Against my better judgement, I ventured off to Myrtle Beach with Ang, Huey, Dewey, and Louise along with my in laws. Imagine taking 6 adults, 3 children (2 of whom may be certifiable) living in the combined space of a broom closet and a half bath while you try to keep one kid from peeing off the 11th floor balcony, one from taking off his clothes and using his underwear as a swimsuit in the ocean, and one away from every male over the age of 3.
Throw in our room being on the main drag side of the condo (you have no idea how loud a Kawasaki is at 2 a.m.), random numb nuts from the age of 12 down running around and acting like a crack addict in the throes of withdrawl, and pretty much the population of NYC confined in a 3 mile area and you get the idea.
Now, to top it off, I have no Red Sox baseball for the next 3 days. Or at least I didn't until my friend fla beck hooked me up with her MLBTV account; only my brother in laws computer and/or the wifi isn't fast enough and I can hear the sound just fine but I'm roughly 37 minutes behind.
Which isn't the worse thing in the world, considering how John Smoltz performed today. I had high hopes for the man, but right now it looks like he's throwing BP every time out. It may be time to fish or cut bait and either bring up Clay full time or get Doc Halladay or Doc Gooden or Dock Ellis to right the ship.
Screw it. Luis Tiant is hanging around Fenway most days; give him a uniform, stick a cigar in his mouth and point him toward the pitchers mound.
Betcha he can still bring it.
For that matter, we've got a 42 year old knuckleballer on staff. Is it THAT crazy to think Bill Lee and his ephus pitch couldn't help us out?
Probably not, though.
I think I may have finally lost it.
I take the kids to the beach.
Or as I like to call it, the 11th step in my 12 step journey to complete and utter insanity.