Tonight is the night. The biggest game in sports. The most creative and expensive commercials. The entertainment spectacle of the year at halftime. OK, that's going a little overboard, but you get the drift. Saints versus Colts should be a good game even if you don't really care who wins. I don't. The win would be great for New Orleans (the city) but if the Colts win...eh.

I think it's pretty well documented that I'm the biggest mush out there. I make a prediction, it goes horribly wrong. I root for a team, they get humiliated. I pick up a guy for my fantasy team, he breaks his coccyx the next day. But none of that will stop me.

I like the Saints in this game IF they can pressure Manning the way they harassed Favre. If they get to him early, even if it means taking a couple of late hit or roughing the QB penalties, they have a shot. If Manning has time to play his game, the Saints are screwed.

All I'm really rooting for is for the score at the end of one of the quarters to end in 4's so I win on my square.

The folks at NESN recently pointed out that Jermaine Dye, whom the Sox coveted back in 2007, would be a nice addition to the 2010 bench, especially considering his numbers against lefties last season: .292 AVG/.382 OBP/.508 SLG.

My interest in Dye, however, runs a bit deeper. Because landing Dye would push us just a little bit closer to my dream of having all of the names of the Jackson Five represented in the clubhouse.

Instantly, we'd have a Jermaine to add to our existing Tito (yes, a nickname, but still) and a couple of Michaels. We've also got a "Boof" who would represent, of course, the lesser-known Jackson brother Boof Jackson, who relocated to Germany on his twenty-first birthday and whose lone single, "Breakfast On Your Ass," failed to chart. We'd still need a Marlon and a Jackie, but, technically, Papelbon or Lester could fill the latter while "DeMarlo" is close enough to Marlon for me. Hell, we could get cute and say that in Josh Beckett, we've got our "Marlin." And I think he'd find the humor in that as he beat my ass senseless with a nine iron.

Look, any player who can provide an able bat off the bench and worthy platoonage is okay in my book. If the guy also shares a name with one of the Jackson Five? Well, then it's a no-brainer.

It's after 5:00 on Friday, time to flip your boss off for the last time (behind his/her back, of course) and go get your drink on. As I slide down the dinosaur's tail, here's what I'll be listening to:

Mr. Jones, Counting Crows: Great Friday kinda song. Also the subject of much debate over what the song is about. Opinions range from it being about Bob Dylan ("I wanna be Bob Dylan") to, oddly enough, Adam Duritz's penis. According to Adam, he wrote it about a friend of his, Marty Jones. Whatever the real meaning, it's a great song.

Say Goodbye, Triumph: The best 3-man band to come out of Canada. Sorry Rush.

Ode To Billy Joe, Tom Scott and the L.A. Express: Originally done by Bobbie Gentry. A great "story" song. I like this version because the sax kicks ass.

Hurricane, Bob Dylan: Who was better at storytelling than Mr. Dylan. As much as I like the song for what it is, I just think it makes Dylan a complete badass for writing and performing a racially motivated song in the mid-seventies. Pretty ballsy.

Romeo and Juliet, Dire Straits: I'm a huge Dire Straits/Mark Knopfler fan, and this song is as good as any the band done.

Use Somebody, Kings of Leon: Just to prove I actually listen to songs put out in the last 10 years? No, Kings of Leon are just that good.

Johnny 99, Bruce Sprinsteen: Live version, of course. Unless you've seen him perform it live you'll never appreciate it.

Till It Shines, Bob Seger: Not one of his songs you'll hear on the radio, but probably one of his best. Stranger in Town would be a greatest hits album for most people. Just another day at the office for Bob, and he looks like Jesus in a leather jacket on the cover, which is pretty cool.

More Than A Feeling, Boston: Far and away my favorite Boston jam. And Brad Delp will hold the title for "Most Creative Suicide" for a long time after that whole charcoal-grill-in-the-bathroom thing.

What Does It Take (To Win Your Love), Junior Walker and the All Stars: Great sax, end of story.

Life In A Northern Town, Sugarland: Originally done by The Dream Academy (that version also on my iPod). Give it a listen, just a good tune.

You, Collective Soul: A lot of good Collective Soul stuff out there that nobody has ever heard. This is actually on their new self-titled album.

There you have it, a dozen songs that will take me part of the long commute home. Hard to believe with all the Springsteen, Jackson Browne and John Mellencamp I have that no more popped up. I am relieved none of the John Denver or Fergie songs came on, 'cause that might have been embarrassing.

This video, from the good folks at WEEI.com, has made the rounds. But we wanted to post it here for a couple reasons:

1) As a joyous reminder that the 2010 season draws closer every second,

2) and because the spectacle of Dustin Pedroia pumping iron is something that needs to be seen, repeatedly, by every living being.



After watching that, I'm kinda curious as to why The Elf isn't subjected to the same age questions that dog Domincan players and Cuban defectors. Sometimes I'd swear the dude's about 46 years old.

According to NESN, Manny was toying with the idea of leaving LaLa Land for a knee-preserving role as a DH with an American League club in 2010. Of course, after weighing his options, he opted to stay with the Dodgers.

But just to think about it for a moment, I would have gladly welcomed Manny back as full-time DH, supplanting Ortiz in the line-up.

I can't possibly be the only one. Can I?

Look, I was finally reaching the acceptance stage. Finally understanding that the chances of seeing Adrian Gonzalez in a Red Sox uniform anytime before the All Star break -- if ever at all -- were slimmer than Daryl Irvine.

But now, just as I was putting the finishing touches on my set of custom-made Adrian Beltre action figures (with free-flow testicles!), the background noise is starting up again. Just yesterday, our friends at NESN informed us that A-Gon's agent is already charging up his calculator, stating that the Padres probably won't be able to afford the hill of greenbacks he's looking for.

Even Padres CEO Jeff Moorad chimed in, echoing the agent's statement: “While I’d be thrilled to have him part of the organization for the long term, the early signals indicate his cost will be greater than our ability to pay.” (Something my boss has said about me several times. In the confines of my own mind.)

Honestly, I don't see this sort of agent-speak changing anything. Gonzo is cheap, outlandishly talented and one of the few things putting asses in seats at Petco, unless you count "Watch the Game from Henry Winkler's Lap" night. So until he's spotted shopping for condos in Chestnut Hill, I'm officially tuning out any more status updates for the entire 2010 season.

Unless, of course, they involve his wife.

We don't offer a lot of literary critique around here (unless we're pimping our own book, of course), but this is a must read. I can't believe it hasn't been made into a movie yet. It is the true story of the killing of Officer Bruce McKay by Liko Kenney at a traffic stop, and Kenny's murder at the hands of passer-by Greg Floyd. As you read the history between Kenney and McKay, it is hard to believe nobody saw this ending coming.

A lot of the story can be found on YouTube, courtesy of the dashboard cam on McKay's police vehicle - just search for any of the names mentioned above. Truly fascinating (though pretty grisly) stuff right in our own backyard. The area is still in turmoil almost three years later, debating the merits of the three men involved and how the aftermath was handled.

Check it out...or wait for the movie that has to be in the works.

Thumbing through an old copy of the Sox' 1986 yearbook and I had to pause when checking out Roger Clemens' entry. Because the listing of his hobbies includes the most unfortunate line-break that I've ever seen:



Seems eerily poignant today, considering Rocket's troubles with underage country singers. Also, please note "Divorce Court" among his favorite TV shows.

I would have expected better things from a Lisa Hartman fan.

It's no secret around this neighborhood that I have always thought that Tek might be...playing for the other team. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

After seeing the NESN.com clip showing Jason and Leslie Eddins (his "trainer") going through a daily workout, I have to believe he is doing more than cooking breakfast for Tek.

I've never been shy about my unrelenting manlove for Kevin Millar, and I cling tenaciously to my dream that the guy will eventually return to Boston as a NESN talking head, base coach or Yawkey Way sausage vendor (and not in the Julian Tavarez sense, mind you).

That won't be happening anytime soon, however, because the dude apparently still has some baseball to play. El Bencho just signed a minor league deal with the Cubs, AKA your second-favorite baseball team.

To celebrate Millar's new gig and wish him well as he competes for a spot, I decided to re-run what may well be the single greatest bit of Millarphenalia I've ever written, waaaaay back in 2005. Enjoy.

* * * * * * * *

Great Literature Made Better By Adding Kevin Millar

The Great Gatsby
Chapter Four

Nick Carraway: So, Gatsby, I hear you're from the Midwest.

Gatsby: That's right.

Nick: Whereabouts?

Gatsby: San Francisco.

Nick: I see...

Millar: San Fran? Did you get out to SBC much?

Gatsby: Er... who are you?

Millar [extending hand]: Kevin Millar. First base. World Champion Boston Red Sox. And this is one hell of a party, Mr. Gaston.

Gatsby: Gatsby.

Millar: Whatever. [shakes empty beer bottle] Any more of these? I've gone dry here.

Gatsby: [Looks around nervously] I'm... not sure.

Millar: [produces small cooler] S'alright. I always bring my own, actually. Along with a couple meat sandwiches. So give me the lowdown on these chicks. What's up with legs over there?

Gatsby: Eh... that's Jordan Baker. The golfer.

Millar: Hot damn. I'd let her handle my nine iron. Not a euphemism, by the way.

Gatsby: I really should mill around a bit, I--

Millar: Can you put in a word for me? Tell her I'm into puppies, Beethoven and threesomes. Oh, and that I once ate a bookcase to win a bet. Chicks seem to like that story.

Gatsby: Look, chap, who exactly invited you here?

Millar: You did.

Gatsby: But I don't even know you.

Millar: Aw hell, I'm totally lyin'. I heard the music and just kinda crawled in through the bathroom window.

Gatsby: You should probably leave, then.

Millar: Will do. Oh, and I dipped my balls in the punch. Just so you know.


* * * * * *


The Red Badge of Courage
by Stephen Crane

Lieutenant: Soldiers, I won't lie to you. There's been a lot of ill talk. They say the men of the 304th fight like mule drivers. So I've got a plan to reestablish ourselves as credible soldiers. First, we'll charge the hill. Then--

Millar: Okay, hold on a sec. I've got a plan, too.

Lieutenant: What the? I'm giving orders.

Millar: Now, I like your deal with the hill charging and all that, but I was thinking. What if some of us stayed behind and kinda, y'know, rocked out?

Lieutenant: "Rocked out"?

Millar: [gets up, starts dancing, flailing arms madly] You know... dook dook dook.

Lieutenant: [cocks gun].


* * * * * *


The Odyssey
by Homer

Odysseus: Tomorrow, we set sail for Crete, to engage the Minotaur!

Millar: The Mino-what?

Odysseus: The half-man, half-bull beast that has terrorized my homeland.

Millar: Half-man, half-bull?

Odysseus: With large, deadly horns and pointed hooves.

Millar: Deadly horns? Hooves? Aw, f--k that noise, man. Wake me when ya get back.

Odysseus: But... you're a part of this crew.

Millar: Look, I went in on that cyclops deal and almost got my ass chewed off. Call your buddy Zeus and tell him to wave his arms and zap the motherf--ker. I got no time for it.

Odysseus: You disappoint me, oh blonde one.

Millar: That's life, buddy. [Grabs The Sporting News.] I'll be in the can.