Apr. 20 - Mark's youth team (he's a lowly coach) had some exhibition games on Saturday. They seemed to field and pitch okay, but don't have game sense, i.e., they don't seem to know what to do with the ball when they field it.

It ought to be simple. Before the ball is put into play, fielders need to have a notion as to what they will do if the ball is hit to them and what they will do if it's not hit to them, i.e., what position they will back up. It's not exactly hard to figure; after all, a 3-1 play is fairly routine (that's the first baseman tossing the ball to the pitcher for the out at first) and I know the kids have seen it several times.

And relay. It's a baseball fundamental, but kids don't get it - they want to be the hero who throws it into home from left field. They also don't get why trying to hit a legitimate home run (as opposed to a single and 3 errors) is selfish. The sorriest statistic in the world is "runners left on base."

And deeking out a baserunner? Dude, we call that a balk.

Strikes are fascist, ground balls are democratic. The truth and implications of that statement is crystal clear to me but very difficult to explain to those who don't already know it. Luckily I don't have to; Mark does. Heh.

I hate the way the concept "team work" has been bastardized. In a sports setting, team work is the magic that happens when the players have a winning attitude and bust their asses to win the game. The fielders do their utmost to retire batters and "passed ball" is regarded by catchers as grounds to commit suicide. Everything comes together and the bang-bang plays create an intensity and excitement that drives the entire team. Who doesn't love a clutch hitter?

Team work is that intangible thing that cannot be artificially created but comes straight from the heart - a stubborness and perseverance that marks those who strive to win.

In a work setting, though, team work seems to be code for "some people need to work harder to cover up for those who refuse to perform." If a company really wants team work they need to do as sports teams are supposed to do: bench or release players that won't or can't strive to win in order to keep that winning edge.

It's going to be an interesting season.

I managed to get a few consecutive days off work before Easter and resolved to do those things most easily deferred: my taxes, and washing the windows and curtains.

The windows and curtains really do need to be done. I haven't done them since Sept. 11 despite my earnest intentions. Somehow it always seemed more important to surf the news channels and internet to see if there had been another terror attack - and, too often, there had indeed been one.

But I found we had only a tad of window-washing solution, so I did my taxes - sort of. Mind, I was very well prepared. I had sharp pencils, the correct forms, my adding machine, scratch paper, all my receipts, and some cold beer in the fridge to celebrate the successful conclusion of this annual ritual. When I went to get my T-4, though, it wasn't where I had seen it less than 24-fraking-hours earlier.

I began to search, and boy did I search. I found all sorts of papers and mailers and stuff I meant to look at (some of it went back to the beginning of Gulf War II, which I guess is a commentary as to how long I've been shutting out everyday stuff) and, because I still suffered with a mild variety of the spring cleaning bug, I began to toss or file. Then I went through the newly bulging files; I'm not sure why I had baseball registration lists from 1997, but I can honestly say that now I no longer have them. Was I still procrastinating? Yes, because all the figures I needed were on my final pay voucher of 2005 so I finally bit the bullet and did my stupid taxes (and called work Monday morning to humbly request a replacement T-4.)

Then I noticed this weird smudge on a wall. You know what happens when you wash a smallish section of a wall, right? Right.

If anyone next to you has just fallen off their chair you are undoubtably sitting beside someone who knows me and how much I hate housework. It was all very well and good when the kids were little (and, come to think of it, spending most of my time trying to up clean the dirt they and the dog brought in from outside) but that was the in the pre-Internet era as well as those days when all history ended and life is much more exciting now - and considerably more dangerous.

Solutions seem harder to come by now (maybe because the Cold War strategy was conceived before I was even born.) Except for Iraq: that one is as simple as A-B-C. We keep faith with the people of Iraq. We don't flinch. We stick it out.

Iran, though, is hard. Those who discount the messages coming out of Iran as simple rhetoric simply haven't been paying attention. Bin Laden used to be dismissed too, until we learned to our shock that he meant business.

We can't go back to 1979 (which is why a long vacation would look good on President Carter right now) and have to deal with what is happening today. The U.N. will likely be useless - will there likely be a new Oil-for-Food program for Iran after sanctions prove to be a burden on the Iranian people? Puh-leeze.

And then there are those voices that are carefully implying that if we abandon Israel we'll end the "root causes" that caused Sept. 11 and the threat from Iran. But let's get serious: the root cause of barbarism is, you know, barbarism, and even the barbarians didn't occupy Rome until the Romans had lost the will to fight -- most clearly evidenced in that they had sub-contracted their fighting out to others.

Come to think of it, one of Bin Laden's grievances was on behalf of dead infants in Iraq which he attributed to the sanctions. Has he lifted the jihad now that the sanctions have been lifted? Or directed one to Saddam for diverting money from health care for his own personal gain? Of course not. There will always be grievances because there will always be those who will justify unbelievable acts of savagery for their own ends. But do we have to play along?

I would be willing to go on a bit of faith that the cartoon controversy was viewed by many national leaders as a skirmish and the feckless response was simply a feint, but something very precious was seen to be surrendered: the right to be irreverent, and without irreverence we lose our joy. No South Park? No Simpson's? Or, and this is really scary, no Monty Python?

Those who take themselves too seriously run the risk of ulcers and migraines, but I doubt waiting for the dour mullahs to develop life-style health problems is a useful strategy.

So the spectre of nuclear weapons in Iran - a country that has absolutely neither reverence for international relations much less a sense of humour - continues to pose a problem that challenges us all. I do feel certain we need to come up with a strategy that differs from those employed in both Afghanistan and Iraq and the best one I've heard thus far is to give more tangible support to the pro-democracy forces within Iran. It's a long shot, and I guess that even though I never would have characterized myself as a gambler I do remain, at heart, a liberal (in the classic sense) and I'm willing to gamble on my belief that the yearning for freedom remains the most compelling urge in the history of humanity.

Relying on the choice less hopeful is straight out of Tolkien - the quest to destroy the ring was one such choice, and Arvedui's claim of the kingship in Gondor was another. [That's an admittedly obscure reference; my fellow explorers in the the History of Middle Earth will undoubtably recognize it and others can find it in the Appendix of Return of the King where Earnil's ascension to the throne is discussed.]

Oh well, I'll do the stupid windows and curtains over the weekend but place the responsibility on Mark to remember to buy window cleaner. That might work, but I know I'll have to keep reminding him. And if it rains, maybe he'll have to cancel practice and then can help me take the curtains down!

Yeah, sometimes team work means cursing obstinate household fixtures together.

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Apr. 20 - Okay so I asked Mark to look into the cats mouths to check out their toothy status. He simply gave me That Look (the women know what I mean and the men are allowed to look perplexed) and left the room to, you know, do something. When he returned he remarked that the cats tend to yawn prodigiously and we I could take a peek then. Very logical (don't you hate that?)

Naturally I have consistently failed to remember to look when they yawn, but I remain guilt-free as both cats are content with their soft food diet and, as they continue to be nuisances, I'm going on faith that they are just fine.

Archie pulled another stupid act. I went through my pseudo-furious routine when he jumped on the table as I was eating my Steak and Potato With Mushrooms Chunky Soup and when he jumped off, his hind foot clipped a chair and it fell on top of him. He limped away but still managed to look offended. There was a lot of cat hair but no blood, and the limp was gone before I went to work.

Why did I think my life would be saner just because the kids grew up and moved away? I am beginnng to conclude that children are like dogs and teenagers are like cats. Unfortunately, cats never grow into adulthood.

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Apr. 6 - Can cats lose a tooth? (I mean due to causes other than injury or trauma.) I found a small, hard object on the floor and finally decided it was either a small tooth or a deformed clove and, as our cats are getting old, thought I'd better check them.

I approached the older one with my flashlight and he immediately became defensive.

Hold still, I said. I just want to look at your teeth.

I'm not taking a pill, he stated and commenced to stare me down.

I'm not trying to give you a pill, ya stupid cat. I just want to get a look at your teeth. (A firm statement of intent should work.)

I'm not taking a pill he insisted, and then did that acrobatic squirm thing cats are famous for and got away. He's a mean, ornery bastard on his good days and bites - not to draw blood but to bruise, which hurts a lot more - so I figured I'd tackle an easier target.

Naturally the younger cat had been watching the whole thing. He's the needy, velcro kind of cat that requires two legs to eject him from the bed or couch and just won't leave you alone, but he did the unexpected and fled when I approached him. I finally located him at that sweet spot under the bed where he couldn't be reached without a baseball bat and tried to coax him out.

I'm not taking a pill, he said.

Sometimes I hate these cats. The only thing they're good for is blocking and tripping us when we come home and, of course, shedding, but I and most of North America have been brainwashed into thinking we owe them something because we rescued them from pounds and feed and shelter them.

Anyway, I got even with them for their stubborness because, still fretting over the tooth issue, I added water in their kibble. Soft food diet! Take that you stupid felines! Watch your steps or it will be jello and watery soup for the rest of your natural lives!

They liked it. They really liked it. The younger and usually more apprehensive one even finished it and wanted more (thus rising to the position of most likely candidate for tooth issues) and the nasty older one even purred when he tried to take over my pillow.

It was much, much easier raising the children. Ever try to give a cat a time out?

As for checking their stupid teeth, I'm waiting for Mark to get home. It will be entertaining to say the very least because he may be patient with kids but not with the cats and he can swear like a sailor when they piss him off. I can observe and come up with all manner of useful suggestions safely behind enemy lines ...

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Apr. 6 - Any introduction is impossible, so just click and go read The Gatorade Conspiracy.

(Not safe for work. Or drinks. Or your mother. It is, however, completely safe for children who don't know how to read.)

Link from the always surprising Rocket Jones.

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Apr. 3 - Robins are all very good and all but there are some more tangible signs of spring today: York regional police warn that the ice on Lake Barrie is unstable and the 2006 baseball season begins!

President Bush throws out the first pitch at the Reds home opener.
(Photo via FoxSports)

The Cubs win was a welcome bonus: with President Bush on hand, Cubs rout Reds.

The answer to The Burning Question: the president says he threw a slow ball and it was high and off the plate.

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Apr. 2 - Sometimes I could kill Tuning Spork. Or myself.

His latest story here got me good.

Be sure and check the date. I know I didn't.

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Apr. 1 - That's all for now. Time to watch Supernatural, followed by Battlestar Galactica, then the movie Army of Darkness, or, if you prefer, time to get scared, time to get serious, and time to get slapsticky.

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