Today's Shameless Plug

If someone as smart as Albert Einstein were to read The Bush-Whacked Administration, shouldn't you?

SHOUT-OUT!

Today is Veterans' Day, and while I could post about our brave men and women who have been fighting and dying for our freedom, I won't. Rather I will give a great big shout out with a very, very, very, very big:

THANK YOU!!

And special shout outs to Veterans in my own family: My Uncles Jimmy, Eladio, Henry & Warren, my cousin Tom, my father-in-law Bill and my brother-in-law Frank. Thank you all.

The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead

The Great Lakes cover over 90,000 square miles and supply one-fifth of the world’s fresh water, with Lake Superior being the largest. The Chippewa Indians call Lake Superior “Kitchi-gummi” which means “great-water”. Later discovered by French explorers who named the lake, “le lac superieur”, which translates to upper lake.

Lake Superior is one of the busiest shipping lanes in North America and is connected to the Atlantic Ocean via the St. Lawrence Seaway. More than 1000 ships travel its waters each year landing either in the port of Duluth in the United States or Thunder Bay in Canada. Lake Superior is also large enough that it has considerable effect on the weather, especially when winds blow across its surface. Duluth sees over 50 days of fog between spring and fall and sometimes during a particularly cold winter the entire lake will freeze over. Another weather phenomenon common to the region, and particularly to Lake Superior, are the sometimes-vicious “northeasters”, which are gales that occur (mostly in November) and are formed when intense low pressure systems pass over the lake, thus creating hurricane-force winds that churn up enormous waves.

(Locals refer to these storms as “the witch of November.” It’s little wonder that the bottom of Lake Superior is littered with the skeletons of no less than 350 ships, most of them falling victim to the temperamental November ‘witch’)

That’s fascinating Kemp, but why the hell are you telling us all of this? And why the hell so many links?

Simple. Today (Thursday, November 10, 2005) is the 30th Anniversary of the most famous sinking on Superior (as well as the most baffling): that of the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald.

This is a story that has always interested me and I knew, after realizing that the anniversary was today, that I had to write about it and give all you loyal readers the means to find out more, thus the superfluity of linkage.

The Fitzgerald was one of the largest lake vessels of her kind at 729 feet long, 75 feet wide and with a cargo capacity of 27,500 tons. The 7,500 horsepower engines were built by Westinghouse Electric Corporation and helped the ship set different shipping records.

The captain was Earnest MacSorley and gale warnings had already been issued when MacSorley steered the Edmund Fitzgerald, loaded down with taconite, out of Superior, Wisconsin’s docks shortly after 2PM. Meanwhile what looked like a typical November storm was intensifying. On the morning of November 10, heavy rain was falling and winds were gusting from the Northwest in excess of 60 mph as the storm tracked toward Canada, pummeling the Fitzgerald. A little after 3PM that same afternoon, Captain MacSorley reported that his ship was suffering damage and listing. At that time, another ship (The S.S. Arthur M. Anderson) that was sailing close to the Fitzgerald, agreed to stay close until they reached the calmer waters of Whitefish Bay.

In less than a half hour, the storm intensified with wind gusts clocking in at over 100 miles per hour. Shortly thereafter MacSorley again called in to the Anderson, and reported that the ship had lost all radar. Both ships continued on through the worsening conditions, the Anderson keeping track of the Edmund Fitzgerald on her radar screen. By early evening, around 7PM, meteorologists believe the storm’s pressure reached its lowest point; this combined with energy from the jet stream and created a series of enormous waves that first slammed into the Anderson and then into the Fitzgerald. The Anderson sustained damage but survived the onslaught and immediately The captain of the Anderson, Jesse Cooper, radioed the Edmund Fitzgerald to warn the crew of what to expect. The last words that came from Captain MacSorley were, “We are holding our own”.

Ten minutes later, around 7:25 PM… the big freighter had disappeared from all radar screens and the ‘witch’ had claimed yet another victim.

The day after the wreck, Mariners' Church in Detroit rang its bell 29 times, once for each life lost, a memorial that continues to this day. Every year on the anniversary, the church reads the names of the crewmen and rings the church bell.

An investigation by the Coast Guard suggested that the Edmund Fitzgerald had likely suffered enough initial damage that she began taking on water, causing the ship to list. Already unstable, the Fitzgerald was unable to ride out the onslaught of the massive waves once the northeaster worsened and she foundered, plunging to the bottom of Lake Superior with enough force to snap her in half. That report proved controversial, with the most common alternate theory contending that inoperative radar forced the crew to rely on maps that were woefully inacurate and, as a result, the Fitzgerald ran aground on a shoal without the crew knowing it and received bottom damage, thus causing it to gradually take on water until it sank.

The Edmund Fitzgerald now lies rusting under 550 feet of water. None of the sailors bodies were ever recovered. On July 4, 1995, a submarine expedition salvaged the ship’s bell and replaced it with another (as a tribute to the sailors and their families) with the date of the disaster and the names of the dead engraved on it. The bell is on display at the Whitefish Point museum near Paradise, Michigan.

The mystery of exactly how and why the Edmund Fitzgerald sank has never been discovered and the attachment of the ship and the story lives on, helped by the Gordon Lightfoot song: “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” (lyrics to the song can be found here)

After reading a piece about the sinking in Newsweek, Lightfoot was inspired to write one of the signature songs of his lengthy career (and also one of his greatest hits) that turned into an improbable Top 40 smash.

Maritime historian Frederick Stonehouse, when speaking about the song, states: “In large measure, his song is the reason we remember the Edmund Fitzgerald. That single ballad has made such a powerful contribution to the legend of the Great Lakes.”

Three decades after the tragedy, the Fitzgerald remains the most famous of the 6,000 ships that disappeared on the Great Lakes. And the reasons for its sinking will probably never be known.

Busch Stadium Update

On the third day of the demolition of Busch stadium in Saint Louis, the structure now has a huge hole on the south side as the demolition gets in full swing. Check back on my blog for periodic updating on the status of the demolition.

It pains me to see this, but I know the new stadium will be just as breathtaking.

Went to a building demolition and a chess match broke out...

All you St. Louis Cardinals fans out there reading this, I have one question to ask you:

How many more times are we going to have to say goodbye to old Busch Stadium?

How many times are we going to gather around this old cement and steel edifice and pay homage to an old ballpark that just doesn't seem to want to go away quietly?A few scant months after its first, “regular season” goodbye, and just weeks after its final goodbye game (let’s not talk about the outcome here please… I’m still a tad upset about it… I mean… come on! Houston!? The freakin’ Astros???? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FU***** KIDDING ME!!!!!…Sorry, lost my head there for a moment. I’m okay now), A mere hours after it was supposed to be bid adieu by a colossal wrecking ball, the ol’ gal was still standing firmly and in one piece early Monday evening.

Thousands of Cardinals loyalists, cameras flashing, milled about outside the stadium, peeking through the fences and trying (in vain) to catch a glimpse of what was supposed to be a monumental destruction by a monumental wrecking ball.

What they saw… was incredibly anti-climactic. Monday, November 7, 2005 was supposed to be the day that Busch Memorial Stadium (Part Two) met its maker in order to make way for Busch Memorial Stadium Part Three. I mean, this was the day the wrecking ball was supposed to drop down with a virtuous fury and give the world a dramatic scene of a crumbling of a 39-year-old sports palace.After the first swing happened (it wasn’t even a swing… it was a drop) there was nary a nick on the stadium.

It didn't explode.

It didn't crumble.

It didn't crack.

It didn’t collapse (which can’t be said for the 2005 Cardinals…I mean come on! The Astros???? … sorry, lost my head again… I’m ok now)

Just after 3 p.m. you could see the big ball hanging just above the stadium roof, like a 1,000-pound pendulum (where’s a pit when you need one?) slowly swaying to and fro from the monster crane that was positioned inside the ballpark.One could just imagine what was to come next; a dramatic and colossal obliteration of a historical baseball relic.

Walls would cave in.

Roofs would crumble.

Witnesses would ooh and aah… (and maybe even shed a tear?)

Then again… maybe not.

Three ...

two ...

ONE…

[KERPLUNK!]

It did not crash.

It did not ram.

It did not rumble.

People came, I got online to watch, just so I can see the ‘breathless annihilation.’

But as the ball fell toward its target, all anyone got (whether you were standing there in person or watching it online like I was) was a weak and unspectacular... 'kerplunk.'

I didn't get online at work for… a ‘kerplunk.’

I wanted action damn-it!

I wanted a crash!!!!

I wanted a ka-blewie!!

I wanted a slow rumble…then a crumble…then a swoosh of falling concrete.

But no… what I got, what we ALL got, was a ‘kerplunk.’

This was a letdown of epic proportions.

I mean; it was more a letdown than the series finale of “Seinfeld”. It was more a letdown than the viewing audience for this year’s World Series. It was even more of a letdown than “President” Bush has been for an alarmingly large segment of Republicans that voted for him last November…

People came looking for drama… looking for action.

Not for a ‘kerplunk.’

Labels... (not the kind on clothes, the human kind)

Read an entry like this on another blog (and for the life of me I can't remember which one - otherwise I would give credit where credit is due) and decided it was something that touched me as well... so here ya go, my version.

I've never generally thought of myself "as" a particular something. Not as an ops manager (my career), not as a political/humor/educational essayist (something I am enjoying doing now), not as an especially deep-thinker (what can I say, I love The Simpsons). Of all the identities and labels (see, a tie-in to the title) that I've worn in my brief stopover on this hunk of rock we call Earth, the only one I truly have felt perfectly comfortable wearing has been that... of Dad.

For the most part I am comfortable being a father. Weird as that sounds, considering I've only been a father for a little over three years, I find more enjoyment, more excitement, and more keenness out of fatherhood, then anything else I've ever done. It is not because of any particular outstanding achievement on my part. As a father, I'm run-of-the-mill material, maybe more involved then some, maybe not. In all probability, I'm probably fairly average with regards to my generation. To put it another way; I muddle through.

Practically anyone can have a child (and God knows, some people who shouldn’t have children do, but I have no control or power over that… yet) but to truly be a father involves more then just supplying half the genetics. You have to like being a father. And that means liking the wholeness of it. The essence of it, not just the playtime with your kids or the joy on their faces on Christmas morning, but all of it - the endless face-cleaning, screaming, clamor, arm-pulling, vomit-cleaning, potty-training, broken plate, "who the heck did that", "stop pulling the dogs tail" crying, shrieking, laughing mess of it all.

You have to like it. It has to be a part of who you are and what you are.I guarantee, that if you can embrace it, you will never look in your mirror again without seeing a reflection of that essence in your eyes, or in your viewpoint on life.Granted (and this can serve as a warning to all the father-to-be’s and father wannabes out there)… not all of it will be fun.

You can't be awakened for three nights in a row at 1:00 am with a sick child who just threw-up, not only on the last set of clean sheets in the house but on her sister... (and on her stuffed animals... on the dog who had to run in to see what the hub-bub was... on the floor... on the walls... you get the picture) and necessarily enjoy it, but....you need to be able to deal with it and deal with it well.

You have to be able to deal with it in a...dare I say it...’professional’ style. (Let’s face it, you may not like your work or career choice from day-to-day either, but it’s the certain elements of the job that inspire you, that uplift you, that bring you enjoyment, success and excitement. Though they may only be on occasional instances and not the whole. But these things color your choice, inspire your interest, and keep you fighting the good fight)

Fatherhood feels somewhat like that.

You feel it most when you are with your child. Last week I took my daughters to one of the parks near us (Only I went because my wife was painting our family room. Why was she painting it you ask? Because I suck at painting... at least that’s what I like to make her believe, but that’s fodder for another entry on another day)

I had the girls at the park, sliding down the big slides, swinging on the swings (sense a theme here?) and running around.

After doing this for about an hour we stopped (Dad isn’t as young as he used to be) and I proceeded to load them into the car for the quick trip home. As I’m climbing into the drivers seat, I spotted the two of them watching me, peeking under their Eastern Illinois University sweatshirt hoods, to see what I was doing.

They were just watching me.

Watching… their dad… with a smile on their face.

Kemp's House of Useless Knowledge

The dot over the letter 'i' is called a tittle.

Something wicked this way comes...

As a nice little gear-up for Halloween, I thought I would write about something eerie (like this) or something downright scary (like “President” Bush’s Administration). Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

A few weeks ago, after coming home from a wedding in Southern Illinois my family and I decided to make a stop at my wife and mine alma mater Eastern Illinois University (EIU). While my wife goes there every year as part of her job, I had not been back since 2001 (btw, the changes that have been made there are incredible)

As we were walking across campus, my wife started telling our nephew (who was hitching a ride home with us) about the haunting of Pemberton Hall. So I decided, on the eve of Halloween eve eve (huh?) that I would write about the ghost and haunting of EIU’s Pemberton Hall.

Warning: The following has some disturbing imagery and details

How did this tale begin? Oddly enough, it was a dark and stormy (and cold) winter’s night around 1917 when a resident of Pemberton Hall went upstairs to the fourth floor of the building to play the piano. It was very late, the young woman had been unable to sleep and was hoping that playing some music might help her to relax and get tired.

The story continues that the young woman was tragically raped and left dying by a deranged janitor and crawled down the stairs scratching and feebly knocking on doors for help. Finally, she made it to the counselor's door and managed to awaken her… but it was to late. By the time the counselor opened the door the young woman was dead.

As the years passed, residents of Pemberton Hall say they have heard this event from the past repeating itself in the building. They recall the dragging sounds heard near the stairs that lead to the upper floor and the sounds of scratching on doors and walls. Most bewildering though are the bloody footprints that have appeared in the corridor, only to vanish moments later. Many believe the ghost of the murdered young woman has returned to haunt Pemberton Hall, but that’s only half of the haunted tale.

The counselor who discovered the murdered girl was named Mary Hawkins and was a favorite among the residents of Pemberton Hall. The effect of the murder on Mary’s personality was devastating though as she became haunted by the death of the young woman. Students spoke of seeing her pacing the hallways at all hours of the night, unable to sleep and tormented by horrible visions and guilt. Finally, unable to cope with her depression and nightmares, she was institutionalized and later committed suicide.

Shortly after her death, residents of Pemberton Hall started to report some strange occurrences in the building (and these spooky events continue today) Students believe the incidents are the work of Mary Hawkins, still making her rounds and checking in on the young women who live in the building. Many believe that her spirit (unable to rest after losing a woman in her care) still roams the hall and watches out and protects them, locking and unlocking doors, turning radios and televisions off hours, and generally keeping track of things that go on.

For many years, students have spoken of the odd happenings in the building and events that would convince even the most skeptical of residents that perhaps the hall was truly haunted, such as late night door knockings and inexplicable sounds in the hallways. Only to discover an empty hallway when the door is open. Others claim to have seen the apparition of a woman entering their rooms and then vanishing. In other cases, residents who distinctly recall leaving their doors open and unlocked, often find them to be mysteriously locked the next morning, as if someone was checking up on them and worried about their safety.

Could it have been Mary Hawkins?

Even before I attended EIU in the 90’s there were reports of strange events happening in the hall. Throughout the 60’s and 70’s, residents reported hearing the sounds of whispers in the building, and there were a number of reports of apparitions on the stairwell that would appear briefly and then vanish. One student, who lived in Pemberton Hall in 1976, recalled the problems that the resident advisors had with the furniture in one of the lounges. Many times, the furniture in this room was often found to be overturned or rearranged, often during the overnight hours. Rumor has it that an RA walked into a room one morning and discovered the furniture had all been moved around. She went to get some help to straighten the room up again and when she and another resident came back, they found everything had been restored to order.

Most students don’t actually see Mary or the other ghosts, but few doubt the spirit exists. One recurring incident involved the lights on the fourth floor of the building (where the music room is and where the first young woman was attacked) where many students reported seeing the windows open and close and the lights turn on and off, with no logical explanation given. (While I attended Eastern, the fourth floor was locked and off-limits to residents, but, for the last couple of years the fourth floor has been open on Halloween only for a Haunted House, read an article here from The Daily Eastern News to learn more about that)

As you can tell, the majority of weird reports have centered on the fourth floor, ranging from hearing the sound of footsteps pacing overhead and the strains of faint piano music filtering down. Is it true?

Depends on your point of view…

Thought of the Day

“I often quote myself. I find it adds spice to the conversation.”

- George Bernard Shaw

Shout out!

Last night the Chicago White Sox broke their 88-year World Series curse by sweeping the Houston Astro’s to win the 2006 World Series. If my boys (St Louis Cardinals) couldn’t get it done, I’m glad my second-fave team did. It’s good for Chicago, it’s good for Illinois… and it thoroughly honks off Cubs fans, which is always a bonus for me. Go Sox!

8 Things...

Childs Play x2 did this on his blog, and I thought it was a very cool idea so I decided to try it as well, though I upped the ante (as it were) and made it 8 things. Why 8? Eh…why not?

As CP said, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

And awayyyy weeee gooooooo…

8 things I want to do before I die:

1. Run for political office (which I have already started doing…see my School Board entries for the … ‘Rest… of the… story’)
2. Give my daughters away at their wedding (hopefully, they’ll have a dual ceremony…cause the idea of paying for two weddings in any proximity scares the you-know-what out of me
3. Get my wife to ride the big Ferris Wheel with me at Chicago’s Navy Pier
4. Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge (I have a fear of bridges and didn’t take the opportunity to do this in a prior visit to San Fran…but I feel I must now… it’s a moral imperative)
5. Retire before the age of 60
6. Take an Alaskan cruise
7. Go back to Hawaii
8. Get my Ph.D.
   

8 things I cannot do:

1. Change the oil in my car (have to agree with cp on this on)
2. Say no to pizza… and to cheese… and to chips
3. Understand the appeal of reality TV shows… I just don’t get it.
4. Lose an argument/debate
5. Climb a ladder (long story)
6. Sleep in (not so much as can’t, but more of my twins won’t let me…)
7. Drink cheap coffee
8. Drink cheap wine

8 things that attract me to the opposite sex:

1. Sense of humor (or, more precisely, them laughing at MY jokes – which my wife does, no matter how bad or corny they are)
2. Intelligence (but not smarter than me. Sorry, but that’s just the elitist in me. BTW, my wife is smarter than me)
3. Legs
4. Eyes
5. Smile
6. Small of the back
7. Independent streak (which my wife has in spades)
8. Ahem…well, uh…. you know…

8 Things that I say most often:

1. Nice.
2. D’oh!
3. Am I oversimplifying things?
4. Did I ever tell you about…
5. Decisions are made by those that show up
6. Or am I using too much logic?
7. Son of a bi—
8. Holy Flurkin’ Schnit…

8 celebrity crushes:

1. Salma Hayek
2. Penelope Cruz
3. Niki Taylor
4. Shakira
5. Liz Phair
6. Kate Beckinsale
7. Rachel Ray
8. Janel Moloney (from TV’s The West Wing)

8 people I want to have do this exercise:

1. My wife
2. My brother
3. My best friend, Scott
4. My daughters (though we may have to wait until they can write)
5. Enigma4ever, a consistent visitor to all my blogs
6. Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig (the man’s a mental furball by the way)
7. “President” Bush (Why? The smart-ass, politico in me says ‘to see if he can count to 8’)
8. Every person in the whole wide world

Thought of the Day

"Each person must live their life as a model for others."

Rosa Parks, Civil Rights pioneer who passed away Monday at the age of 92
http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/10/25/parks.obit/index.html

The Fiercest Battle

Every night my wife and I get settled in under the covers. We give each other a kiss and say, "I love you".

Beautiful, isn’t it?

But that is where the congeniality ends… and the savage battle begins.

A battle… for space and covers.


A battle where acreage is gained or lost inch by inch through the fighting of which the rules of engagement do not apply.

I am talking, of course, of sharing a bed.

When I was single, my bed seemed huge! It was like having a back yard in my bedroom. (Sometimes when I awoke in the night and had trouble getting back to sleep, I would just get up and wander around my bed for awhile, always amazed at what wonder I would discover… ok, I’m making that up, but work with me here, I’m leading up to something)

So how is it that getting married and adding one small person to this huge posturepedic expanse would leave me without sufficient room to sleep, let alone wander.

When I sleep, I SLEEP…and I need room I need to be able to roll, kick and thrash (much like a person does when they are grabbed by a crocodile…and least that’s what Paul Hogan said in Crocodile Dundee…and he has never steered me wrong).

In getting married, this can no longer be done without causing great bodily harm to my wife.

She, as well, felt as though her personal sleeping area was being threatened by the co-existence.

Thus, the battle began.

A push here and a scoot there eventually became a kick here, and an "accidental" arm stretch to the chops, there.

I became so accustomed to fighting over every precious inch that I was soon able to carry on the combat even after falling asleep.

In the morning, my wife would say things like,"you mean you don't remember standing over me wielding your pillow like a samurai sword and screaming to the Lord Almighty above that you couldn't take anymore?”

Thinking I was being clever, I tried constructing a barrier down the middle of the bed with two by fours (painting it a very pleasant beige, might I add). But it was not meant to be as I returned from work one evening to find that my wife, who claims to have no carpentry skills whatsoever, had torn down and perfectly rebuilt the barrier a foot more in her favor.

Touché.

The bed space is not the only area that is fought over. The covers are as well.

At times, I don’t want any covers on me. (I may be hot and trying to cool off) My wife thinks that this is a sign that she can wrap herself up in the covers like a burrito and go to sleep. I have, without success, tried explaining to my wife that that does not mean I do not want covers throughout the entire night, just at this precise moment.

Other times, I will be sleeping soundly when a sudden chill awakens me. I look around and discover that I am no longer covered, but rather, uncovered. My wife, while in a sleeping state, yanked the covers, sheets, blankets off of me and again wrapped herself up like a burrito.

After years of fighting and lack of sleep, I tried to come up with a viable solution (you think drafting an Iraqi Constitution is hard, try writing an husband/wife equal cover-sharing concept agreement).

Separate covers. She has hers, I have mine. We still share a sheet, but for blankets, we are on our own.

And we couldn’t be happier.

Thought of the Day

"It holds the heat well!"

- Casey Stengel, speaking about Busch Stadium, during the 1966 All-Star Game

Son of a bi***!!!!

Well, that's it. It's over. The fat lady has sung.

The St. Louis Cardinals' season...(sigh)

...is over.

The Cardinals could not create magic in a bottle as they did Monday night and lost to the Houston Astros in game 6 of the National League Championship Series (NLCS).

Final score Houston 5 - St. Louis 1. Astros take the series 4-2.

It pains me to say this...but congratulations Houston. You played extraordinarily well. The World Series is next for you.

I will let all you know that, even though I am a National League fan at heart...I will have to root (and believe me it pains me more when I say this) for the White Sox...(I never thought I would hear myself say those words)

Watching the game tonight with my brother Al, I kept thinking about all the great memories I have had at Busch Stadium over my years (to get a better idea, check out an earlier entry:
http://blogofkemp.blogspot.com/2005_09_01_blogofkemp_archive.html

But...I honestly can't say if I am more sad about the end of the Cardinals season...or the end of Busch Stadium (I'll give a minute for all the Cardinal fans out there to let that sink in) A few weeks from now the wrecking balls will come out to raze the old girl...and for that...I am a tad heartbroken. But I know, like tonight's loss, I will get over it.

Goodnight and goodbye Busch...I, and all other Cardinal fans, will miss you...

Thought of the Day

“It's hard to take positive steps, when you've burned the bridge you got to walk across.”

– J.D. Dorian (Zach Braff), from Scrubs

The Trouble with Umpires

I was going to take this spot today to write about my weekend trip with the family down to southern Illinois for a wedding, but another subject arose that has stuck itself in my craw and I HAVE to rant about it, lest my head explode.

Quick show of hands - who saw game 4 of the NLCS Sunday? If you did, you saw the most repulsive, mistake-laden act of umpiring since…well, since game 2 of this year’s ALCS. (You listening Mr Selig? Mistakes are being made and you HAVE to fix them)

My beloved Cardinals are not new to being hosed by umpires (you can check out this link for a further explanation on that. hint: Don Denkinger is the name) http://espn.go.com/page2/s/list/worstcalls/010730.html

But my beloved Redbirds got screwed with their pants on AGAIN by a mask-wearing ignoramus as NL “umpire” Phil Cuzzi decided to get his turn of the spotlight during Sunday’s game in Houston and made himself the focal point of the game instead of the Cardinals or Astros.

First, he ejected Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa for arguing an indecipherable and incomprehensible strike zone that seemed to be moving in every other direction with every new pitch (a ‘floating’ strike zone was how it was described by many columnists..I just call it bvllsh**)

Then he threw outfielder Jim Edmonds out too, after a pitch that was so far out of the strike zone that even my 3-year old twins knew it wasn’t a strike. The Fox announcers (who have been kissing the Astros butts this whole series by the way) even stated that an ump does not throw people out of a playoff game for only arguing. (Here’s an update and a candidate for the ‘Duh” of the Week: Bob DuPuy, MLB's president and chief operating officer, told MLB.com that the pitch to Edmonds might have been out of the strike zone.)

But this schmuck did just that. Had this moron worked the game blindfolded, it would have made NO difference on his ball-strike calling as he was also hopeless and arrogant, which are traits everyone wants in all umpires, right?

The next question then is; who the hell is Phil Cuzzi anyway? Well, with the help of my friends at Google as well as St Louis Post Dispatch online columnist Jeff Gordon, I learned a little more about the putz behind the mask and found some clues as to why this man should not be umpiring a little league baseball game, let alone a MLB Playoff game:

He attended the Harry Wendelstedt Umpire School in 1982 and 1983, THEN the Joe Brinkman Umpire School in 1984. Not once after three years of umpire school did this idiot get offered a job. (That should be clue number 1)

Finally, after another trip to the Wendelstedt School, he was hired to work in the rookie-level New York-Penn League.

Cuzzi worked eight years in the minors before getting up to Class AAA level and reaching the major leagues for 95 games of fill-in work. In 1993 he was passed over for promotion as six other umpires got the call-up. After that season, Cuzzi was fired (clue number 2)

He then spent the next three years living with his mother and working odd jobs. (That’s nice and normal, isn’t it? Whatever else it is, it's also clue number 3)

While working at the Short Hills (N.J.) Hilton, he waited outside a hotel room so he could speak to National League president Leonard Coleman and beg him for another chance to be an umpire. He got it, albeit after heading BACK to umpire school and starting over at the Class A level AGAIN (clue 4).

He worked his way back up the ladder and reached the majors again in 1999, as a fill-in then getting hired as a replacement umpire when Major League Baseball accepted the resignation of 22 umpires during a rather ugly labor dispute of a few years before (clue 5)

I counted 4 clues that show this unpredictable and unreliable nimrod should never have been given the chance to umpire a playoff game – am I oversimplifying things too much??

So his umpiring “education” record looks sketchy, so let’s now take a look at the schmoe’s officiating, as painful as it may be.

In 2000, Cuzzi worked the plate in a controversial game between the Red Sox and Devil Rays that saw 8 D-Rays ejected; Gerald Williams was tossed for charging the mound and manager Larry Rothschild for arguing that (Red Sox pitcher) Pedro Martinez should have been tossed as well. D-Ray pitchers Dave Eiland, Cory Lidle and Tony Fiore were tossed for throwing at Red Sox batters. The two acting managers from the game, Bill Russell and Jose Cardenal, also got the boot, and Greg Vaughn was ejected for protesting a seemingly wide called third strike in the seventh, his third strikeout of the night.’ (Wow, much like Sunday’s game 4…hmmmm?)

(Want more examples of his thirst for the limelight and his ineptitude of officiating? Well, here ya go)

In 2003, Cuzzi incurred the wrath of the Red Sox (again) after ejecting pitcher Casey Fossum just 13 pitches into the game for hitting Raul Ibanez with NO WARNING to either bench being issued.

(Want more? Ok) Cuzzi had a couple of well-publicized run-ins with the Toronto Blue Jays in that same year. In June, the Jays complained about his suddenly massive strike zone, said then-Jays slugger Carlos Delgado, “There’s no need to ask because a major league umpire should not miss a call like that.”

Later, when Roy Halladay was gunning for his 23rd victory, Cuzzi ejected him for hitting Rocco Baldelli with a pitch. Even Baldelli said it was a bad call. The Blue Jays, complained but it fell on deaf ears.

Last year Cuzzi got into it with the Phillies over his strike zone in a game against the Orioles when he ejected back-up catcher Todd Pratt. (Pratt, it should be noted, was in the dugout when he got the boot; an amazing trick if I’ve ever seen one, it's like throwing your voice, but with more annoyance)

So you get the general idea. Here’s a man who had to maneuver his way to the big leagues (after failing at it many times before) before getting in through the back door ONLY because 22 other umps lost their jobs. And now he is umpiring the National League Championship Series when the rest of the world is watching.

Which is scarier? That Cuzzi is, in fact, officiating the NLCS, or the fact that he doesn’t mind making himself the focal point of his games when it should be the teams and the players that are the focal point?

This is another example of how Bud Selig (who – in being a former owner – has NO right to be commissioner, but that’s for another day) is slowly destroying the sport of baseball.

I miss A. Bartlett Giamatti and often find myself wondering if his son Paul (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0316079/ ) would be as good a commissioner as he is an actor…

My Twins: A Redux

Taking a few days off from blogging this weekend as I have an out-of-town wedding to go to. So rather than allow people to visit and see nothing updated, I thought I would re-post one of my earlier rants, if you haven’t read it, it’s new to you…hope you enjoy it.

My twins are getting bigger every day, and older. And as they are growing older, they can now speak in complex (for a three-year old anyway) sentences. This has given them new ways of communicating with me and with each other (though the latter was never a problem – gotta love twin language). It's interesting to hear the thoughts running through their heads that were previously unknown to us. Now, instead of just bouncing around in their head, they say it…and sometimes, what they say can be an absolute doozy. The other day, while my wife, the girls and I were in the SUV (I know, but at least it’s not a minivan), one of them said, out of the blue: ‘daddy laid a big turd.’

Ooookayyyy. Where that I came from, I have no idea, but there it was…out in the open.

(Now, some of you may be asking where a three-year old learned the word ‘turd’ from. That, sad to say, is my fault. During potty training one day, after one of them had successfully ‘gone potty’ in the toilet, I told her she had laid a big turd. Before I could stop myself from saying the word – they had it memorized and it has been in both of their lexicons ever since. They never remember the words you want them to remember, but they certainly do remember the ones you don’t want them to heat, much less remember, instantaneously.)

The other day, while I was busy getting ready for work and trying to help my wife get them ready for daycare, I told one of them to please hurry up because we have to leave soon. One of them responded by saying: "Drink your coffee, daddy."

It escaped me at that time, but I then realized that I had just been ‘sassed’ and put in my place…by a three year old.

Ouch.

I’ve always been a bit of a smart-ass (people who know me that read this column are saying to themselves: A BIT???), and my wife had really been hoping that our daughters would not inherit that trait from me.

Evidently, no such luck.

They are well on their way to becoming ‘world-class smart-asses’ like their father.

Better that than a Republican.

Originally posted August 27, 2005

Have a good weekend, don’t get into too much trouble, and remember, if you get arrested, don’t call me for bail money.

Thought of the Day

“Anyone who isn't confused really doesn't understand the situation.”

- Edward R. Murrow