The Panera Pandemic

Let’s start out with a simple question:
Have you ever been to a Panera during “peak hours”? You know, what’s generally referred to as “dinner time”? Bring your Kevlar vests and torches, because it is a fucking MOB SCENE! Seriously, calling that restaurant a zoo is a disservice to any unclean zoo I’ve ever been too, which is all of them.
I met my sister at Panera a few nights ago for dinner, and I felt like a ghost from American Horror Story, but instead of being trapped in a house I was shackled to my over priced Turkey Bravo, caught somewhere between Bingo Social at the Senior Center and a Discovery Zone full of children drunk with power over their sad, broken down parents, just one Butterfinger away from clawing over their Grandmother for a refill of Dr. Pepper.

Did I mention a fire alarm tripped in the middle of our meal? No? Well, it’s not a big deal really, because NO ONE MOVED! Incidentally, this flipped a switch in my mind:
Do these folks hear the fire alarm and simply ignore it because they paid $8.50 for a salad?
OR!
Are these people not moving because they’re too old/young /checked-out to adhere to a message that alerts oneself to the possibility of being BURNED ALIVE?!
Fun Fact: There are eight (8) Panera locations within a twelve (12) mile radius of my home.* Four (4) Hospitals are located within that same radius.
I know, I know, how cynical.

Once I got to the front of the line, I ordered my usual, the Turkey Bravo – but instantly a wrench was thrown into the cog that was “the line behind me”. I could feel the collective cloud of sighs raining down my neck when I went to pay with cash, but I thought the building was going to come down when I was told by the cashier I had to “change my bread selection”.
Truthfully, this revelation rattled me to the core. Not because of the passive-aggressive mob behind me.
Not because I didn’t know something ridiculous like Banana Artichoke was a “bread selection”, and not a meal served in Guantanamo.
Somewhere in the middle, though, I did change my bread selection; when put on the spot I said “um…white?”
The cashier, with a line nearly out the door looks at me, almost disappointed, he amends my choice --
“You mean ‘Country’”.
No, I mean serve me my goddamn sandwich. Give me my stupid little personalized buzzer and please, God, eventually…
change my opinion regarding having children.

*Like HELL I’m going to give you my address. Unless you’re an independently wealthy Sugar Mama, if so – apply within.

#OccupyTheFence

The winds are a-changing across this great land of ours. From Seattle, to Boston, Oakland to Wall Street the masses are rallying together. A revolt led by The People, for The People.

... What is everyone protesting, you ask?

Hmm. Good question. It seems as if one were to ask ten different 'occupiers' what they happen to be sick and tired of (and thus, no longer 'able to take anymore.') one would likely receive ten different answers.

This alarms me.

Crack open your text books (or for the younger kids, power on your Nook). Throughout the history of this wonderful country of ours, each Revolution fought for a clear and concise goal. Whether it be the Civil War, The Civil Rights Movement, Women's Suffrage, or the Boston Tea Party (not those wacky new ones) each had a specific, justifiable, and more importantly, possible and plausible goal they were looking to achieve.
I bring up those four specific revolutions simply because of their striking differences. The Civil War, along with the Boston Tea Party saw unheralded bloodshed, while the (logical, and equally, long overdue) advancement in the struggle towards equality for all creeds and colors was predominantly achieved through unheard of peaceful methods.

All of these Revolutions are ingrained in the foundation of being an American citizen. Many take for granted the freedoms that we as citizens are afforded simply because your parents got busy on a magical weekend in Vegas. See? I was losing you for a second there..

Have you ever actually sat down and read The Bill Of Rights?! I mean give our former leaders credit, they only whiffed on the 18th (Prohibition) and the 27th. (Which also proves that Congressmen and women are assholes. No if-and-or-but's about it.)

What I'm saying is, I'm Irish, I'm all for a fight. I'm down to support the cause, I just want to know what the cause is. I know, crazy.
Peaceful protesting get's stuff done! Dr. Martin Luther King proved that. The people of Egypt proved that. The uprising in Libya was bloody, but you must tip your proverbial cap to the fact that freedom of choice was worth fighting for.

Which brings me back to my original question, what are we fighting for? What are we looking to change? The Status Quo? Alright, but aren't we all a little late to the party?

What's that? "Better late than never?" You say?

"In the council of government, We (The People) must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists, and will persist. We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes." -- Dwight D. Eisenhower, Farewell Address, 1961

What was that?
"Touche, salesman."
Oh, thank you!

After that...well, refer to your textbooks (or Nooks) - but it's safe to say that Don McLean nailed it -- Bye Bye Miss American Pie.

Moving on...

Some argue the Occupy Movement grew out of a boiling pot of fat-cat-corporate executives, short-sighted Wall Street gambles, and shadowy, war-mongering politicians. Which, I suppose is feasible.

Can we collectively blame 'greed' for both the (apparently) limitless indulgences of a select few, and the hardships of so many? Possibly, but I don't think the blanket stretches that far. Ready for a well-known-yet-little-talked-about fact? There is no cure for greed. It's human nature to want. Greed is the unfortunate and unavoidable poison in the well that is Capitalism.

Redistribute the wealth? Seriously? Socialism doesn't work. I'm not saying that to score a job on Fox News as a 'consultant' either. Just facts. Greed is the cancer of any economic system. Capitalism, historically, tends to be the 'white blood cell' fighting the greed disease. The system may not be able to kill it, but, with enough support, puts up one helluva fight.

So what happened? Did We fail? Notice the date of President Eisenhower's Farewell Address. We, The People, had ample warning in regards to the 'perfect storm' waiting on the distant horizon. The Military Industrial complex the President alluded to happens to be the same big business that We, The People are beginning to fight today.

What's the score here, what's next?!(*)

Which brings me to the one thought holding me back from going 'all-in' with this madness..

I'm a hard working, mid-twenties, high school graduate (as my erratic grammar can attest) in a unique position; My livelihood depends on the success of my families' small business. If it fails, we fail. In other words, if we cannot sustain some semblance of success, the people that raised me and sacrificed so much, would, potentially, be in a position to lose everything they have worked so hard to build the past thirty years. Why is it that, based on what I've gathered throughout the 'occupy' scatter, if we succeed the masses should reap the benefits of our hard work?

Which, ironically, is the hyperbolic 'double-edged sword'. Without risk there is no reward.
Just because your parents had that lustfully long weekend in Las Vegas doesn't mean that you are fundamentally guaranteed the 'right' to a trust fund and a never ending supply of top ten swimsuit models - despite what the cast of "Jersey Shore" would have you believe.

So..in closing, and in an attempt to convince you to convince me, I ask of the occupiers this:

"When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in anyway.
Now these days are gone I'm not so self-assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind and I've opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down.
I do appreciate you being 'round,
please help me get my feet back on the ground.
Won't you please, please, please help me?"

Sell me. If I wanted to hear hollow ideas, vague plans and unfulfilled promises I would listen to my local Senator, or an ex-girlfriend.

Until then, there is plenty of room next to me. Although, I can't guarantee a comfortable spot. Luckily there isn't any barbed wire yet, and the police refuse to use their TASERs.

(*) - All credit, past and present, goes to the Good Doctor himself, Professor Hunter S. Thompson.

I Bought You A Wedding Ring...Tone.

Can I just say, right off the bat, that I absolutely love weddings?! Because it's true, I do.

My love of weddings can be indefinitely traced back to when I was wee, when my aunt married her long time boyfriend in a beautiful ceremony that, in no particular order, involved a pig roast, (unknown-at-the-time-due-to-age) drunken family volleyball(?!), and a Catholic church. Throw in a whole mess of Irish-Americans coupled with an open bar of whiskey. We redefined the word 'Party'.

What I'm getting at, eventually, is that America is a society of growth-based-incentives. Examples? Examples.

You turn 16? In most states you can drive!
"That kicks ass!! Truthfully, though. I've been driving for two years. I'm kind of bored. What else can I do that's cool that other people can't do?!"

Well, 18 is right around the corner! Guess what's next?! Go to a gas station, alright? Good. Now, walk to the very back of the bodega. Does it smell like moth balls and stale incense? Perfect! See those bookshelves with plastic over them? Go ahead and take like seven of those magazines.

"DUDE!! THERE ARE BOOBS ON HERE?! DID YOU SEE THIS?! THERE ARE DEFINITELY BOOBS ON THIS COVER! LOOK!! RIGHT HERE!!"

Yep, now you can legally have all the indecency your horny little ass can devour.
But wait, there's more!! At the register up front, while paying for that collage of women and oddly placed & unrealistic pieces of plastic, why not grab yourself some cigarettes, too?

"THIS KICKS ASS!! I LOVE PORN, I LOVE CIGARETTES! What other cool shit can I get into?"

Well, most importantly, you can vote. After all, that is really, really cool.

"Yeah, I guess. I just don't know where I'll find the time, what with all the cigarettes and porn."

Then, for a spell, you're stuck in the purgatory known as "early-twenties". After you've filled yourself with the booze, the cigarettes and the ability to vote you can throw that fake ID out the window! It's time for the real deal, Holyfield! Bouncers and their deja vu be damned, you're legal, baby!

Then after all the fun you think you can possibly have has been done, you do what a lot of people who no longer feel anything for each other do, you get married.**

I kid.

So, last month, one of my lifelong, best friend got hitched in a very extravagant (yet tasteful) ceremony involving the whole nine yards; Vintage Rolls Royce, huge Catholic church, a visit from the Bishop, while capping it off with one hell of a celebration.

I can confirm that Italians and Peruvians know how to party. They also do not mess around when it comes to their partying. I'm a huge fan of these facts. Honestly, if you go home hungry/sober/alone it's your own damn fault. After all, these things are the equivalent of fishing with dynamite.
If, for some reason, the video ever ends up on Youtube everyone will be able to breathe a collective sigh of relief - that tape's release would equate to a 'zero' probability of ever holding any kind of elected office.

Despite the fantastic time that was had, the fact remains that a whole crop of the kids I grew up with are becoming -gasp! - adults! I'm not sure how well that idea sits with me. It actually scares the ever living hell out of me, to be honest.
Of course one day I want to get married and be as miserable as the rest of America, that's not the the problem. The problem is that simply the thought of marriage puts the white-hot fear of God in the trenches of my soul.
It's not the thought of being with one woman for the rest of my life. That idea is, pretty much, the whole selling point for me. I'm not the type of guy to be spreading love in all different directions, not only is it just not in my DNA, it's too much damn work.

I think what scares me is the idea of fully giving up my youth. I'm a fan of mischief, I enjoy causing mild amounts of trouble, and being that 'wildcard' pushing boundaries and saying things that shouldn't be said.
"Want to go drink shots until we can't feel feelings anymore?" Sure, why not?
"Fireworks?! Fireworks!!" Affirmative.
"The boat is out of gas, we're stranded." F it! Let's camp out.

A therapist would have a field day with me, but I'm comfortable with who I am - I'm not talking about making prank calls to Chinese restaurants or hospitals, I did that years ago.
Marriage though, that's joint tax returns, Sundays at Home Depot, in-laws, property taxes and probably no longer leaving empty beer cans scattered around. Capital 'Ugh'.

So what am I talking about? That's the real question. Define it for me. I'm happy, so I'm not looking for 'happiness'. I'm single, but I'm not 'lonely'. I'm employed, gainfully, to boot.
Is it just the thought of giving up on some silly idea of the last vestige of youth, or something deeper that I just haven't uncovered yet?
I'm not sure. One thing I'm sure of though, is eventually this whole "good-times-useless-party-guy" thing will pass, and I'll be trudging through Home Depot looking at paint wheels while slowly dying inside. So I've got that going for me.




**Thank you very much, Arrested Development.

Have You Seen My Wiener?

See that beautiful little lady up there? That's my girl. Numero Uno en mi corozon, as they say South of the Border. Future girlfriends beware.

I know I said in my last post that I was a sarcastic jerk who has an opinion on anything, but I should confess I'm also that guy who gushes over his dog like it's a child. Or a Princess. Or both. I am not ashamed to admit this trait.

You can't blame me though - I mean look at her! That is one adorable dog. Don't deny it, even that 'cat people' hanging out in the back watching kittens getting tickled on Youtube looked up and smiled, albeit for a split second.

Boba is her name (not 'Numero Uno', as I alluded to earlier), and no, she is not named after Boba Fett. I am a total nerd, but, believe it or not, I have never sat down through one complete Star Wars viewing. Isn't irony fun?

Boba was born July 3rd, 2007 - an Independence Wiener - and 'sprung' during the middle of a baseball season that eventually saw the Boston Red Sox win their second World Series trophy in four years. This made me exceptionally happy, I even have the hat to prove it. We will call it a 'double-bonus.'

She came into 'our' lives at LarkFest on September 1st, 2007 - I say 'our' lives because when the opportunity to bring that beautiful German National into my world came about I was in a serious relationship with someone whom I believed, at the time, was the woman I would end up changing diapers with. Hopefully our kids' first, and then our own, you know, if it came to that.

Things didn't work out as I had hoped nor planned, and suffice to say the relationship went down in a fashion I can fairly compare to the Challenger Tragedy. A lot of smoke, multiple explosions, and a visit or two in Florida.

Now, here is where the real fun part starts - for you of course - I've already stalled long enough in front of this keyboard.

While there were different opinions regarding a possible remedy to the relationship the end result was one of us moved out of the apartment we shared. Ready for some humor? 'The Move' consisted of traveling - literally - one and one half city block (read that in a Rob Lowe, Parks & Rec. voice for maximum effect). A right-on-red took more time than it would for us to ring the other's doorbell. Or, more appropriately, a "Punishment Light**."

That's how it tends to go in the earliest stages of 'adulthood', though. Emotions tend to supersede logic. A self-imposed victim to the 'in between'. Maybe it just boils down to 'different strokes for different folks'. Some couples fall in love instantly and it works out forever like a Disney movie, but without subliminal penis pictures. Other couples fall in love and it turns out like a bad Lifetime movie my mother and sister DVR and dissect like a frog. Sure, there are plenty of people in the middle of those two extremes, but really, what's the fun in them? Besides, those two really love their Lifetime.

In this particular story, the emotion was certainly there, but the logic of it all would make the ancient Greeks so backwards-crazy they would start running around naked screwing the women instead of the men. Oh, the horror!

Extremely long story short, we parted ways, even eventually (and shockingly) somewhat repairing the damage we collectively inflicted that could have put a Dick Cheney Shock & Awe wet dream to shame. Alright, I know, too far. Gross.

Point being - unfortunately, for me, even a sarcastic assh*le with a quip for everything is susceptible to the mere idea of 'true love'. Whether it 'truly' was or was not is immaterial. What matters - above all else - is the experience, for better, worse, or indifference - and your results in the end, I suppose.

So - back to my wiener (hah! Don't worry, definitely not the last time I'll use that joke.) Boba was obviously in the middle, and I made the, uh, 'executive decision', that she was coming to live with me, which at the time was the best (and as far I was concerned, only) option.

Now I can look back five years later and say "What in the hell was I doing?!" but also be comfortable with the fact that that experience helped shape who I am today, for better or worse. Now, I try and use a bit more logic in potential relationships instead of just blindly following my heart.

Emotionally, I wanted to stay in that house as it burned to the ground, metaphorically, of course, but logic eventually won out - there is always something more on the other side, even if that is a stupid cliche.

It all boils down to logic. Hindsight helps, too.

So sure, things didn't work out - it wasn't all in vain, though. Look at the size of that wiener!

[EDIT] I kid you not, as I finished this entry Boba brought her (mini) tennis ball over to me for a game of fetch. If I'm going to write about her, she thinks, I have to throw her a tennis ball fifty times in a row. It's just dog-logic, folks. Plus, she's fishing for some bacon, I'm on to her schemes.

** For those whom do not follow the TV show Weeds, & hate embedded links like I do, a quick elaboration: As main character Nancy Botwin so eloquently dictates, a "Punishment Light" is a traffic light where "if you don't make it you sit -- forever-- it makes absolutely no sense. There's no cars, no one's trying to cross. It's just put there to make you f*cking miserable."

Doctor Strangelove (Part I)

... or how I learned to love. Something. Or someone. Like a potential murderer. CONTROVERSY!


Alright. Let's get these formalities out of the way; I'm a single mid-twenty-something guy living in Upstate New York, working full time in a family business. I have the uncanny and highly revered super power of turning practically any situation into a joke.
Which, if we were to analyze with some psycho-babble, is more or less a defensive coping mechanism buried deep in my psyche from years of being an Irish Red Sox fan growing up in Yankee Land. Well, part of it is, anyway.

BUT I DIGRESS!!

Even my best friends think I'm a sarcastic, sardonic, pain-in-the-ass always trying to get the last word.

(They pretty much nailed it, by the way.)

Continuing that theme, the joke is on them, because I DO get the last word. Or at least now I do. Because I was struck with a little inspiration yesterday, and it all started with a tweet!



Don't bother clicking the link -- 'Arrested Development', my FAVORITE TELEVISION SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF TELEVISION OR ME is coming back for a ten episode season, to be followed up with a feature film. Long overdue, to say the least.


ON TOP OF THAT -- Amanda Knox, that cute American girl originally tried and convicted of murder, then overturned on appeal, was released this evening from Italian custody. She reportedly immediately took a commercial flight home to Washington. (Tangent: why would news reports insist on the fact she took a commercial flight home? So people could spot her on a United flight? What's the point? Ugh.)

WHO COULD FORGET -- The EPIC collapse of the "Best Red Sox Team Ever" this season, and the CRIMINAL scapegoating (whether people want to realize it or not) of Terry Francona. Thankfully the Red Sox are back to 'business as usual' (AKA: The Yawkey Trust Era) being the only team in professional sports who can continue to lose even after their season is over. Let's not get rid of the guy with a 7 earned run average, let's fire the only manager to bring your club two World Series Championships. Yep, these are my Grandfather's Red Sox.

Anyway, this perfect storm brings me to the point of this whole fiasco I'm about to get myself into. I've decided that it's a good idea to keep my little rest stop on the information super highway a little more up to date.

So we're going to start talking about things. Lots of things. All sorts of things. Maybe some politics, probably some sports, definitely some pop culture, and a whole lot of rants and ravings from a potential(ly harmless) madman. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all.

Hopefully we'll get a nice discussion going on with real people on some interesting topics- if not, that's fine - I've been talking to myself for years. I've pretty much got it down to a science at this point.

OH YES, I ALMOST FORGOT - I'm taking a plunge into some serious uncharted territory as well. I'm going to relay my terrible dating experiences, though few and far between, to you - because this type of comedy should be shared with the world, not hidden away (read: buried deep) in the recesses of my mind. I've got stories, and most if not all of them are embarrassing.
Let's revel in my misery together and laugh WITH IT.

As the late great Hunter Thompson said - "Buy the ticket, take the ride." Hop on the train, we're going somewhere - I just don't know how far.

It's the first of the month...

Recently through Facebook, I was alerted to this story and ended up having a spontaneous, friendly and intelligent debate with a friend of mine, albeit on a different friend's wall. That different friend was the original poster of the aforementioned link. Ahhhh, social media. Are you confused yet? Because I certainly am..

Regardless, the debate in question involved two different yet passionate stances on both the Constitutionality and the economic impact of the United States Welfare and Social Services systems.

I awoke the next morning to a beautiful sun in the sky, birds chirping and the occasional cloud surfing through the otherwise baby blue sky..signed into Facebook after organizing my workday, and noticed that not only had the six alerts that chirped throughout the night were digital ghosts, but the entire thread had been deleted!

As if the guillotine of censorship swiftly & surgically cut our collective heads off before the masses could rise up and revolt using our discussion as inspiration! What a farce!

My opinion, succinctly, was that passing a drug test to qualify for "welfare" shouldn't be up for debate, it should simply be "The Way Things Work."
You and I both know "The Way Things Work" - generally, and these are just simple guidelines, folks, these aren't written in stone somewhere in the Middle East. *

Numero Uno: After you graduate school, whether it be high school or any kind of degree from any accredited University you are expected, as is the social norm, to find some kind of employment and contribute to the overall advancement of this beautiful, expansive land we love and live in, the old girl herself, America.

Number Two: After your travels, blunders, and awkward sexual situations that tend to define adolescence (and early, or in my case, TOTAL, life) and what are eventually referred to as your "formative years", after you've grasped 'adulthood' by the stones and secured that corner office with the floor-to-ceiling windows, and cement any semblance of success you've had you (hopefully) are ready to retire - ride off into the sunset, and count your money like the Rich Uncle Pennybags.

This idea is what this county is built on - the pursuit of Life, Liberty, and ultimately the pursuit of happiness. As Ben Affleck said in Boiler Room - "Who ever says money doesn't buy happiness doesn't f*cking have any!"

Capitalism, in a nutshell really.

But there is and has been a drain on this beautiful expanse we call 'home' for over eighty years, both economically, and on in a more subtle assault, the morale of this country. I'm talking about the Social Security Administration.

SSI was enacted by FDR in 1935, a major facet of Roosevelt's "New Deal" program to help catapult this country out of it's worst Depression and into an era of unknown (at the time, anyway) prosperity. FDR's vision of Social Security is commendable, some would even say it embodies the ideals of 'Old Time America.' You know, we'll take your poor, your weak...that whole jazz.

One of the many, and in my opinion, most glaring failures of Social Security is the fact that for over eighty years now a system that was set up in good faith, a system that was set up to help those that are permanently disabled, or veterans of this country who fought valiantly to protect the freedoms that we hold dear (those same freedoms that many Americans take for granted.) has been abused.

Social Security is being abused, I should say. What's worse, is this system is being abused by able-bodied American citizens, people with the ability to contribute to this society (ie: work) but lack the drive to follow through.

This is anecdotal, but in my field (sales), I've come in contact with customers, multiple times, who have told me that they couldn't imagine even trying to work a full time job - their reasoning? Because all of their Government subsidiaries will dry up. Believe me, this is not a case of 'creative license.' This is verbatim what I've heard, multiple times, from different people.

Long story short, I applaud the new measures put in place by Florida, and other states, that essentially hold people accountable for their (lack of) actions. As a working, tax paying American citizen believe it's necessary to plug the drains of our economy. This idea doesn't come from some kind of elitist mentality, but I think reverts back to the values instilled in my brainbox by my loving and doting mother and father from as far back as I can recall.

My parents, above any one else in the world, are my ultimate heroes. I think they even qualify for Superhero status. I mean if there was some sort of application, or at least a guideline sheet to follow they would ace. Those folks are the ones who taught me the value of extremely hard work and that anything worth having is worth whatever hell it takes to achieve it.

I'll get off my soapbox for now, but I'll be back with some more tangential rants sooner than later.

Oh yes, by the way, would you care to know what brought on this tidal wave of incoherent, all-over-the-place ravings of a madman? I looked at a customer's Social Security Awards' letter and said customer receives the same amount I'm taxed a week, per month. If only you could have seen the car they drove in...

But we'll save that for when we have more time.

Resuming Radio Silence...

I need a Doctor..

Does anyone remember that guy?


The kid who moved to Washington Heights, New York City from the Dominican Republic, the kid who hit .615 in 1991?

Man he was something. I remember being a kid and hearing about this FREAK in the Cleveland system. (Keep in mind, I was only 7, so watching minor league players who weren't in your area wasn't just unheard of - it was damn near impossible)

Then he came up to the Show in 1993, and in his second game CRUSHED 2 home runs against the team I hated the most and unfortunately, due to location, had to see the most as well, the New York Yankees.

I remember the Red Sox signing Manny and my father and I celebrating and thinking maybe, just maybe, this signing would put them over the top. Manny was at the top of his game, and he certainly delivered in the clutch in a Red Sox uniform.

But now, those are just ancient memories. I'm not going to sit here and fret and play the victim like most of the writers and bloggers are doing. They're all asking the same, sorry, repetitive questions until it becomes one gigantic violin; "How could he fool us for so long? How could he actually pretend to care about the team he played for? How could he break all of those kids' hearts?"

Easy, he didn't care. That's the point.

Nor should he have cared.

Listen, Manny's family grew up poor in the Dominican. I'm not talking about poor by American standards (which are deplorable, but we'll leave that to the politicos, that's not my brand of sauce) He grew up dirt poor. The Dominican is a scary, scary world. Manny Ramirez was given a gift and used his gift to make himself as rich as possible, and more importantly, to make sure no one in his family will ever have to relive those conditions his family endured in the Dominican Republic again.

Manny Ramirez had the ability to hit a baseball harder and further than any of his peers at one time, and for a long stretch of time. But that day has since passed, so he did what many people do - whether it be in professional sports or business itself; he cut some corners.

Now, while you rarely hear about the contractor who used cheap or illegal materials to make his deadline, we, the public, hear when a star athlete has cheated or gotten into trouble. That comes with the territory of endorsements and million dollar contracts.

But I think it's short sighted to be up in arms, or surprised that a person who uses illegal means to get ahead in life, or sustain their stay on the top, and then to question why they didn't care or how they could pretend to care. That's just silly.

My question is, why would a drug cheat and a Alpha-male personality care in the first place who writes the check? The truth is it didn't matter if it was Tom Werner, Frank McCourt, the Yawkey Trust, or Chico's Bail Bonds for that matter. The only thing that mattered was that the checks kept coming in.

You want the long ball? He'll give you the long ball. It will cost $20MM a season, plus entourage, plus concessions because "That's just Manny Being Manny", because chicks dig the long ball, dude.

As long as those #24 jerseys and T-shirts are flying off the shelves, as long as we're selling fake dread locks to surfers and hippies, we're all good, baby!!

The problem is with you, the fan. You swore your allegiance to him, not the other way around. You all stood on your feet when Manny stepped into the box, whether it be a tied game in the bottom of the 9th, or a laugher that got out of hand by the 4th, Manny always, always, got you on your feet.

Of course it's silly he used any kind of performance enhancing drugs in the first place. Manny, in my eyes, is still one of the greatest right handed hitters of my era. There is no way this guy was juicing at 19 in Washington Heights hitting home runs the size of the Staten Island. Sorry, not going to do anything to prove that to me.

He had a gift and he tried to stay on top in a viciously callous business where if you can't produce any more you're tossed aside. That is the other grim reality of professional sports.

Was he using during 2004? Probably. His name was listed in the 'confidential' 2003 'barometer' test for Major League Baseball's investigation on whether or not to implement testing. Is the Red Sox World Series tainted? Not in my eyes. No more than the victories of the 2002 Angels, the 2003 Florida Marlins, the 2001 Diamondbacks, and yes, even those Yankee dynasty series wins. (Sorry, guys, leave your beer swill and vitriol in the comments section, thanks!) Someone on all of those teams was using. Go look at the lists. I'll wait..

But We can't sit here now, with our rose colored glasses on and hide behind our shock. We can't do what so many baseball writers did when the steroid story exploded and pretend we knew nothing was going on, or even ask any questions. We're smarter than that, I hope.

Don't pretend that Manny Ramirez owed you anything more than what you paid to see.
Don't pretend that Manny Ramirez helped raise your kids.
Charles Barkley said it best, "I'm not a role model." That's the truth. These guys are pro-athletes. To be saddened, or shocked, or upset that Manny Ramirez, or any other pro athlete for that matter, cares about you and your kids is a joke.

Manny cheated to get ahead, yes. Manny cheated to stay on top, unquestionably. But Manny also gave you what you paid to see - home runs, that classic two hand point to the dugout, and that million dollar smile.

Did Manny ever care about you? Probably not.

But just think, those dreadlocks will be a last minute Halloween costume, if you need it.


"There's no honor in taking that after school job at Mickey D's. Honor is in the dollar, kid"