Does this count as insult to injury?

I need a ruling on this one. Apparently, the AHL expanded to Des Moines recently, with the Iowa Stars, an affiliate of the Dallas Stars, who egregiously left Minnesota in 1992. One would think most central Iowa hockey fans were North Stars fans, excepting the occasional Blues and Blackhawks fan or Scouts holdout (sorry, buddy, it ain't happenin').

So, is this beyond the statute of limitations, especially considering the Wild have been around for five years?

Or that many (like myself) are saying "Oh yeah. Hockey. Hunh."

I think it's worth considering that the affiliation strengthens the bond between the Great Red States (he he, I can say that) of Iowa and Texas. Their sister state status was revealed to me in a tale of a red-headed stranger in a strange land. (Well, the Alamo isn't that strange.)

You've got a bloody right to say it

While near Danville, IL, I was listening to 99.1 FM, and they were running one of those station promo bumpers. Theirs was called "Shut Up and Rock." This seemed all well and good, until I heard the very next song.

"Fooling Yourself" by Styx. That's rock?

[DIGRESSION ALERT] (Mind you, I like Styx, and will admit to owning their greatest hits album. My musical tastes have been kindly described as "eccentric" and frankly described as "What won't he listen to?")

Oh, my point was made. I digressed from nothing. Whoops.

Go crazy.

First game of the season: 1-0.

Last game of the season: 1-0.

Last team standing.

One. More. Left.

I planned on sitting in for Game 3 when I got home from work, then watching tonight's GG on tape. But nooooooo, the game had to last nearly 6 hours. Still worth it.

I love how the Series may end with Buehrle not having a win, but having a save. Pitching on one day of rest, after 100 pitches in 40 degree rain. That takes stones.

Highlight of the night: Scrap Iron tossing his chair when Geoff Blum jacks one in his first WS at-bat. Not enough has been mentioned about him fighting Terry Bevington and the battle royale in Detroit. Or it has, but I didn't hear it. Love the radio. Gonna miss Rooney.

This is why we've heard of Bill Sianis's pet

Say what you will about bringing animals into baseball games, or a player's being sold for a song (or a musical), but people remember this stuff because they love superstition. I wish I could say I was different. It would certainly make watching my teams easier. It would also ease potential burdens on friends and family.

I first noticed this when I scrutinized everything I did when I watched MJ in the '90s. I thought that the Bulls' fortunes would change through a slight adjustment of my seating. I thought I had grown beyond this, but apparently, I just haven't had games that roped me in to this degree since 1998. There is also the fact that when I became a sports fan in 1990, it was on the backs of the White Sox and the Bulls. If the Bears reach the NFC Championship game for the third time in 40 years (certainly not this year), or if the Hawkeyes become a national title contender, then we'll see.

Those Cleveland games in mid-September began the resurgence. I don't recall having any quirks then or with the ensuing Minnesota games, but there was certainly a heightened sense of emotion.

This all began, of course, with the first playoff series. You know those feelings you get in the back of your head right before an impending event, that makes you say in a Keanu Reeves voice, "Whoa, I'm psychic"? (For those who don't watch much sports, this feeling eliminates the element of surprise in movies.) I've had that at least four times in the playoffs, all with home runs: Iguchi's game winner off of David Wells, Robb Quinlan tying Game 2 of the ALCS off of Mark Buehrle, Mike Lamb tying Game 1 of the World Series off of Jose Contreras, and this gem, quoted from my AIM conversation tonight:

"Me (22:28:27): I just had a passing thought, that this would be the weirdest way to end the game, on a scotty hottie home run"

[Note: I find it funny how Podsednik was the subject of local fluff stories this week because he is, quote, "easy on the eyes" (my mom verified this, to my amused chagrin). "Scotty Hottie (or Hottie Scottie)" is the nickname the ladies have given Podsednik. I have no problem using it as well.]

It's only weird because this guy never got more than a double this season, and now has two triples and two HR's in the postseason. Checking with the judges...yes! That does qualify as irony!

Fortunately, I haven't been tweaking my place in my chair yet. However, I do watch my clothing choices. Yesterday morning, I wore a Hawkeye jersey (one which I may never wear during a football game again, considering the results) and took it off later, to not give myself the impression that I divided my focus. I repeated that reasoning today when I chose not to wear a Bears jersey.

This week, I took some risks by buying some White Sox merchandise. Buying any AL champion or World Series gear had huge jinx potential, so I just bought a 1959 hat. Of course, with my size 7 3/4 head, I could only find a 7 1/2, which fit, but not well. During the game tonight, I got to thinking that adjusting the hat forward was bad karma, so I adjusted it back.

Then the Astros tied up the game in the 9th. Something seemed off, so I remembered how I had been pushing my hair back into the hat the day before.

I made the adjustment, and Scotty Hottie delivered. I won't be forgetting that.

The Lucky Charm/Black Cat symptom has also surfaced this month. When I went to Iowa City two weeks ago, I put an old hat in the car, in order to represent during the Boston series. I also brought a palm-sized kickball with stitch markings and the "Sox" logo, which I gave the decidedly clever name "Sox Ball."

Its presence duly pissed off my friend, a Red Sox fan, to the point that she conspired to pop Sox Ball. (By "conspired," I mean that she used a plastic dart to no avail, then handed it off to another friend, who found success using his keys). However, the hole is small enough to allow the ball to re-inflate itself, although its bouncability is diminished.

Last week, I took the ball to Bloomington, and the Sox's play in the ALCS greatly improved. I noted who and what was present while I watched game 3 in Boston, and games 3 and 4 in Anaheim, and kept the combination intact while I returned to Chicago. So far, Sox Ball is 7-0 when accompanied by "Lucy."

Tonight, I also discovered that she has to have the game on. She had silly inconveniences like schoolwork, so she wasn't home until 9:30, when the Sox were losing, 4-2. Not twenty minutes later, Konerko adds $1 million to his next contract with a grand slam. Later, she turns away from the TV for a long phone call, and Jenks blows the save. I'll have to verify my sources, but I believe she missed the first 6 innings of game 5 of the ALCS, and started watching when the Sox were losing 3-2.

Final score? 6-3. AL Champions. My point? Circumstantial. But made.

I know it's stupid. I know it doesn't actually help. I know it's especially stupid considering my math and physics background. I would say I'm agnostic about gods, baseball or otherwise. Honestly, I've never truly taken the issue into consideration, baseball or otherwise. But there's no way I'm going to change now. It's only a small inconvenience (I hope). Only two wins left...

(Oh, and if you want to laugh at me or make fun of me for this stuff, go ahead. You went through the trouble to read all of this, you should be able to give me crap.)

He really looks like a goblin nowadays

In honor of Pat Robertson, (I never thought that I, much less someone I was on speaking terms with, would say those words) I have founded the 1400 Club. The 1400 Club is a daily vigil (considering my lack of faith, prayer is optional) in hopes of A.J. John Paul Stevens staying on the bench for at least another 1400 days (bring us up to roughly August, 2009). Hey, if Pat can implicitly pray for the retirement and/or failing healths of liberal-voting justices, I can explicitly pray for their survival.

Merry Christmas, from your friends at KFC!

OK, in the interest of timeliness (and the fact that the photos make me giggle), I will share my favorite story involving the Colonel and Japan.

The last time the Hanshin Tigers (based between Kobe and Osaka) won the Japan Series was 1985. They won it on the shoulders of Randy Bass (or Basshu to the 日本人), who won the Series MVP and the Triple Crown that year. [EDIT: If you only see boxes, that says "Japanese" in Japanese.] He also would've tied or passed Oh Sadaharu's (that's right, I put the surname FIRST) single season home run record if he hadn't been walked 6 times in the last two games by the Yomiuri Giants (managed by Oh at the time). Of course, he also hit 54 homers in 130 games, compared to Oh's 55 in 140. But, as always, I digress.

So, the Hanshin Tigers won it all for the first time ever and some nutty (and likely drunken) fans in Osaka jumped into the Dotonbori canal. But this wasn't random. It's Japan. The fans shouted out a player on the Tigers' roster, and the fan who looked most like the player took the plunge into the polluted river. Well, they got to Bass, and the nearest foreigner with a beard was a 5.5 ft. statue in front of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Needless to say, the statue was never seen again, and the Tigers haven't won it all since, but they finally got back to the Japan Series in 2003. KFC stores hid the Colonels inside just in case.

So have a Kentucky Christmas, which you can apparently celebrate with some lovely KFC wine. Mmm, I'll just leave it at that. KFC wine.

So far, everything's gravy.

The last ten days for me have been an absolute blast. From meeting with friends again, going to IC and Indiana, and the Sox winning, I am on cloud nine. I know some folks have had a stressful time lately, but I truly hope they are doing better now.

In the meantime, here's a third-hand photo of me at a wedding last weekend. I love having a mustache. And for whatever reason you think, you're probably right.


There's still a few people I haven't seen in some time. I hope that changes soon. Take care, everybody.

Cheapest win ever.

Of course, the umps didn't give up the double. I may be a jerk for saying that, but David Wells would agree, which doesn't speak well for me at all.

With that many mistakes, the Sox (excluding Buehrle) so didn't deserve it.

Whew.

Go Sox!

Blue Collar TV is like Red Green written by...well, Jeff Foxworthy

I felt that My Name is Earl deserved some more discussion. This is seriously an intelligent, funny show. The main characters may be total rednecks, but there is some real heart, sincerity, and, dare I say, believability with the show. Lee, Suplee, and Pressly all do an admirable job on the show, and it's always good to see Catalina and Darnell, a.k.a. "Crab Man."

It's on Tuesdays. On NBC. At 8 (if you are not in CT, you can look it up yourself, lazy). Y'know, that network that still wheels out Will & Grace, and won't give me my Scrubs (totally unbelievable, but I love it anyways) fix until mid-season?

Oh yeah, and The US Office is on afterwards. Greg Daniels did a fine job translating the show. As for the actual series, I could say the obvious, but it's still entertaining. Dwight (and you can guess who that character is in Slough) is always funny.

OK, I keep forgetting about Everybody Hates Chris. That has to change.

Random Question

IOWA CITY--Is there some sort of reverse karma jinx if I am willing to bet $20 on the Red Sox, simply because I want to pay money for a White Sox victory? There must be something wrong with this; I just need to know what it is.

(Note to most people: I haven't been doing a whole lot lately, outside of work, TV [watch My Name is Earl!], and the Sox in the playoffs. My apologies for the boredom. Please indulge yourselves in the posted photos in the meantime. They are a preview for a future online photo album.)

Choke on this.

"Chicago White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen seems to be implying that it's the Indians who are the chokers." (David Richard / Lorain Journal / Associated Press)

This photo says it all. Yeah, a team is "choking" and "backing into the playoffs" when they go 31-28 in the last two months, and still go 18-12 after September 1. Teams can't pick when they have their dry spell (for example, the 2001 Mariners, who went 116-46, had theirs in the ALCS). It only looked worse because the Indians played some fantastic baseball for two months, then had their own Don Young/Brant Brown moment with Grady Sizemore losing the ball in the sun. Oh well, they are absolutely poised for twenty-aught-six.

I ain't saying nuthin' 'bout the playoffs, 'cause this team hasn't won a postseason home game since Richard J. Daley was mayor, and haven't won a postseason series since the war. As in the War to End All Wars.

And for anyone who mentions the word "curse," I got a sock full of pennies with your name on it. ...Well, I will, if you give me a marker first.