Winter brings back an old friend

OK, I know, it's been a week since my last post. But no need to worry, I'm back. Thanks for your concern.

The last game of the World Series is one of the saddest days of the years for me. Even if the Boys of Bummer (the Dodgers) just so happened to be in the world's series - fat chance the way ownership is running the team (really is Koko the sign-language signing gorilla running the show in Chavez Ravine?) - and they just so happened to win (Louis Anderson-sized fat chance) all the marbles in Major League Baseball land (a dude can dream, can't he?) I think there'd be a little piece that'd be sad on that final day of the baseball season.

However, this year that pain was eased - without the aid of beer, a high ball and an I-10-long line of coke, mind you - for a couple reasons.

First, I watched the Chargers win their third straight. They appeared dominating on offense and defense. And I didn't hear nary a chant for Norv Turner's pocked-mark, wrinkling ass. This is a far different team, I think, from that squad I watched at Qualcomm on Sept. 30 (my birthday if you needed a reminder, and just 335 more shopping days remaining if you're curious). The defense is aggressive and forcing the opposition into bad decisions much like they did last year. Shawne Merriman is getting better in pass defense, turning him into an all around player, which should scare the bejeezus out of everyone else in The League. Matt Wilhelm has shown how much the team actually missed him on the field, which is crazy since this is his first year as a starter. And the secondary is more fly paper than rice paper, taking away the big plays and gluing themselves to receiver routes.

And LT has found room to run. The most beautiful runner (I'm secure enough in my dudeness to say so) in the NFL has been given that space to gallop once more and defenses are playing catch up, remembering "yeah, this guy is good." Nabbing Chris Chambers for a Charger cheerleader blow job from Miami also helped. These guys are fun to watch on the computer.

I say "on the computer" because that's how I had to watch the game this weekend, on the friggin' computer (I could have gone to a bar, but I'm cheap these days and my beer selection is just as good). And not a TV feed like Dodger games. Oh no, the NFL isn't that Net savvy. Really, should I expect anything less from an organization that strives to suck the game dry of fun. So, I watched the game through NFL.com's "game center." It's not much different than playing those video games back in the day that was text based with just enough graphics for you think it was the shit ("Look at what these computer programmers can do.") Nowadays, sport video games put you so much in the action you have to wear a helmet and pads lest you get clobbered diving in the brick fireplace to avoid a Merriman sack.

And why was I forced to an Internet site that updates plays once a beer (that's how I measure time during a football game) because I live in Phoenix and the Chargers are about as relevant hear as ice scrapers for windshields. Nevermind that the two cities are just 200-and-some-odd miles away and the city's team was on the by (saving the Cardinals from another embarassing loss - wow, and I though the Chargers lost in spectacular ways, the Birds are the Van Gogh's of losing) - I was still stuck with only the Aints and 69ers on the NFC channel. Not even a sniff of the AFC. Typically, if the Birds are playing, we get that game, and only that game. I think it's Phoenix's little brainwashing exercise - "conformity breeds peacefulness, so you'll like the Cardinals and not disrupt the city's mojo" - forcing us to either watch their football team or reruns of Dharma and Greg. The latter isn't such a bad choice when considering the former, but I digress.

The second reason the final day of the baseball season wasn't so sad this year is because I believe I turned Wife into a baseball fan. Her diatribe regarding a desire to wipe Boston off the face of the earth as retribution for them knocking out her team, the Cleveland Indians, is pure baseball fandom. I've been saying I'd like to do the same to San Francisco for oh about 30 years, but I'm a product of public schools, so I'm not smart enough to build such a city extinguisher. Wife, on the other hand, went to a pair of Catholic schools, so you know she has the brain power to mix Bisquik with asparagus spears, creating a super weaspon that would shower hell fire on Fenway Park (and if we asked nicely) Foxboro Stadium as well. We're lucky she's on our side, folks.

She has been telling our friends how much she's enjoyed watching the baseball playoffs with moi. I guess, with no real allegiance to any of the suck ass teams in the baseball playoffs this year I actually sit and explain the game to her. Apparently, and this is Wife's words, I'm too intense when the Dodgers are on. Apparently I don't explain why the Dodger hitter chose to strikeout instead of hitting a 3-run homer or why the Dodger pitcher decided to hit the batter with a 1-2 changeup. Apparently, when my team is playing golf in the Bahamas and I'm watching some other squad on my TV, I sit back and analyze the game for her. We rewound some plays, and I told her what would likely happen after the Colorado Rockies bunted a runner over to third with less than two outs against the Diamondbacks.

That was the coolest part. Well, that, and making fun of Asdrubal (Ass dribble) Caberra's first name.

In a few years, Freeloader Melissa will get the same tutorial, likely when I'm watching the playoffs and the Dodgers are playing golf in the Bahamas. (Man, I hope that's like 20 years from now - ha!)