Holiday Wish

Circles of influence surround us all, dear readers. The trick, of course, is to figure out which circles you're in while maintaining some sense of individuality as to not fall victim to said influences.

Whew, that was wordy. 

Said more plainly: we're all affected by our world effects. And, while that statement seems painfully obvious to most, its risks aren't recognized as readily. 

Every circle of influence you add to your life -- friends, family, career, relationships, hobbies, purchases, memories, etc. -- comes with the inherent risk of character compromise.

SIDE NOTE: START

Yes, memories qualify as a circle of influence. So do purchases. People love "stuff" just for the sake of having "more" of it. I would actually argue memories are the single largest circle of influence for the vast majority. Our minds are designed to romanticize the past, ignore the present and wishfully long for a better future by doing as little work as possible. Sounds crazy when read aloud, doesn't it? Would you run a business, play a sport or raise a child with that mentality? Of course you wouldn't.

But why do so many live their lives that way?

SIDE NOTE: END

Sometimes the compromise is big. Other times, the compromise is so small it doesn't register. Both compromises, however, have a cumulative effect and, ultimately, dictate that demise of individuality...one life change at a time.

My wish for everyone this holiday season is to see the circles of influence in life for what they are -- and what they might add to life's short journey -- but do not let them define who you are. Only you can do that.   

Said more plainly: be affected by your world effects but don't let them rule you. 

Being different is different. 

But not it a bad way.

Quick Thinking: The Break-Up Boogie

The circus that is now the Miami Dolphins has become more nonsensical than the story line depicted in the first Ace Ventura: Pet Detective movie. 

No easy feat.

As media scrutiny continues to increase -- if that's at all possible --  and more details arise, the fallout between Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin feels less like a case of "I feel bullied so I'm taking my ball and going home" and more like a "scorned lover syndrome" situation.

There, I said it.

Think about it for a second. The one thing crazier than falling in love is watching two people who once loved each other fall out of it, right? And this situation filled with texts, voicemails and hearsay is as batshit-crazy as it gets. C'mon, we've all seen it happen, y'all, and the result is usually this unimaginable emotional two-step all folks never think they'll do despite its inherent inevitability.

Don't roll your eyes.

In my experience the only type of person that saves a voicemail for over a year and then releases it for others to listen too is heartbroken. It screams "oh, you don't love me anymore? I'll show you!" Add the fact this "he said, he said" sideshow has all the ingredients of two people doing the break-up boogie and the possibility doesn't seem so far-fetched. 

After all, hell hath no fury like an athlete scorned.

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Quick Thinking
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-- I'm learning most people operate based not on what they want but, rather, what they don't want others to have.

-- Give it some thought and I think you'll agree.

-- I've been eating so much trail mix lately my poop is starting to look like granola.

-- True story.

-- Hollywood has certainly taken some creative license with Captain Phillips, a movie detailing the famous real-life rescue of Maersk captain Richard Phillips from Somali pirates, but it's worth seeing for no other reason than per usual Tom Hanks kills it.

-- The Crypt Keeper kills it as head pirate Muse, too.

-- Memo to Mike Napoli: As your contract search brings other suitors, don't feel bad for taking your talents (and beard) outside of Red Sox Nation. You were part of a historical season who's magic will never be duplicated so do what everyone should: appreciate this past season for what it was and turn the page. 

-- As you prepare for Monday Night's showdown with upstart Carolina and the rest of this season, remember the Patriots are a collective 26-4 following their bye week over the past 3 seasons. 

-- Yup, that's a .866 win percentage.

-- Or what we in the betting world like to call "cement."

-- Thought the same of Tennessee against Jacksonville in my suicide pool yesterday though, too.

-- And we both know how that turned out.

2 Things: This Place Is A Zoo

ONE: Passing Me By

It seems life's journey -- the one of discovery -- can be highlighted by the least likely of places. My virgin voyage as a father visiting the zoo gave me pause and wonder as I watched my son walking around, playing the role of an independent little man, pointing, talking and working his was through his immediate world.

The old adage "they grow up so fast" doesn't quite do justice to the experience.

Carrying him on my shoulders for the second leg of the journey and talking about all the animals we were "visiting" was just as humbling providing further proof that being Declan's father is one job I was most definitely made for.

Plus, the experience also afforded me the greatest "it wasn't me" atmosphere in existence. Every time I farted I was able to blame it on the animals and have the statement believed with absolute certainty even on the drive home.

"Oh, man, my clothes still smell like manure. Brutal."

Worked like a charm.

TWO: Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Game 6 of the World Series in Boston tonight offers true fans an opportunity to experience the taste of championship victory celebrated at Fenway Park for the first time in almost 100 years. 100 years.

Think about that. 

A century. Lots of shit went down in the past century.

Lots.

And while I don't have tickets, and certainly don't plan on buying any, I am going on an adventure to watch the game at a bar near the ball park. If they lose, oh well.

But if they win...

2 Things: Slowly Developing Chemistry

ONE: Slow Motion For Me

Watching professional baseball players batting, pitching and throwing during postseason play in slow motion is pretty impressive.

Really impressive, in fact.

Seeing real time, split second moments like a batter turning his wrists when making contact with a breaking ball or the subtleties of a pitcher's grip when throwing a two-seam fastball helps highlight the incredible talent and skill it takes for these athletes to perform at such a high level. With pitchers, you even get to see that useless bit of elbow skin we all have do a funky little dance.

Shake it fast, y'all.

The post-game celebratory man hugs, however, are not so impressive. I mean, seriously, man hugs look awkward in "real" time.

Spare me the slow motion versions.

TWO: Breaking Bad

A short hiatus between leaving my old job and starting my new one has gifted me the time we all daydream about when big life changes present themselves.

The free time has afforded me a chance to settle into my new home, spend quality time with my fiancee who uprooted her life to become a big part of mine, soak in every moment when my young son is around as well as seeing other friends & family members. I've even spent quite a bit of time looking for decorative home ideas on Pinterest.com.

My username is MrsHairPants, by the way.

The free time -- coupled with waiting 7 days for the cable company to get me hooked up -- also allowed me to discover a little show titled "Breaking Bad" while streaming shows on Netflix between following Red Sox games on my mobile phone.

Have you heard of it? It's on AMC, I believe.

And, after binge watching the entire series in about 10 days, I can say with a great deal of certainty that it's one of the greatest television shows of all time. If you haven't done so, I highly recommend watching it.

Just remember to tread lightly during the later episodes.

Quick Thinking: The Good, The Sad and The Stupid

The non-stop coverage of Aaron Hernandez's murder arrest fiasco has quickly evolved into a daily buzz-kill that needs to stop.

Seriously.

I know we live in a 24-hour news cycle world and all, but can't we find something positive to focus on once in while? Once a day might be a stretch, but how about once a week? Maybe once a month? Anyone? Anyone?

Bueller? Bueller?

Mr. Hernandez lived a double life. We get it. He lacked the common sense to distance himself from a lifestyle his talents afforded distance from. Add entitled arrogance with a sprinkle of brazen clashes and you get a tragic hero who threw a promising life away for what seems to be some sort of street code based on tattoos and thuggery.

You want to know what the saddest part about Aaron's downfall is? His story provides yet another in a long list of examples of how our society is compelled by tragedy.

It seems most of us even identify with it.

The endless "every angle" coverage of negative events by the media certainly doesn't help. How can it? Media outlets don't care about the human condition, they care only about the ratings generated from exploiting it. And people wonder why there never seems to be anything positive to report anymore.

"Goodness" seems to be passing us by when it reality it's slowly being suffocated. It's turned into a myth, an ideal that people used to see but has disappeared and is only now discussed as a rumor or faint memory. It's just a matter of time before it becomes urban legend.

Like Bigfoot.

Tough to see good in the world when you stop paying attention to it, y'all.

Especially when TV ratings are involved.

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Quick Thinking
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-- Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines is quickly becoming the official Summer Anthem of 2013.

-- Get Lucky by Daft Punk is a very, very close second.

-- And Pharrell having his hands in both in no coincidence.

-- Hey.

-- Hey.

-- Hey.

-- I think the social stigma surrounding the inadequacies of men who experience premature ejaculation could be remedied if instead we heralded them simply as "first responders."

-- Self-emancipating from my personal Facebook account felt a lot like taking the red pill.

-- The symbolism is too obvious to ignore. #thereisnospoon

-- Am I the only one who separates automatic doors by spreading my hands when I approach them to feel like I have a super power?

-- That's kinda what I thought.

-- Just another sign my overactive imagination is getting the better of me more often than not lately.

-- Rust-Oleum recently released a "revolutionary super hydrophobic system" called NeverWet.

-- Any surface you spray it on will, appropriately, never get wet.

-- To be honest, I don't understand what's so "revolutionary" about it.

-- I've been doing the same for every girl I've come into contact with since puberty hit in the late 80's.

Quick Thinking: Gym, Tan...

This next admission may surprise a lot of you seeing that I'm from Rhode Island - a state second only to New Jersey in its love of tanning salons - but, believe it or not, I don't have a ton of "going tanning" experience.

Believe it.

I did, however, learn the first rule of tanning booth etiquette the hard way yesterday and I feel compelled to pass this information on to all of you today. Said lesson, similar to the rules of engagement during sex, is simply this: clench, don't release.

While attempting to desperately hang on to the tan I acquired during a recent trip to the Cayman Islands I went tanning yesterday. The high-powered ceiling fan provides nothing but false hope, dear readers, so do not, I repeat, DO NOT fart while in a standing tanning booth.

Or any tanning booth for that matter.

The result is a methane and food infused, skin-burned stench of epic proportions that no man or woman should ever have to endure.

Ever.

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Quick Thinking
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-- Anthony Rodriguez is the biggest albatross in the history of professional sports.

-- And the Yankees are paying him 28 million dollars this year for his, um, "contributions."

-- But, hey, at least he's not caught in another PED controversy or anything.

-- Red Sox Nation should thank their lucky stars we were usurped by the Yankees when attempting to sign him back in 2003.

-- We should also thank our lucky stars for the yearly re-signing of Big Papi.

-- The anti-ARod.

-- Mariah Carey needs to go away.

-- Sad Social Commentary Note of the Week: The most honest person in an individual's life is the one who has nothing to gain - perceived or actual - by association.

-- Let that statement simmer before you disregard based on its "obvious scale" score.

-- Sad Social Commentary Note of the Week II: The saddest part is those people are almost always dismissed by individuals as "strangers" who "don't know what the hell they're talking about."

-- Maybe they do, though.

-- The current iteration of this Bruins' team actually has me tuning in.

-- I love hockey.

-- Rest in Peace Esther Williams, the former Olympic swimmer and actress, who passed away in her sleep yesterday at the ripe old age of 91.

-- She achieved mythical sex symbol status in the 40's and was affectionately dubbed "Hollywood's Mermaid."

-- I've always been more partial to female centaurs myself.

-- But that's me.

-- Hopefully fellow Olympian and wanna-be actor Ryan Lochte follows in her footsteps.

2 Things: Special Ed(ucation)

ONE: Youngest In Charge

Personal growth or, rather, change is inevitable, dear readers.

Inevitable.

Regardless of one's age, education level, profession, life hurdles -- real or imagined -- dreams and desires, we eventually succumb to some kind of personal growth. (I use the word "succumb" because change comes at a very high cost for most of us.)

The fortunate few experience it early on and are gifted with the ability to apply what they've learned resulting in that novel concept called "happiness." The majority of us, however, are so oblivious to a need for change in our lives, we never do or, even worse, we realize the need only when it's too late.

Deathbed regret typically follows.

Bucketlist woes aside, though, change can also take on a lighter form. Like taste in music, for example.

My nephew Brennan is experiencing one such change and has a new found affinity for "old school" hip-hop. Being my favorite music genre, he naturally came to me asking for the likes of early Jay-Z, Biggie Smalls, & ATCQ. While sharing my iTunes library, I asked: "What about Special Ed? Or Slick Rick."

His response was simply, "I guess, but who are they?"

Blasphemy. Absolute blasphemy.

I guess I can't really blame him for not knowing who two of the greatest hip-hop pioneers are considering he was born in 1996. But it behooves me to remedy his lack of knowledge. Below is the first in a series of attempts to educate him.

This is who they are, Brennan.

Enjoy.




TWO: Life Lesson #45,002,041,033

They say experience is the cruelest teacher and I, for one, will have to agree. I find little solace in knowing any lesson worth learning is worth learning hard.

I'd rather leave that shit to Bruce Willis.

Today's hard lesson comes in the form of heartache. Like not-being-able-to-eat-or-drink-or-think-straight-or-sleep heartache. The kind of heartache I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. The kind of heartache I hope to shield my son from as he ages and ventures into the world of relationships.

Yup, serious heartache.

The lesson centers around my relationship stance. Back in December of 2009, in my Define Cheating blog, I wrote, "Cheating is inevitable while true monogamy is a fairytale our parents silently preach during cookouts & holidays." Turns out I was wrong.

Dead wrong, in fact.

My most recent relationship is proof that monogamy is not only possible, it's obtainable. In reality, it's preferable. I recently dated a beautiful young woman with -- for the first time in my life -- absolute clarity of desire. And I mean absolute clarity. She was always on my mind and my focus was solely on being her boyfriend. Her counterpart. The irony, of course, is now that I've learned the one thing I never thought achievable in a relationship is just that, achievable, said relationship ended. Ouch.

Lesson learned.

It's clear my past "cheating is inevitable" concession was a rationalization. It provided me an excuse to do so along with a defense mechanism if it was done to me. In retrospect, I wish I had given other girlfriends the same gift of monogamy. Not so we'd still be together or anything, but because that's what people deserve. That's what I deserve. But, hey, you know what they say:

Woulda.

Coulda.

Shoulda.

The result is a promise. A promise I'll never agree to be in a relationship without that same clarity. I know it seems simple, but people get into relationships for all sorts of reasons when their heart truly isn't "in it." That will never happen to me again. I'm heartbroken my most recent relationship has ended, but I'm so thankful it taught me monogamy is a reality.

Found Without Translation

Music speaks to me.

Always has.

The greatest thing about music, like laughter, it has the inherent ability to cross all language barriers and, like beauty, is open to individual interpretation.

Take the following two songs for example:

Buena Vista Social Club - Chan Chan



Pharcyde - Jealousy



Completely different genres with completely different messages. And, while one was clearly influenced by the other in the form of a chorus sample, the stories each song tells are entirely unique.

Not many mediums can pull off that trick so smoothly, dear readers.

That's probably the reason why music and I have had such a successful relationship over the years: it always understands me and, more importantly, it never tells me what to do.

Unless I listen to it backwards, of course.

Quality Controlled

Expanding boundaries, both professionally and personally, is a mission statement of sorts in the world of sports + thoughts, dear readers. Influencing a little change of thought on your end of the computer screen isn't necessarily a bad thing either, but it's certainly not one of my missions.

It should be one of yours, though.

Love it or fight it, y'all, change is quite the subjective necessary evil. Like farting when you really have to shit. (That goes for you too ladies because, well, despite rumors to the contrary, we all know you "toot" and "poop" on occasion.)

Today's lesson involves an old saying that goes something like, "Don't ever mistake my silence for ignorance, my calmness for acceptance or my kindness for weakness." The quote is attributed to tons of sources and is more-or-less self explanatory but I think the words are required reading.

Maybe even on a daily basis.

The risk, of course, is when we "give in" to urges in any of those situations we tend to make everything about one thing and one thing only: self satisfaction. It's easy to argue with others if you think you're right. (Which everyone does, of course.) It's easy to get angry when someone crosses you. It's easy to walk away when you feel you've been hurt or wronged. And I, for one, am tired of all this selfish "me, me, me" nonsense dominating the world these days. Shit, selfishness is so socially acceptable its turned into big business.

Just ask the matriarch of the Kardashian klan if you don't believe me.

Only the strongest of us can be silent when we have a lot to say, calm when want to release emotion or kind when we're justified in a little malevolence. Sure, if you make this mantra an ingredient in your daily interactions others may be confused by your behavior but you won't be and, more importantly, you'll find solace in the fact that trying to live that way, more often that not, results in doing the right thing.

Which should definitely be done on a daily basis.

Fan Mail

This is big, dear readers. Real big. Like post-on-facebook-as-a-milestone-and-not-just-an-ordinary-status-update big.

I've received my first fan written love letter. Sure, it can't compete with Twilight fan fiction or anything, but what can? Besides, we need to walk before we run in the fandom world of sports + thoughts.

Of course this "letter" came in email form because, seriously, who actually writes love letters using paper and sharpies anymore?

Certainly not this guy.

Regardless of the medium used to create it, what the letter says deserves focus because it tells me all the effort is paying off. Paying off big time, actually. My passion for writing is beginning to resonate with my readers and I'm gaining much desired traction.

But enough about my excitement, let me share the "letter" with you.

Dear,

A huge dick in my pussy, a warm wet tounge up our arse and cum along with pussy juice all over me. Visit my web page: hcg injections

Fuck,
Ozzy

Incredible, right? 

I know.

I'm speechless, too.

Question Able

"How can you like sports so much?"

It's a question us sports fans have to field on a regular basis from those non-fans in our lives and it can come in many forms.

"How can you invest so much time on these silly games?"

Attempting to effectively articulate the attraction sport can have to a non-fan and how sometimes it can be the greatest investment one can make is, even for the well-spoken, difficult at times.

That is, until yesterday. 

ESPN's 30 for 30 documentary Survive and Advance, which aired last night, details the miracle run of the 1983 NCAA Champion NC State team, their charismatic coach Jimmy Valvano and provides the perfect answer to those questions.

Regardless of what form they come in.

Woven in-and-out of their improbable 1983 collection of victories is the story of Coach Valvano's battle with cancer 10 years later and how, before succumbing to it, he partnered with ESPN to form The V Foundation, creating a legacy and becoming the face of cancer research fundraising in the sports world.

Listen, I'm not saying all you non-fans need to start watching sports. I understand not every sport is for everybody.

Duh. But what is for everyone are the feelings all these "silly" games can evoke.

So I would like to challenge everyone -- fans, non-fans, whoever -- to watch the documentary and, after spending 2 hours learning the story, if you can't fully understand the inherent eliciting power of sport then, well, i only have one question for all of you:

"How can you NOT invest so much in these 'silly' games?"

Throwback Thinking: Ralph J. Holden Tribute

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Blog was originally posted on March 31, 2009. And, while the author would love to rework it, he feels the message conveyed trumps his then amateur syntax.)

A small man -- in a smaller city -- making a big impact.

Very few people outside Rhode Island are aware that Central Falls even exists. Covering one square mile, Central Falls is the smallest city in the smallest state in the Union. Affectionately referred to as "CF", it's so small that you can drive through the city down Broad St. in approximately 3 minutes! (It may take you a whopping 5 minutes if you catch a few lights.)

Being such a small city does have it's advantages. When you're small you can keep things simple. You're not clouded by infinite choices. You can focus on one thing and try and do it extremely well. For example, Central Falls is home to an iconic Rhode Island establishment: Stanley's Hamburgers.

Best. Hamburgers. Ever.

But, in a place where focus is critical to success, the opportunities that benefit from said focus are limited. And, in CF, positive opportunities are nearly non-existent. Central Falls became a prime hub for cocaine trafficking throughout the 80's and 90's which earned it the unenviable nickname "Sparkle City."

Don't believe it? Just ask Providence's notorious ex-mayor: Buddy Cianci. Buddy was so cavalier that his private car was commonly found on the streets of CF during his political career with him in the backseat.

Central Falls: the embodiment of a double-edged sword.

Growing up in Central Falls provided very few options to spend your free time if you were trying to avoid the cocaine trade. You really only had 2 choices: Academics or Athletics. Both helped you punch a ticket to "get out" and one was usually a means to get closer to the other.

I started this blog by saying "Very few people outside Rhode Island are aware that Central Falls even exists." Well, even fewer are aware of the importance that youth sports had in the city. And if you were involved in youth athletics around CF in the early 80's and 90's there was one man who you knew, respected and, in most cases, loved like a father: Ralph Holden.

Ralph was a Central Falls native stricken with Polio during the height of it's epidemic in the 1950's. While he never lost the use of his limbs, Ralph's physical development was limited resulting in a hunchback physique preventing him from ever playing organized sports.

But his love for sports could not be broken by a crooked back. Ralph wanted sports to be part of his life -- and he did all he could to ensure that they would be. He focused on school and eventually earned a degree in Physical Education. He finally worked his way to become the Athletic Director of the Central Falls Community Center.

And that is where Ralph's legacy was born.

It was called the "Club." Every teenager growing up in CF during the 80's and 90's considered the Club their home away from home. The kids were the bricks. Ralph was the mortar.

Ralph never used his physical deficiencies as an excuse. Obstacles were a daily part of Ralph's life. But overcoming each made his victories that much sweeter. For example, simple things like driving were difficult -- but not impossible.

Ralph had a mechanic fabricate longer gas and brake pedals so he could reach them. His steering wheel had a circular handle attached to it so he could turn the wheel with one hand. Ralph would sit on a few pillows so his hunch arm could lean out the window while he would turn the wheel with his good hand. It could be 15 degrees out and snowing but Ralph's midnight-blue Oldsmobile would have the driver side window open and the heat on full blast.

Ralph Holden's perseverance in life translated to his coaching. He wouldn't allow us kids to fall into self pity. He taught us that growing up poor in Central Falls was an opportunity. It would help us learn to appreciate our victories more than our opponents did.

His coaching style was brash and his temper legendary. He didn't tolerate laziness or disrespectful behavior toward another player, coach or referee. And his love for us "kids" was palpable and enduring.

Even as we all grew up and moved up and out of Central Falls, you would still find Ralph standing in the corner of whatever gymnasium one of us "kids" happened to be playing in -- scribbling in his notepad prepping for a post game "review."

Ralph Holden passed away on March 12, 1998. The "Club" was renamed the Ralph J. Holden Community Center as a tribute to the man who served as the caretaker for the building and those who spent their free time playing sports in it.

Ralph was widely referred to as "Ralphie-Baby" by the legions of youngsters who viewed him more as a surrogate father than a coach. And, as we all know, a father's job is to keep his girl off the pole and his son off the streets -- Ralph did just that.

His daily struggles served as an example that your life is what you make of it. Where some see obstacles, others see opportunity. Ralph created a sense of family between his players that no other coach this former athlete has known could replicate. The same kids I grew up with in the 80's are still my best friends today. At full strength we're about 25 deep. Regardless of the sport, we were never a team -- we were always a family.

And we always will be.

Thanks, Ralphie-Baby.

2 Things: Socialized by Media

ONE: Earmuffs My Ass

Beware the noise, dear readers. It can get loud.

Deafening, in fact.

But while your instinct might tell you to turn down the volume or cover your ears, I would offer a different piece of advice: turn that shit up. Don't look for a quiet corner -- and certainly don't walk away -- because the second you think the noise will stop by avoidance, its already won.

Instead, walk to the middle of it, make it louder and you'll be granted the one thing said noise is attempting to take from you in the first place: clarity. And the moment you gain that, dear readers, you'll realize, regardless of volume, noise is simply a distraction from what's important.

After all, it's just noise.

TWO: Steinbeck Was Right

"The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry."

Damn skippy.

Quick Thinking: Switching Games

I try not to take anything too seriously, dear readers. And I mean anything. Inappropriate quips and off-color jokes are staples of my every day.

They've become reflex, really.

But, while I fully subscribe to that age old adage "life is too short" as my behavioral guiding principle in large part because I nearly lost mine following a single car accident on January 9th, 2004 -- actually, I nearly lost it twice according to my TICU peeps -- I find myself offended by the "now he has a trophy for each person he killed" jokes flying around the intertubes today.

And I never get offended.

I mean, seriously, if the wrongful death of two people can't calm sarcastic digital chatter, what can right?

Exactly.

My only hope is, with Ray Lewis' career ending and clouded in controversy, the NFL is courageous enough to use their moral compass when his Hall of Fame eligibility is debated.

But I'm betting they won't.

Or maybe I'm just being a pussy because Super Bowl Sunday happened to fall on my son Declan's 2nd birthday which allowed a drop of fleeting emotion to evoke a response from my otherwise black heart.

Ya, that's probably it.

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Quick Thinking
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-- The cream of the Super Bowl commercial crop starred none other than Leon Sandcastle.

-- Who kinda looks like an ugly Deion Sanders.

-- Did you see the story from earlier this week where Ron Jeremy drove himself to the hospital after suffering a ruptured chest aneurysm?

-- No word yet on whether a blood flow diverting erection will be credited for his survival.

-- There's no truth to the rumor that Manti T'eo's fake dead girlfriend was responsible for the power outage in New Orleans last night.

-- To bad she didn't strike during the halftime show.

-- I wasn't ready for that jelly.

-- The only thing that will restore my faith in Patriot Nation next season is if they makes the move to sign free agent Ed Reed and provide their secondary some hard hitting, veteran leadership.

#rodneyharrison

-- Quote of the Week goes to my boy Jeremy Octavio for responding the following when his girlfriend suggested he buy a "Baby on Board" sticker for his car, "Might as well just find the one that says 'Game Over'."

-- No reset button for that one, brother.

-- Truth be told, there isn't a sticker in the world one can adhere to their vehicle to save them from all the idiots behind the wheel in New England.

-- Of course all New Englanders think they're great drivers.

-- And they certainly don't think they're all idiots.

-- One of us is right.

2 Things: Done and Done

ONE: Moving On

It's been nearly two weeks and I still can't believe Patriots players and coaches aren't the ones being interviewed by everyone with a microphone and media badge preparing for Super Bowl XLVII.

Time to put the entire NFL season in my rear view.

TWO: Death of a Quarterback

It happened right in front of our eyes two short weeks ago, dear readers. It happened for all to see. It happened on the field of play. It happened in real time.

With one bitch move in the form of a spike high slide and another cowardly pass attempt on 4th-and-4 with an open field in front of you and one man to beat, Tom Brady -- the big game winning quarterback -- officially died.

And I'm not talking about the academy award winning kind of death you see in movies. I'm talking about the poorly acted, blank stare kind of death you see in B-movies. Shit, or even in teen dominated high school drama clubs. That's how bad it was.

Painful, really.

Ready or not, Tom, age, diminishing skills and lack of desire have arrived. Save Patriot Nation the future heartache, do the honorable thing, stop the madness and fall on your sword: retire. Please retire. Pretty please.

With sugar on top.

Because you're not just squandering championship chances, Tom. You're tarnishing what was once a winning legacy.

And slowly changing your name to Mr. Bundchen in the process.

Quick Thinking: (Anti) Climatical Coloring

I'm getting sick and tired of all this posturing, dear readers.

And I'm tired of being sick and tired.

Patriot Nation is poised for another Super Bowl run and, while I'm excited at the prospect of watching Mr. Brady go for another championship, I'm hesitant to invest real hope as a result of our recent big-game failures.
Past peaks of regular season successes followed by valleys of playoff shortcomings have left me fatigued. Exhausted, actually. So my request for Bill & Brady this year is simple: stop leading me on.  Seriously, stop. I can't take it anymore.

No, seriously.

You teased me with the allure of undefeated immortality with no climax in '07. Then, last year, during our playoff revenge tour, you carelessly dropped the ball at a critical moment costing us all a sigh of relief.

A much needed sigh of relief, I might add.

Listen, I don't mean to sound angry or unappreciative. You've been great to me since for well over a decade. It's just, well, I've been sitting on post-season blue balls since 2007. That's right. Blue balls. Since 2000-fucking-7! 

And I can't take it anymore.

So do me and everyone else in Patriot Nation a solid by getting your hate-fuck on against Baltimore then finish the job against the NFC in New Orleans where, luckily, we've had Super Bowl success. Make it happen, fellas. Please. For my sake.

Because I'm ready to burst.

-------------------
Quick Thinking
-------------------

-- Advice of the Year Award (well, so far) goes to brother Timmy for telling me the following immediately after Notre Dame's victory over USC on November 24th, "If they play Alabama in the National Championship Game and the spread is below 10, bet your life on 'Bama."

-- Sound advice, brother.

-- Sound.

-- Advice.

-- Too bad my life's trade value was so low with the bookie.

-- As I get older, and a bit wiser, I'm realizing there's a BIG difference between those hoping to find love and those who need to find it.

-- People in the latter group are a scary lot.

-- Getting-soap-in-your-pee-hole scary, in fact.

-- They're also the ones who disclose every trivial relationship benchmark via their facebook status updates.

#dislike

-- Quote of the Week honors go to my boy Mr. Octavio for dispensing this gem to one of our single co-workers, "Listen, when you go out, you shouldn't be looking for the girl who wants you to buy her a drink. You need to be looking for the girl who wants you to be buying her breakfast."

-- Difficult arguing with simple brilliance.

-- False pretenses aside, Lance Armstrong's Livestrong foundation has raised nearly 500 million to help "inspire and empower people affected by cancer."

-- That's gotta be worth something, right?

-- Speaking of dominant athletes who misled the public, I hope your play can live up to the fictional rivalry Nike's marketing team whipped up for you this season, Tiger.

 

-- But you should have had the balls to title the commercial "No Hole is Safe" instead of "No Cup is Safe" because, as we both know, you're better when the world hates you.

-- And this year is about winning majors.

-- Not approval ratings.