T-Minus 79 Hours

A smorgasbord of random natterings while wondering which will last longer: David Wells' back or Randy Johnson's knee.

1. Recently picked up the Sports Pack on DirectTV, giving me access to NESN and Fox Sports New England, among numerous other excellent time-wasting options. In case anyone had any questions about whether the Sox' World Series championship had dulled my, um, passion for the game, my ball-throwing tantrum in the wake of 2 boneheaded fielding efforts by Trot Nixon against the Devil Rays last weekend ought to put that to rest. I not only surprised the hell out of my daughters and wife, I managed to shock even myself at my lunatic rantings during a spring training contest. Note to readers: the kinder, gentler, MLC will not be shown at this local multiplex.

2. This morning's Washington Post notes that the steroid "expert" chosen to testify on behalf of Major League Baseball at the recent Congressional hearings is, well...he's a liar in the best tradition of George O'Leary. Kudos to Bud and the gang - just when we thought you couldn't handle the steroids question any more clumsily, you go and...totally redeem yourself. Okay, not really - we'll go to extreme lengths to get Dumb 'n Dumber quotes into our prose. Selig, et al, are still stunningly stupid on this topic. It's almost as if they think that chicks dig the longball.

3. Since we're three short days from the season-opening tilt (or, if you prefer ESPN's version, apocalyptic thriller) between the Sox and Yankees, this seems a good time to reinforce the MLC credo. We are not - by inclination, intelligence, or work ethic - here to deliver you well-reasoned statistical analysis, though we may throw out some random OPS and ERA+ references here and there to set ourselves apart from that idiot Joe Morgan. If you're looking for critical insight into the relative merits of John Halama versus Scott Kazmir (ooh, sorry - that might sting a bit), you're in the wrong room. Though Whitney is likely to rip off a few good nicknames for either or both of those lefty hurlers at some point in the season. However, if you want no-holds-barred fandom, full of passionate (insane?) rantings and melancholy mutterings on the myriad ways in which Tim Wakefield both infuriates and inspires, combined with fond memories of Art Howe's haircut and shared manlove of Pedro Martinez, welcome aboard - we hope you'll stick around.

4. I'm the proud holder of 4 tickets to the Washington Nationals' franchise home opener. Who loves me? And how are you willing to prove it?