ways to reach deeper into Cowboys fans' checking account without committing a white collar crime, has come up with a doozy. Personal Seat Licenses (PSL's), literally a Fee that allows a fan to commit larger funds for a ticket (like buying a ticket in the Tinseltown parking lot so that you will be able to buy a ticket for Wall-E), have become a V-8 powered revenue generator for sports franchises and universities. The Blue Stars owner isn't the first by any stretch of the imagination to levy this fan-tax on his base---but he HAS raised the bar! We are not that far away from having to purchase a Consent To Buy Coors Light and Pretzel Permits.

Speaking of ingestible delectables... Our guy, John Sherman ended up conked out on his couch yesterday from 8pm until 6am after eating Chinese food. The old axiom, "you're going to be hungry a couple of hours after you eat Chinese food," remains up for debate---unless, like Sherm, you're KO'd by the "Stir-Fry Benadryl," "Kung Pao Nyquil," or "High School Graduation Glazed Chicken". Then you don't have to worry about hunger pangs... just sweet, MSG laced-sleep.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Finally... one youngster close to our family is at an age where her pronunciation of the "r" sound is a little void. For instance, if she was discussing President's prior to Reagan, she would say, "Gerald Foyd and Jimmy Cah-teh". So it was cool the other day when she came to us during her search for dining utensils at a pizza place---delivering her best (unintentional) impersonation of a tough-guy Brit, hell-bent on devouring some soup, but lost without the proper tool: "Wheh-uh is my fahk-n-spoon?" Next to the fahk-n-nife, I s'pose!