TwoFatGuysWithNothingToDo.Com

Barry DeMann Remembers....Baseball Playoffs

2009-10-10T06:38:00.000-07:00

After taking it on the chin last night with the Minnesota Twins...a 3/1 underdog....Barry DeMann was in a blind rage last night.

The Twins absolutely blew this game. Taking a 3-1 lead into the ninth, reliever Joe Nathan had not given up a home run with a man on....all season! A-Rod's post-season woes, have been well documented, even though he's started this season's playoffs on fire. What does he do? He hit's a two-run blast of Nathan to tie the game.

If that wasn't enough, the Twinkies left men on base in every inning...including the bases loaded with no outs in the 11th.

Games like this make Barry DeMann reach for the Pepto-Bismol.

The feeling I had reminded me of the worst beat BD ever took on a baseball playoff game. I am sure you remember the game, but not in the way that the gambler does.

October 17, 1999; National League Championship Series..Mets vs. Braves.

DeMann felt confident placing his wager, this day, on the posted
run total of 7.5 runs. DeMann took the, over 7.5, feeling certain
that Atlanta would knock around Mets starter Masato Yoshii.

DeMann's instincts couldn't have been more wrong.

A pitcher's duel throughout, the game was still tied at 2, in the 15th inning.
DeMann still needed four more runs for a winner.

The Braves went up 3-2 in the top of the 15th. Then, the Mets tied the game and methodically filled the bases, in the bottom of the 15th. DeMann could sense the possible magic in his excitable bones.

One of DeMann's all-time favorite players, Robin Ventura, stepped to the dish.
Ventura had proven to be dangerous in these situations, as he hit 18 career grand slams(tied for fourth on the all time list).

As if he sensed DeMann's wishes, Ventura ripped one over the right field wall for a "GRAND SLAM". DeMann, in the middle of his third back flip, barely noticed the comments of Bob Costas, who kept questioning how they were going to "score this".
In their excitement, The Mets mobbed Ventura, who never made it to second base. After some delay the final score was posted as 4-3...Ventura credited with what would be known as the "grand slam single" and DeMann...well he just took it in the shorts.

Just another reminder in this business...you never know....even when you do know!

Be careful out there.

Barry DeMann

Bang...boom

2009-09-20T10:19:00.000-07:00

Did you ever have one of those days?

I had one last Thursday, and let me start by telling you that (after some of the things I've ben through) if I make it safely into my bed at night, no matter what else might have happened since the alarm went off, as far as I'm concerned I had a good day.

Some are definitely better than others, though. Just take my Thursday. Things were pretty much on the plus side of the ledger until I was returning to work after lunch.

I was driving one of my company's cars and as I approached the (red, at the time) light at US 31 and Old Meridian I was coasting to a stop with my foot on the brake when I decided to organize the papers that were strewn about the empty passenger seat. I took my eye off the road just long enough to tap the car ahead of me which already was stopped.

The elderly woman got out and without exchanging any words, or even glancing at me got out a white glove and performed an inspection on her rear bumper that would have made a drill sergeant at barracks inspection time proud.

After ascertaining that her newer model Impala had sustained no damage and securing my name and phone number, said woman got back in and, much to my relief, drove off. Seeing as how she had my name, I thought it was in my best interest to report this (non) accident to the transportation director.

Feeling no pity for me he quoted book, chapter, and verse from the policy manual the section which states that such occurences require a follow up urine drug screen and breathalyzer test.

I complied. After completing the above, I decided that any more work would be pressing my luck, so I headed for home.

I work in Carmel and live in Kokomo. The facility where I had to leave my expelled air and two ounces of pee was located on the upper east side of Indy, so I decided to take a shortcut home through Noblesville.

I would have a hard time verifying this I'm sure, but the next 15 minutes might have put me in the record books. No sooner had I left the scene of my post accident test than I approached a construction site in downtown N'ville.

I saw orange barrels...I saw workers...I saw a metal plate that is used to cover construction holes in the road...

What I didn't see was that only half of the construction hole was actually covered. By the time the front end of my car had come to rest suspended in the air, held up by my front bumper resting on the edge of the metal plate and both the driver's and the passenger's air bags having deployed, I realized that I was quite possibly the first person in history to take a pre-accident drug screen/breatalyzer.

Nothing else bad happened, and in fact I might just come out a little bit ahead, given the fact that the police report concluded that there were no warnings or barriers around the open pit. I will be having some conversations with somebody about liability.

But most of all, it just goes to show what I said before...if you set your standard low enough, like me, every day that you make it to bed alive and kicking, is really just another good day.

Nothing To Do

Beatles For Sale

2009-09-20T07:29:00.000-07:00

BEATLES FOR SALE

I love the Beatles. Specifically, their music. I have every song they ever recorded in my possession, and I listen to them quite often. And I’ve got to admit, the Abbey Road commercial for Beatles Rock Band is about the coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time, Fab Four or otherwise.

But I have to admit, I’m starting to feel a bit like I’m being taken advantage of.

09/09/09 has been looming large for some time on my planner, and I have been anticipating the Remastered Beatles catalogue since I first heard about it. I sent a psychic Christmas list to Santa with the $260 complete set as the only item on the list. Of course I couldn’t wait.

While stopping by a certain overpriced coffee chain the other day for my mid-morning break, I impulsively purchased my favorite Beatle album “Rubber Soul”, just to see what all the fuss was about.

I have zero knowledge of how music is produced. I can’t tell you the tricks that were used to make these new, improved versions of songs that I’ve listened to at least 15,000 times different than before.

I can tell you that within the first 20 seconds of the first song on the disc, Drive My Car, I fully expected to look over my right shoulder as I was driving up College Avenue and see Ringo pounding on his Ludwig kit in the backseat with Paul, plucking the bass. It sounded great!

Still, I’m feeling used and abused. The people in charge of this stuff know by now that I, along with countless others who share my obsession, will spend our money on the same thing over and over and over again as many times as they polish it up and stick it on the shelves.

Next year, they might as well not even go to the trouble of dressing up at all. The good folks at Apple should just print the trademarked Beatle logo with words “Send us your money” and put it on a billboard.

Got any stamps?

The Coolest Thing Ever

2009-08-24T12:10:00.000-07:00

There have always been heroes. Depending on which way you believe, man was either created to look up to and want to be just like certain other men (or women up to other women, as it were), or evolution made us that way. The point is there has always been a time when certain ones of us were – to put it bluntly – cool as hell.

In case you’re wondering, I am one of the looker uppers. And while every generation can claim that their bigger than life citizenry was the coolest of all, I’ll take mine any day.

See, I was born in 1960, so I was just the right age to be totally, head over heels, 100% captivated by the space program. I’m a little too young to remember the start of it with the Mercury 7 and the earliest one man trips to space. I have a vague memory of some of the two man Gemini stuff. But I remember the Apollo part of the program that got man to the moon like it was yesterday.

Advances in technology throughout the ages have always astonished the common man. That continues to today. But no matter how marvelous and miraculous the leap, up to and including the electronic age we now are privileged to be a part of, there has been and always will be only once in all eternity that men left the Earth and voyaged to another world for the first time, and that happened exactly 40 years ago. It was July 20, 1969 to be precise.

And that brings me to the whole point of this exercise…the coolest guy that ever lived or ever will live was the Astronaut.

James Bond, James Dean and LeBron James all rolled into one and multiplied by 10 wouldn’t be half as cool as the least known Astronaut from the 1960’s US Space Program. You definitely had to be there, but I can tell you that if you were a boy between the ages of 6 and 16 and didn’t want to be a part of what was going on, I guarantee that you were playing with Barbie Dolls. It was universal. And to tell the truth, for me personally, it still holds. I have at least a dozen books about the space race to the moon, a scale replica of the Apollo/Saturn V rocket, and even a Neil Armstrong doll in full astronaut regalia.

There was some talk during the waning days of the George W. Bush presidency of scrapping the boring and repetitive Space Shuttle program and going back to the moon by 2010. Now it looks like that might not get off the drawing board. It would be neat to see, and it just might jump start a renewed interest in the sciences in our schools. But it will never capture the imagination the way Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins, et al did back in the day.

The Perfect Dad

2009-08-22T12:12:00.000-07:00

Is there such a creature? Of course not. But you can certainly learn a lot, as they say, from watching TV. If you’ve watched as much as I have over the years, you get to see glimpses and bits and pieces of dads doing their thing.

Imagine if you could build the perfect dad just like you would build a salad at a salad bar – some of this, a little of that, on and on.

Since this is Father’s Day, let’s give it a try. Here is my idea of the Dad who has it all:

DAD	QUALITIES
Andy Griffith	Fairness, ability to admit when he’s wrong, consistency
Mike Brady	Even-tempered, analytical, soft spoken, firm yet fair disciplinarian
Homer Simpson	Fallibility, imperfections
Jed Clampett	Common sense, honesty, innocence
Cliff Huxtable	Humor, class
Charles Ingalls	Work ethic, family values

What would you get if you had a dad who had all these character qualities? There’s no way to ever know, because there has never been a perfect dad. If God wanted a perfect dad, he would have made one.

The truth is, dad’s aren’t meant to be perfect. We as fathers just need to be who we are and give our kids what they really want from us more than anything…our time and our love.

One of the hardest things to be in this world we live in today is yourself, and it’s getting harder every day. Don’t try to be Mike Brady or Charles Ingalls. Your kids are smart enough to see through it anyway. Just be who you are and everybody will be better off.

One more thing – HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

Anger Management

2009-08-21T12:11:00.000-07:00

As vastly different as we all are, there are a few things that each member of the human race have in common. Excluding the fact that we all require oxygen to sustain life, probably the most common trait shared is that we all are endowed with a wide range of emotions. While we are able to both experience and control these to varying degrees, all six or so billion of us know what it is like to feel happiness, sadness, fear, love, hate, empathy, jealousy, and loneliness. And let us not forget the emotion that (at least in the last two or three generations) has become the most prevalent of all – ANGER!!!!!

In fact, anger has become such a staple of our fabric that we also endow our fictional characters with varying degrees of it as well. This is especially true of television characters as they are portrayed in sitcoms.

Of all forms of comedy, the one which usually elicits the most frequent and loudest laughs is watching the misery/misfortune of others.

In keeping with this line of thinking, and seeing as how it is now well into the baseball season, this long-suffering Cub fan thought it would be fun to take a look at some of the greatest examples of how someone getting downright mad can be funny as hell.

Of course, in order for someone to blow his top, there must be at least one buffoon who provides the vehicle for the eruption. This is nothing new…long before TV ever was thought of Stan Laurel and Lou Costello were tormenting Oliver Hardy and Bud Abbott respectively into a lather until the final eruption, usually but not always climaxing with violence (another form of entertainment).

Just as in reality, these practitioners of the made for TV boil-over do it in degrees. Here are some of my faves:

SHORT/NO FUSE

These guys fly off the handle at the drop of a hat:

Frank Costanza (Seinfeld)

Ralph Kramden (Honeymooners)

Skipper (Gilligan’s Island)

TIME DELAYED EXPLOSION

These characters exhibited a modicum of self control, but it didn’t take much for the inevitable:

Chief (Get Smart)

Sgt. Carter (Gomer Pyle)

Fred Flintstone (The Flintstones)

MASTERS OF THE SLOW BURN

The best of the best. These poor souls were tormented beyond all human endurance, you could literally watch as the heat rose in their faces. Giving it all they had to avoid letting their tormentors get the best of them. But in the end, it was a lost cause. The most fun to watch, by the way:

Oliver Douglas (Green Acres)

Mr. Mooney (The Lucy Show)

Where have you gone, Whitey Ford?

2009-08-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, my son Nick and I went to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs play the Padres. We had chosen this particular game for two reasons; one, because most of the other Cub games were already sold out when we went on line in March to find tickets, and two, because we were hoping to see our one and only hometown major leaguer – Joe Thatcher, who for two seasons had bounced back and forth between San Diego and their AAA team in Portland.

Upon returning home, I took a few minutes to see the damage this trip had cost us.

Tickets: $130

Parking: $30

Concessions/Souvenirs: $70

Not counting gas and one night’s lodging, we had spent over $200 to watch the likes of Rich Harden, Mike Fontenot, Milton Bradley, and Bobby Scales. I can’t even remember any Padres from that night except Jake Peavy. What a bargain.

Flash forward two weeks. I am reading a book about baseball, and the following thought occurred to me: If you were a baseball fan in 1960, and who wasn’t a baseball fan back then, and you were inclined to go and watch a ball game, you could go to any major league park on any given day and walk right up to the ticket window. Once inside, it’s likely that one or more of the following would have been in the lineup that day:

Ted Williams, Stan Musial, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, Hank Aaron, Ernie Banks, Sandy Koufax, Roberto Clemente, Yogi Berra, Don Drysdale, Roger Maris, Frank Robinson, Duke Snider, Whitey Ford, Billy Williams, Luis Aparicio, Bob Gibson, Al Kaline, Harmon Killebrew, Willie McCovey. If any of those Hall of Famers were in the lineup, it’s a good bet that the card was written out by Casey Stengal, Walter Alston, Al Lopez, or Lou Boudreau. And if you took a transistor radio to the park, the action would have been described by the likes of Harry Carey, Red Barber, Jack Brickhouse, Mel Allen, or Ernie Harwell.

The fact is, a team that you could put together from players on major league rosters that year would wipe the floor with a team consisting of the stars of any other era in the history of the game. Period.

Who do we have to stand in awe of today? Alex Rodriguez, the cheating PR machine? Manny Ramirez, the cheating ego maniac?

I once had the opportunity to see Donald Davidson, the pre-eminent Indy 500 expert/historian. It was a question and answer event, and I asked him what he thought the greatest era of the 500 was. His answer surprised me, but the accompanying explanation did not. Expecting to hear names like Foyt, Unser, Mears, Johncock, Andretti, etc., he named guys I had never heard of from the early 50’s. He then said that it’s only natural for fans to idolize the guys who were popular when we first begin to follow a particular sport. This makes perfect sense, but does it apply to this discussion? C’mon.

When one of the players from 1960’s era would get to the coveted $100,000 salary, we applauded and stood in awe, mostly because normal people can comprehend what $100,000 is. When we read about A Rod and $252 million, we sneer with contempt because none of us has even the slightest notion of what that really means. It’s Monopoly money, and baseball (pro sports) has become something that is beyond the average man’s paradigm.

Baseball still has a large following of young fans, and that’s a good thing. But the names on my list are as far removed from today’s 12 year old as Woodrow Wilson and Jack Dempsey are from my generation. What do we as fans really have to look forward to?

Tony Soprano lamented the fact that he was getting in on his way of life (organized crime) at the end of the line, way past the glory days. Is this reality or just the Donald Davidson perception? I guess we’ll never know.

Thanks, Dad

2009-08-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

I’m smart.

I graduated from college; I can do the NY Times crossword (in pen if I feel especially risky); I’ve never fallen for either a phone or an internet scam.

I’m a dad.

My DNA is 50% responsible for two members of the human race.

I’m just not a smart dad.

I never thought I was Andy Griffith or Mike Brady for gosh sakes, but I knew I wasn’t Homer Simpson, either. Never the less, my daughter Sarah got me the other day, and she got me good. I’ve never been especially impressed with magicians, so sleight of hand tricks don’t usually dazzle me. This one came so far out of left field that I wasn’t even in the ball park when it hit me.

Every dad has a soft spot for his little girl. I couldn’t rely on advice from the Two Fat Guys on this one either. Phil has a daughter, but she’s only 15, still in the minors, so to speak. Denny has four daughters. He lost his mind a long time ago.

Sarah, who is in between her freshman and sophomore years of college started out earlier this week by bringing up the subject of cars. New cars. On credit. My wife and I have been drinking the Dave Ramsey Kool Aid for a few years now, and have tried to impress upon the kids the value and wisdom in saving up and paying cash for a car, at the very least your first car. This is exactly what our son Nick did a couple of years back.

Sarah never said she was going to do it; she just brought up the subject to the extent that my blood pressure rose a few points.

The next night, Sarah mentioned how nice a tattoo looked on one of her friends. Once again, she didn’t say she wanted permanent ink on some part of her body; she just broached the subject, to the same end as the car conversation.

Finally, Thursday night, she was telling me about the prevalence in her age demographic of body piercings. For the third time, my imagination did the rest.

Knowing full well that I’ve averaged maybe three hours of sleep this week while lying there the rest of the time tilting at windmills, Sarah arranged for her cousin Allie to call me while she was out with a friend Saturday afternoon. Allie’s message was clear and to the point: “Don’t kill Sarah”. Allie then hung up.

The next few minutes are a little fuzzy. As soon as she pulled up, I could see right away that she wasn’t holding the keys to a 2009 Ford Fusion. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the singular lack of any ink or hardware stuck on her body.

My relief was immediate. So in my relaxed state, Sarah traded the small jabs she had been sparring with all week and landed the right cross – her friend Laura was holding a month old kitten. Sarah’s kitten.

The very same kitten that in a matter of six months will stop being cute and start being a nuisance. Not just a mere nuisance, but the kind of nuisance that I will have to provide food, shots, and litter for. And I will have to clean that very same litter.

Oh well, I guess it could be worse. She could have walked in with some guy with tattoos and piercings, and no new car. He’s between jobs right now.

Pack your bags

2009-08-18T12:16:00.000-07:00

Not that it’s anything new of course, but am I the only one who’s noticed that the world really seems to be going to Hell lately?

First of all, my life doesn’t seem to have improved as much as everyone told me it would the night we elected Barack Obama to be our 44^th fearless leader. In February, the company I work for announced that we were entering into a merger. Turns out that merger, at least in this particular case, really means “hostile takeover”, and the other guys appear to be the takers. A-Rod, possibly the most naturally gifted athlete to ever step onto a baseball field really was cheating all along and now the new-breed of superstar, Lebron James, doesn’t have to shake hands after the game if he doesn’t want to – his mommy told him so!

In my heart of hearts, I truly think that it all started down this slippery slope that we are rapidly reaching the bottom of when Dr. Spock told an entire generation of parents that we shouldn’t spank the kids, but that’s a blog for another time.

The point I’m trying to get to here is simply this: I’m moving to Mayberry.

I watch at least one episode of The Andy Griffith Show a night (thanks to television series’ DVD’s, one of the very few good things that has happened in the world in the last 25 years or so), and for starters, no one has gotten one second older.
-       Andy continues to be the quintessential father: Dispensing love, cheer, discipline, advice, and justice in equal measure.
-       Aunt Bea is still the loving, rotund caretaker who never met a scraped knee or rump roast she couldn’t work her magic on.
-       You can still get both a haircut and an earful of the latest town shenanigans for the combined price of $1 from Floyd the barber.
-       Barney proves everyday that you can screw up seven ways to Sunday and still be loved by all.
-       Opie reassures us that until you reach the age of at least 16 that life’s biggest problems range from raising a nest of baby birds to trying to fit both football and piano practice into one always sunny afternoon.
-       Otis remains living proof that if you drink too much and live in a big city you’re an alcoholic, but if you do it in a small town, you’re a lovable drunk.
-       You can rest assured that as long as Gomer (if your world is B & W) and/or Goober (if your world is colored) are around, you’ll never be the dumbest person in the room.
-       Finally, there is nothing more pleasing to the human experience than knowing that every day can end with lemonade, pleasant conversation, and hopefully a guitar on the front porch.
So somebody please tell me, what could be better than spending the rest of your life in a place like that? No problem that can’t be solved in less than 30 minutes (24 without commercials) exists. Everybody shakes hands, there isn’t any need for any substance that might be performance enhancing, no mergers, and they don’t even have a President.

Anybody coming along?

Pride and Joy, et cetera

2009-08-17T12:18:00.000-07:00

Sometime in the mid sixties, pop music stopped being about and for teeny boppers, and was raised, as a long line of critics said, to the level of Art. This is best evidenced in a trio of albums released by the Beatles starting in late 1965.

Rubber Soul, Revolver, and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band showed the world that popular music was to be taken seriously, and all other performers of the era quickly fell in line and followed suit. Almost all, that is.

There is no way to overstate the talent, magic, and influence of The Beatles. You can’t exaggerate their importance in 20^th Century culture. But even the Fab Four was guilty of taking themselves too seriously once or twice. One of their most enduring legacies in the realm of performing arts is their pretentiousness.

Apparently one group who regularly held a spot or two in the Top 40 didn’t get the memo.

While The Turtles were certainly serious about their craft you can’t help but notice, especially today when viewed through the time machine, the way they seemed to always be winking at the audience. Howard Kaylan and company left behind some of the most memorable tunage to emerge from the whole 60’s experience. But in every clip of performing or even in interviews, it’s not difficult to see that they never were doing anything but having a lot of fun, and never lost sight of exactly who and what they were: A bunch of pretty talented guys who happened to be in the right place at the right time and went for the ride of their life.

Harry Caray once said that the reason for his popularity was that every fan could imagine himself sitting there and doing his job. The Turtles made it big, and with every appearance, they were stand ins for every garage band that never made it out of the garage.

I’m in no way trying to detract from what they accomplished. Kaylan’s voice was as good as any that blared out of transistor radios from 1965 to 1970. A lot of groups caught lightning in a bottle and then disappeared from sight just as quickly as they appeared. The Turtles were a headline act for many years, and that alone puts them in the top echelon. They were, in fact a lot more than just lucky.

When it comes to what the 60’s gave us, if you want to see pop music perfection, look up The Beatles. If you want to see what the California music scene was about, look up The Grateful Dead or The Doors. But if you want to see what was fun about the 60’s, check out The Turtles.

American Idle

2009-08-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

Normally, it isn’t until the actual completion of an event that I begin to rue the decision that I made to partake of it. This can be anything from spending money on some ill advised purchase to a trip that wastes most of an entire day.

But the other night as I, along with approximately 75% of my fellow American citizens, breathlessly awaited Ryan Secreast’s anointing of either Kris Allen or Adam Lambert as the eighth American Idol, I realized that I once again had freely given time that I wouldn’t ever recapture. Time itself may be timeless, but we as mortals only are allotted a finite number of hours to conduct business during a lifetime. Over the past couple of months, I had squandered about 40 of my hours watching my generation’s version of the Christians versus the lions.

Even before the winner was announced, I had formulated, processed, and sanctioned the following thought: What the heck am I doing? After all, I gave up the same number of hours last Spring, and gosh darn it, my life barely changed for either good or bad once David Cook won the crown. Come to think of it, Jordan Sparks and Fantasia’s great fortune didn’t make one iota of difference in my being, either.

So why bother? Just as the handsome host was about to announce the name of Americas next millionaire, I shut the TV off. That’s right, I let it go. Didn’t care.

If I could just take each of those minutes that I sat couch potato style and watched American Idol each year as Winter melted into Spring and give some purpose to them, the world might just be a little better off. Help someone, volunteer, be a real humanitarian…then I’ve done something worthwhile.

I know I can’t ever recoup the time I’ve spent watching Simon, Paula, and company, but boy are things going to be different from now on. Believe me, I’m going to get started making a real difference – just as soon as the baseball season ends.

Close This

2009-08-15T12:20:00.000-07:00

By now, you might have figured out that in addition to being (and having) nothing to do, I am also a Cub fan. I have been almost to the mountain top (see: 2003 NLCS, 7th inning), as well as several trips to the valley (same playoffs, 8th inning). I desperately hope that sometime during my trip to this planet (generally thought to be more than 2/3 over) I get to hear the words "The Cubs win the pennant!!!!"

The one thing I am sure of, though, is that if I ever get to hear Pat Hughes make the above exclamation with Ron Santo sitting beside him experiencing simultaneous rapture, orgasm, and heart failure, it will be right after some Cub (any Cub) hits in the winning run in the bottom of the 9th. That way, I won't have to pin my hopes on Kevin Gregg getting the last three outs of the game.

Let me stop right here and say that I'm not picking on this year's Flavor of the Month in the Cubbies bullpen. No, unfortunately Gregg is just the latest in a long line of Cub "closers" who have brought more flames to the greater Chicago land area than Mrs. O'Leary's cow. The same organization who traded, in their primes, Hall-Of-Famers Bruce Sutter and Lee Smith (and sent washed up starter Dennis Eckersley to Oakland so Tony Larussa could make him into a HOF closer) and traded for the likes of Dave Smith and Goose Gossage long after the sun had set on their careers.

The dominating closer has evolved into the most important puzzle piece in the complicated game of baseball. You can have the pitching staff of the 1970 Orioles and the lineup of the 1927 Yankees, but if you don't have the one man who can come in and slam the door with a one run lead and three outs to go, you ain't got squat. For most of the past 25 years, since the Cubs have been generally competitive, their bull pen has hosted more bums than the bus station. I haven't forgotten Rod Beck or Randy Myers, but basically speaking they were one season wonders.

Baseball is never supposed to be easy, and even the greatest teams in history lose once every three games, but in my opinion, Cub fans spend the ninth inning of games in which they have the lead unnecessarily sweaty. Even during seasons in which the Cubs knocked on the World Series door, their closers provided more than their fair share of thrills, such as Mitch Williams in 1989 and Joe Borowski in 2003. I'm ready for a lights out closer. I'm ready for that one guy who, when the Cubs have a lead going into the ninth comes in, I put my feet up and relax. In other words, I'm ready for LaTroy Hawkins.

Just a week ago, the Cubs were cruising with a 4-0 lead after eight innings. Kevin Gregg came on and then left less than five minutes later with the score tied, two men on base, and no outs recorded. By the time Gregg had showered, the Cubs ended up winning in the bottom of the ninth. Just like I like it.

TFGWNTD Top Ten Worst Cub Closers, A.S.*

*After Sutter's trade

1. Dave Smith

2. LaTroy Hawkins

3. Kevin Gregg

4. Goose Gossage

5. Antonio Alfonseca

6. Kyle Farnsworth

7. Bill Caudill

8. *

9. *

10. *

I could finish this list, but to truly honor the men whose names are on it, I thought it would be appropriate to not get the final three spots nailed down.

Book Report

2009-08-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

When you spend most of your time with Two Fat Guys, as I do, you soon realize that the options for leisure reading fall into one of three general categories: fiction, non-fiction, and menus.

It’s also true that as a member of this particular gang you learn that the most desirable leisure activities are of the passive variety such as watching, listening, spectating, etc. In an effort to break away from the pack (yes, Phil and Denny collectively qualify as a pack), I thought it might behoove me to celebrate my pre-TFGWNTD days and jump back into a more active pastime – reading books.

Don’t let it bother you that the reviews you might read here will never end up in the New York Times…after all, the Times doesn’t review the floats in the Macy’s Day Parade.

The Rocket That Fell To Earth Roger Clemens And the Rage For Baseball Immortality

Jeff Pearlman

Let’s start with a quick pop quiz. Roger Clemens:

A. Is living proof that hard work and an iron will makes all your dreams possible;

B. Is the world’s most self-centered, self-serving prick;

C. Has some really strange methods of preparing to pitch a game;

D. Will do whatever it takes, including cheat, to maintain success;

E. Is the inventor of Ray Ban sunglasses;

F. All of the above.

If you answered “F”, try not to get too much drool on the keyboard. But if you answered “A”, “B”, “C”, and “D”, give yourself a point. You probably don’t need to read this book, because other than expand on these four facets of the former future Hall of Famer, there’s not a lot to Pearlman’s book.

Even the casual baseball fan knows that Clemens career followed this arc: Twelve or thirteen years into a certain first ballot HOF career, his body began to show the effects of age. Then, literally overnight, he not only revived his dominance, but actually took it to an even higher plane. We all sat astonished during the first years of the 2000’s as Clemens and Barry Bonds both took their respective games to unprecedented levels. It wasn’t until five years later that we knew for sure how they did it. Performance enhancing drugs, etc…etc…etc.

In Clemens case, this was a particular shame because of how he got there in the first place. Pearlman does a great job of detailing how Clemens went from the number three pitcher on his high school team to a JC, then the University of Texas, and then straight to the Red Sox. As Pearlman points out, the only performance enhancer employed was working his ass off. His training regimen makes Marine boot camp look like a Sunday school picnic.

Once Roger made it to the show and started to see his name in lights, he fell in love with the attention and bought hook line and sinker every line of hype ever written about him. His ego expanded to the point that during the last couple of years he played, he demanded (and received) a clause in his contract that he only had to show up at the ball park when he pitched. Although no teammate ever doubted his commitment to winning, he was generally not the most loved guy in the clubhouse.

One humorous (and painful) anecdote Pearlman reveals is Clemens’ pregame ritual of having the trainer smear his entire body with Icy Hot. His entire body. Entire. Leaving nothing out. By the time the trainer had rubbed the searing salve into his testicles, Clemens was literally snorting like a bull.

To this day, despite overwhelming and indisputable proof to the contrary, Clemens maintains that he never used steroids. That same trademark stubborn will that never allowed him to give in to a hitter now betrays him and paints him as not only a cheater, but a liar as well.

If you haven’t been around as a fan for the last fifteen years, especially the period of 2004 to 2007 when the steroid story exploded, then you probably would be greatly enlightened by this book. If you have been around, there’s not a whole lot new here, unless of course you’ve never read about someone preparing for a game by having a paid employee rub Icy Hot on…hmmm.

He Ain's Heavy, He's My Brother

2009-06-26T07:55:00.000-07:00

Denny is one of the fat guys and here is his take on the City tournament Championship named after his identical twin and former member of Hollies' Terry Sylvester being in concert on the same night.

---------------------------

Last night Terry Sylvester of Hollies was in downtown Kokomo singing "He ain't Heavy he's my Brother" which was one of the Rock anthems for peace and helping your fellow man in the early 70's in the height of the Vietnam War.

Ten miles away in Greentown 2500 people were watching a youth baseball tournament named in his honor. My identical twin brother David loved youth baseball more than anyone I have ever met and was involved with it for 35 of his 42 years on earth. He played, coached and poured his heart into writing about youth baseball in the local newspaper the Kokomo Tribune. David would tell anyone that would listen that Youth Baseball was all about the kids having fun. David also loved the British Invasion and the many groups that came across the pond to change the face of music in the sixties and early seventies.

David is smiling from Heaven this morning because I know he would have been torn last night if he was still living. I know he would have been covering the City Championship in Greentown for the Kokomo Tribune which would have been just the Kokomo Tribune's 53rd edition and his name would have been missing. He also would have been thinking about Terry Sylvester being on stage in downtown Kokomo at the Haynes Apperson Festival singing the great Hollies songs ,so I know he would have loved to have been in two places at once.
David loved the Hollies songs, including "Bus Stop", "Stop Stop Stop", "Carrie Anne", "Look Through Any Window", "Sorry Suzanne", "Long Cool Women" and "The Air That I Breathe". He would have missed "He Ain't Heavy, He's my Brother" more than any of the Hollies' and Sylvester's songs. David loved that song. We would always change the lyrics in high school when David and I were rolling down Washington Street in our silver vega with the Hollies Greatest Hits blaring from our cassette player and wailing "He's Heavy.... he's my Brother".

Yes David would have been the third fat guy and was very comfortable in his skin. He was heavy. He could not carry a tune.. But loved the Hollies and British Rock music.

Someone asked me tonight what my identical twin brother David would have thought of two teams from Russiaville playing in the City Championship which has been renamed the David A. Kasey Memorial Youth Baseball tournament. The point was that no Kokomo teams were in the final just Russiaville teams.

I started thinking about that before the game last night. David lived in Russiaville on a farm for two years of his life with friends Steve Geiselman, Blake Burgan, and Pat Pope, so I know he felt a connection to the town of Russiaville. The two teams involved Stout and Sons and Mike's Pizza would have been fine with him. Stout and Son is sponsored by one of David's favorite people Jeff Stout someone that David officiated with and watched play youth baseball at Lafayette Park Little League. He would have been fine with Mike's Pizza. He loved going to Mike's with my family. He once found out Mike's sold Elephant ears and surprised my kids with about eight of the biggest Elephant ears you have ever seen. He also loved the county fair experience ,especially elephant ears and lemon shake-ups but of course he bought these particular elephant ears in the middle of October.

The reason David is smiling from Heaven this morning is because he was able to see both the tournament that graces his name and David also heard every number Terry Sylvester did last night including "He Ain't Heavy He's my Brother."

Denny
One of the fat guys

"Wright On"

2009-04-30T18:32:00.000-07:00

ENJOY EXCERPTS FROM "THE EPIPHANY" FROM THE ENIGMATIC FREELANCE WRITER CHIP N. WRIGHT

AS REQUESTED BY OUR VISITORS.... ADDITIONAL CONTENT FROM "THE EPIPHANY" HAS BEEN ADDED BELOW!

The Epiphany

The wooden structure reeked of animal urine and other foul odors. John knew the piles of hay stacked neatly against the seasoned pine would make a hearty fire. His mangled leg made it impossible to run. His only defense was his Colt side arm. He knew he couldn’t possibly hold off twenty angry men so blood thirsty they would rather string a rope around his neck, than hull him back to town. His injured leg would make the trip completely insufferable. “Probably make me walk anyway.” He thought to himself.

“Come on out John, we just wanta talk to ya.” The Colonel yelled cupping is hands together to carry the 40 yards to the old structure. “You hear me! Come on out!”

“What’s going on, I didn’t do anything.” John asked while crawling away form the barn door.

“Your not going to do much with that twisted leg. Got to hurt.”

“Don’t touch me. You caused this.” John said while pulling his leg back with his hand.

“Come on out, You’ll get a fair trial. You don’t wanta die in there.” Yelled the Colonel once more.

“Why me? I just want to go back to Virginia. Leave me alone. I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not me you have to convince, John. Those men out there have the problem.”

“Come on John or we’ll burn the barn. Who the hell is he talking to?” Said the Colonel while looking in the direction of the barn. “Sergeant sneak around there and see if you can get a better view inside.”

“Shut up. I didn’t do it.” John screamed at the door.

“Looks like a pretty old barn. Won't take long to burn.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’s old and made of wood. A lot older than you.”

“No, why me?”

“Opportunity John. You were just the right person for the job.”

“Why?”

“You couldn’t begin to understand why.”

“I don’t want to die like this.”

“You have another option.”

“That’s no option. Just another way of dying.” He said while he clutched his six shooter, pulling it closer to his chest.

“We’re wasting daylight. Lighter up boys.” The Colonel knew he had several hours of daylight left, but the long journey home and the beautiful mistress waiting halfway made him anxious to get on with the task.

“Colonel says lighter up!”

“Goodbye John.”

“Honey, Eric wake up. Your dreaming again. It’s okay wake up.”

Eric pulled from her grasp as he wiped the sweat away from his forehead. He arched his lean torso up and jumped out bed. Not wanting to talk about another dream, he draped the comforter around his body and stumbled into the living room. “Shit!” He said, while grabbing his foot that just made contact with the half-opened door.

“You okay?” Said his wife, from the bed he had departed. “Come back to bed, honey.”

“No, I can’t sleep. Don’t want to keep you up too.” Lack of sleep wasn’t what he feared for his wife. He tossed and turned for several minutes until he heard her drift back to unconsciousness. It took several more minutes until he fell asleep.

In the morning Eric was careful not to wake Lucy. He wanted her rested for the long campaign. The week long road trips were exhausting and he could tell by the thinning of her waist she was not taking care of herself. Being an aide for one of America’s top politician was not an easy endeavor. Long nights and frequent fast food stops was hard on a body. Especially a body that had played collegiate volleyball and was used to running marathons. But this was Lucy, always up to new challenges and always trying to out do everyone else. Eric, didn’t mine his wife taking long trips with a good looking middle aged Senator. He was very proud of her accomplishments and her being selected by a frontrunner to head a major political campaign. Though excited for her, he was also a little envious. His life as a small County Prosecutor in the Midwest was anything but glamorous. His biggest case after leaving Harvard was a conviction of a drunk driver who ran over a mother and her three children at a shopping mall. No matter how small the case, it sealed his faith as a Prosecutor for the next three elections.

“Did you get any sleep?” Eric asked as he poured her coffee into the oversized mug.

“Yeah, are you okay?” She said, sipping the caffeine.

“Sure. What time is your flight?

“I got about three and half hours to get ready. You want to drive me to the airport?”

Eric knew the International Airport was a two hour drive from their home in the small Ohio community. This would give them a few extra minutes together and time to make plans for next weekend. This would also give Lucy time to prepare her boss’ agenda. The two of them had an unspoken agreement not to talk about departure until the last possible minute. When Lucy arrives home on Friday night, politics and all other shop talk cease until Monday morning.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything pressing today.”

Eric Johnson grew up on a small farm in northern Indiana. His mother taught high school English and his father worked as a supervisor at a steel mill during the day and farmed 1200 acres of wheat and corn at night. Eric’s older brother, William Junior took to farming like a fish to water. He loved to farm and after high school, with the help of his father, purchased most of the land adjacent to their home. Three years older than Eric, Bill was 6 foot 4 and weighed 215 pounds. The Northern Express Tribune called Bill Johnson, “Cedarville’s Finest Athletic.” Eric had a difficult time living up to his older brother’s reputation. Eric played sports and was a fine athlete in his own way, but never excelled the way Junior did. He learned first hand how hard it was not to disappoint people when he hit the gridiron. His father, being a former college football star, didn’t help Eric’s self-esteem either. So he had to find his own way. He concentrated on his studies and learned everything there was to know about English, math, and history. He loved American history and he studied it as much as he could. His aptitude enabled him to take college courses his sophomore year and also solidified his pet name of Brainiac. The wide frame glasses he wore didn’t help curtail some of the verbal abuse either. He joined the debate team and took his school to Nationals. He continued playing football until the 11th grade, not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to disappoint his family.

In Eric’s Junior year while playing a Homecoming game he started as a wide receiver. The quarterback, who was being pressed fired a missile in Eric’s direction. Eric caught the ball and ran toward the uprights. Three yards from the goal, a defender slammed in to his lower half and crushed his right leg. He never played football again. To this day, when there is a chill in the air, his leg reminds him of that October day. After high school he was given an academic scholarship to Indiana University where he majored in history. He often saw himself returning home and teaching high school. He never imagined falling in love and getting married. When he met Lucy, he knew she was something special. An all American athlete and National Honor Student. Lucy wasn’t just the pretties girl Eric ever dated, but the smartest one too. She graduated top of her Political Science class and was accepted to Harvard Law School. She followed in her father’s steps and his father’s before him. Eric had no choice but to follow her as well. So he gave up on his dreams of returning home and teaching history and enrolled at Harvard. He completed his law degree in two years, just six month after Lucy completed hers. The two of them soon settled in western Ohio where John started practicing law for William, Thompson and Ross. Lucy also had intentions of joining the firm. However as usual, she struck gold and was opted a better opportunity. Jack Anderson, an Ohio State Senator was courting a replacement for an aide who had suddenly retired. He considered several people form various places throughout the country, but wanted a new face that would inspire a younger crowd. He wanted someone fresh from law school, someone intelligent and up to date with the generation X, someone he could mentor and groom in his own way. He contacted his old friend James Richards from Harvard. Richards was now the head of the law program. Professor Richards told Senator Anderson about a young graduate that made a name for herself in the Harvard Law Review. Anderson called Lucy in for an interview. After an hour lunch she was offered the job and went to work the following week. Three years later she found herself the top aide and campaign manager for a candidate running for America’s top office.

MORE OF "THE EPIPHANY".....

Lucy often invited Eric to campaign with her, but he had no interest in politics. So he stayed home, read books and took long walks to pass the time while she was away. In fact, unbeknownst to his wife, he would have never ran for Prosecutor had it not been for her insistence. With the help of Senator Anderson’s contacts, Jack was a shoe in. His first conviction of a unemployed drunk driver that killed three children and their mother at a shopping mall insured his re-election and a six figure income.

“Hello, hi babe. How’s things going?” Eric asked while holding the cell phone in one hand and the leather steering wheel of his Lexus in the other. “Yea, just on my way home. Took a half day off and went golfing with Don. Kicked his ass, so he bought lunch. I know, I‘ll just find another sucker to play with, if he does that. No I think he‘s going out. He already had a couple. No, I kind of have a headache. Only had one. Okay, I know, maybe two. Yea, I got to try to get some rest. Love you, bye.”

Eric was unaware he knocked over the bottle of beer he just opened. The long week at work, and the hot sun on the golf course exhausted him. He missed his beloved Lucy and was uncomfortable sleeping in their bed alone. So, he sprawled out on the leather sofa and soon found himself in and out of consciousness. With the television still on, he soon surrendered to the weight of his heavy eyelids and the alcohol flowing through his blood stream.

“So what’s it gonna be John! You gonna come out on your own or do we burn you out!” John searched his mind to try to make sense of what had happened over the last couple of days. How could a man so talented and popular become involved in murder? How was it possible he was involved in the slaying of a man he knew little about? The killing of a person quickly becoming one of America’s most beloved leaders. John never met his victim. He doesn’t remember having a dislike for President Lincoln. Especially such a strong loathe which would motivate homicide. He considered himself a tender man, a man devoted to his mother. Someone building a reputation on his acting ability. Not a murderer or assassin.

“Wait! Give me a minute.” He screamed in the direction of the door. For a moment he placed his revolver to the side of his head. He cringed at the thought of his mother living the rest of her life knowing her son had ended his, in such a cowardly way. But to him there was little difference. He knew either way, he was a dead man. The union troops had no intention of letting him walk out alive. They wanted blood. Not so much for Lincoln, but for the lost of their union brethren, the lost of time spent fighting a war they cared little about, and the lost of their innocence.

“Well John, what’s it going to be? You and I both know, there’s no chance you’ll make it out alive. That’s not the cowardly way. Go ahead , get it over with.”

John’s leg began to hurt more as the adrenaline was subsiding in his body. He felt himself becoming weak, not wanting to fight, yet not wanting to give up. “Get out, leave me alone. I’ve done as you wanted.” He cried out at the man in the barn. “Can’t you see. It’s over. Let me die alone.”

“Sorry, John I have to stay. Certain things must take place before my departure.”

“Certain things?” John asked.

“Really they don’t even involve you anymore. You’ve done your job exceptionally well, and you’ll be known for….”

“I’ll be known as a killer of a President. I’ll be a hated man eternally.” John interrupted.

“Yes, perhaps by some. But, others will build statues and museums for you. There will be people that talk about you for centuries, and your name will be tantamount with your victim’s name. Scholars will write books and papers of how you pulled off the greatest assassination in history. And John, others will study you as well. This is not the last time this has to occur. No, there are many others that will follow. That must follow.”

“Get out! You’ve done enough.”

“Remember when we first met, John. You were a struggling actor with little direction of where you were headed. Now you are famous.”

“Infamous.” John muttered.

“It doesn’t matter. When the name John Wilkes Booth is spoken, people will know everything about you.”

“Not everything. They won’t know how I was manipulated into treason by a person so evil that the devil himself would find it hard to be in the same room with.”

“John, I’m not the devil. I’m not even the evil person you think I am. I’m just doing what I’ve been told to do. Like you.”

“Nothing like me. You’re nothing like me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“There was always a choice. Just like the revolver in your hand provides you with a choice.”

“John are you gonna come out!” Yelled the Colonel from the wood line.

Eric slammed his feet to the floor before he opened his eyes. “Dammit. What’s going on?” He mumbled out loud. Flipping through the channels of the television was little comfort. He couldn’t get the details of the dream out of his mine. He knew it was a dream, but felt it was something more. What did it mean? It was like someone or something was telling him something. He couldn’t make light of it. He knew one thing for sure. This was a dream unlike any he had ever experienced before.

2 Fat Guys With Something To Prove

2009-04-30T18:29:00.000-07:00

In a venture called Two Fat Guys With Something To Prove, Kevin Lechner and Steve Geiselman are doing something about the effect that time and genetics have had on them – both are overweight and diabetic.

These two, along with yours truly, twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com are joining forces to bring some positive change into the lives of themselves and others like them. By making a competition out of a fitness/nutrition/healthy lifestyle program, Lechner and Geiselman are hoping to raise money for the American Diabetes Association.
twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com have pledged $2 to the ADA for each pound the two shed during the duration of the contest. All involved are hoping you will join the team.

You can follow the progress weekly in the Kokomo Perspective, and look for updates here, as well. In the meantime, if you wish to become involved by pledging a donation, call Steve Geiselman at the Perspective at 452-0055, or contact him by email at sports@kokomoperspective.com.

Run For The Roses

2009-04-30T18:28:00.000-07:00

MORE PERSPECTIVE FROM VETERAN SPORTS HANDICAPPER, BARRY DeMANN. THIS TIME CONCERNING "THE RUN FOR THE ROSES". EDITOR'S NOTE(WHO RAN IN THE '96 DERBY, BY THE WAY): BARRY DeMANN'S VIEWS AND COMMENTARIES DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEWS OF OPINIONS OF THE TFG'S. ALL CONTENT IS TO BE VIEWED AS "NEWS MATTER ONLY" AND DOES NOT ENCOURAGE OR ENDORSE SPORTS SPECULATION ON ANY LEVEL!

ROSES AND THORNS
(THE HIGHS AND LOWS OF WAGERING ON THE KENTUCKY DERBY)
BY BARRY DeMANN

I GUESS, I'VE LOVED "THE DERBY", EVER SINCE I WAS A KID. THE NAME LUCKY DEBONAIR STUCK IN MY MIND AT AN EARLY AGE.
I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE CALLED THAT BY FRIENDS, BUT HAD TO SETTLE FOR "JACKASS", INSTEAD.

FOR ME, THOUGH, IT WAS NEVER A TRIP TO CHURCHILL DOWNS TO FIGHT THROUGH THE INFIELD OR, TO CATCH A GLANCE OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS. THREE IN A ROOM IS A CROWD, TO ME. I SEE, BUT I DON'T WISH TO BE SEEN. THEREFORE, BARRY DeMANN WILL NEVER ENJOY A MINT JULEP AT THE "TWIN SPIRES" ON DERBY DAY. MY SANCTUARY WAS, AND IS, A SMALL DARKENED ROOM WITH A TELEVISION, A DAILY RACING FORM, AND A 12 PIECE BOX OF FRIED CHICKEN...FOR THE BIG ONE.

I WANTED TO SHARE SOME BRIEF MEMORIES OF "THE GREATEST TWO MINUTES IN SPORTS". NOT JUST WHO FILLED THE WIN, PLACE AND SHOW SLOTS, BUT SOME OF THE JOY AND AGONY THAT CAME WITH THE ALL IMPORTANT DERBY WAGER. I'VE LIVED MANY UPS AND DOWNS, BUT HERE ARE SOME OF THE MOST MEMORABLE.

1979 DERBY - AS A TEENAGER, I GATHERED UP THE NERVE TO VISIT THE LOCAL "BOOK". "BIG HAL" CALLED THE SHOTS, THERE. HE WAS AT FIRST RELUCTANT TO DO BUSINESS WITH THE UNKNOWN KID, BUT EVENTUALLY TOOK MY $50 WAGER ON A HORSE CALLED SHAMGO. SHAMGO WAS THE SON OF SHAM, THE SAME SHAM WHO HAD GAMELY BATTLED SECRETARIAT IN THE TRIPLE CROWN SERIES OF 1973, BUT HAD COME UP SHORT EACH TIME. MY SOURCES HAD TOLD ME THAT SHAM'S REVENGE WAS IN ORDER. SHAMGO TOYED WITH MY NAIVE NATURE BY CHARGING TO AN EARLY LEAD AND HOLDING IT FOR MUCH OF THE RACE. THAT'S WHEN SPECTACULAR BID QUIT FOOLING AROUND. "THE BID" BLEW PAST THE FIELD AND SENT SHAMGO TO THE BACK OF THE PACK. A CHUCKLING, BIG HAL, SENT ME TO THE EXIT.

I SPENT THE EVENING DETERMINING WHICH OF MY EIGHT TRACK TAPES WOULD HAVE TO BE SOLD TO RECOUP, MY LOSSES. THE DERBY DIDN'T SEEM SO GLAMOUROUS WHEN I HAD TO PART WITH FIREFALL'S ELAN, STEVE MILLER'S GREATEST HITS, AND ZEPPELIN'S PHYSICAL GRAFFITI.

YEAH, BARRY DeMANN WAS DOWN....BUT NOT OUT.

1985 DERBY - BIG HAL HAD BEEN PUT OUT TO PASTURE. A CHARACTER SIMPLY KNOWN AS "FALSTAFF" HAD TAKEN OVER THE OPERATION. I COULD NEVER GET AN ANSWER AS TO WHETHER HE WAS NAMED FOR THE BEER OR THE HORSE, BUT I LIKED FALSTAFF...HE HAD A HEART. BUT, HE DIDN'T MIND TAKING YOUR MONEY. HE SCOFFED AS I LAID DOWN MY 50 AND 50 WAGER ON SPEND A BUCK, A HORSE I HAD SELECTED, NOT FOR HIS PEDIGREE, BUT BECAUSE HE SHARED THE NAME OF "BUCK" WITH MY BELOVED FATHER. FALSTAFF CAUTIONED ME THAT CHIEF'S CROWN WAS THE BEST HORSE TO ENTER THIS RACE SINCE SEATTLE SLEW...BUT I BARELY HEARD HIM. YES, THIS WAS GOING TO BE SPEND A BUCK'S DAY.

AND IT WAS.

SPEND A BUCK WIRED THE FIELD IN DOMINANT FASHION. MY $100 WAGER HAD TURNED INTO OVER $700. AS FALSTAFF COUNTED OUT MY WINNINGS, I FELT LIKE I HAD WON ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD....SPEND A BUCK HAD DONE IT, BUT EVENTUALLY, THE "BUCK" NAME WOULD TIME AND TIME AGAIN, SPOIL MY DAYS AT THE TRACK. WAGERS ON ANY OTHER HORSE WITH "BUCK" IN THE NAME ALWAYS LED TO HEARTACHE AND SORROW....MUCH AS I HAD PROBABLY DONE TO THE REAL "BUCK"...THROUGH THE YEARS.

1987 DERBY - DEMON'S BEGONE WAS THIS YEAR'S CAN'T MISS HORSE. AS FALSTAFF POINTED OUT..."PAT DAY'S BEEN GEARING UP FOR THIS ONE, BETTER GET YOUR MONEY ON HIM". I PREFERRED ALYSHEBA, THE SON OF THE GREAT ALYDAR ON THIS DAY. ALYSHEBA DIDN'T DISAPPOINT. AFTER STUMBLING AT THE TURN, ALYSHEBA, HAD THE HEART TO RUN DOWN A GAME BET TWICE TO GET THE MONEY. MY WAGERS, EVER GRADUATING, HAD RISEN TO $100 ACROSS THE BOARD. THE $300 BET TURNED INTO $1600.

BUT IT DIDN'T MATTER. AFTER THE CELEBRATION AND A SPUR OF THE MOMENT FLIGHT TO THE BAHAMAS...THE MONEY WAS GONE AND THEN SOME. SURE I ENDED UP WITH ONE OF THE BIGGEST CONCH SHELLS IN NORTH AMERICA, AND AN UNBELIEVABLE BOUT OF DIARRHEA, BUT LITTLE ELSE.

1991 DERBY - THIS YEAR'S DERBY FOUND ME IN VEGAS. A BUSINESS DESTINATION 300 MILES AWAY PROVIDED ENOUGH RATIONALIZATION TO DETOUR TO "SIN CITY" FOR A 72 HOUR MARATHON. MY FOCUS WAS ON OTHER MATTERS LIKE WHAT A "LIVE DOG", INDIANS PITCHER GREG SWINDELL WAS, OR WHAT KIND OF IDIOT BETS ON THE USFL'S ORLANDO THUNDER WHEN QUARTERBACK KERWIN BELL, SUCKED SO BADLY. DERBY DAY WAS A RELIEF. I WAS ABLE TO QUIT WORRYING THAT I HADN'T SLEPT FOR TWO DAYS AND GET FOCUSED. HANSEL AND BEST PAL DREW THE ATTENTION, BUT NICK ZITO'S STRIKE THE GOLD
CAUGHT MINE. A BRILLIANT RIDE BY THE LATE CHRIS ANTLEY, BROUGHT STRIKE THE GOLD FROM THE BACK OF THE PACK TO THE LEAD IN DEEP STRETCH. MY BELLOWING OF, "COME ON, STRIKE THE GOLD!!!" SEEMED TO SHAKE THE BARBARY COAST SPORTS BOOK. ALMOST AS MUCH AS WHEN I DASHED TO THE WINDOW TO COLLECT MY $2400, WITH THE WIN.

IT MATTERED LITTLE. A MERE TWO WEEKS LATER, STRIKE THE GOLD STUNK UP THE TRACK IN THE PREAKNESS. HANSEL SEEMED TO BE LAUGHING AT ME AS HE HIT THE WIRE...LEAVING ME WITH ONLY MY $800 DOLLARS WORTH OF TICKETS WADDED UP IN MY HAND, AND FEELING LIKE IT HAD BEEN TEN YEARS SINCE I HAD "STRUCK GOLD" IN VEGAS.

1996 DERBY - UNBRIDLED SONG WAS THE HORSE TO BEAT, BUT MY SELECTION WAS BOB BAFFERT'S CAVONNIER. MY CONFIDENCE WAS HIGH ENOUGH THAT I WOULD MAKE THE BIGGEST HORSE WAGER OF MY LIFE....PUTTING $1000 BUCKS ON CAVONNIER'S NOSE. MY ADRENALINE WAS PUMPING WHEN MIKE SMITH BLEW THE WAD OF UNBRIDLED SONG TOO EARLY. AS CAVONNIER PASSED HIM IN THE STRETCH, I WAS EUPHORIC! JUST LIKE RIDER CRAIG MCCARRON, THOUGH, I DIDN'T SEE JERRY BAILEY AND GRINDSTONE COMING. EVERYTHING WAS A BLUR AS BOTH HORSES HIT THE WIRE. A PHOTO REVIEW SEEMED LIKE IT LASTED FOR AN HOUR, BUT I DIDN'T NEED TO SEE THE PICTURE. CAVONNIER HAD BEEN CLIPPED, AND I KNEW IT.

THE RACE TOOK EVERYTHING OUT OF ME. FALSTAFF TRIED TO OFFER CONSOLATION...BUT ALL I ASKED FOR WAS PERMISSION TO GO TO SLEEP, RIGHT THERE IN THE CHAIR OF HIS BACK ROOM DIVE. I'D BEEN BEATEN DOWN LIKE ON OLD RUG ON A CLOTHES LINE.

THAT '96 RACE CHANGED A LOT FOR ME.

NOW A FAMILY MAN, THE DAYS OF THE BIG DERBY BET SEEMED FOOLISH. HOWEVER, I CONTINUE TO BE ENJOY THE RACE EVERY YEAR WITH A SIMPLE $5 EXACTA BOX PLAY. (2003'S FUNNY CIDE/EMPIRE MAKER GOT ME BACK ALMOST $250).

I STILL LOVE THE RACE. BUT, I REALIZE IT'S NOT THE MONEY, IT'S THE THRILL OF THE ACTION.

I'VE WON AND LOST AT EVERY TYPE OF SPORTS ACTION. SUPER BOWLS, BOXING MATCHES, THE NBA FINALS...THEY ALL FALL SHORT OF HORSE RACING FOR EXCITEMENT. WHETHER IT'S WATCHING YOUR HORSE SPLIT THE FIELD, IN THE STRETCH TO GET THE WIN..... OR BEGGING FOR THE WIRE AS YOUR HORSE IS LEADING, BUT RUNNING OUT OF GAS.....THE ONE TO TWO MINUTES OF ACTION IN A RACE CAN'T BE BEAT.

FEEL THE RUSH IN SATURDAY'S 135TH RUNNING OF "THE RUN FOR THE ROSES".

SATURDAY'S ABSOLUTELY FREE SELECTION: $2 BOXED EXACTA ON ADVICE AND FRIESAN FIRE SHOULD SET YOU FREE.

BARRY DeMANN

DotDot.Fat

2009-03-06T12:22:00.000-08:00

Hopefully you've taken the time to look at The Two Fat Guys Top 99 Indiana High School Boys Basketball Players. This list is taking only the players high school careers into consideration. That's pretty obvious when you look at the first name on the list -- Greg Oden. He played only one year of college ball and so far has logged only slightly more NBA minutes than I have.

Keeping this criteria in mind, you might wonder why Larry Bird is listed at #15. So do I. I have read every Indiana newpaper sports section from 1974, and not one of them mentions anything about this skinny Bird kid from French Lick being one of Hoosier Hysteria's all time greats. True he was an Indiana All Star and was recruited by Bob Knight to play at IU during their absolute zenith. But c'mon.

You also might be wondering why I'm calling out The Two Fat Guys when I'm actually on the team. That's how we roll. Between Phil, Denny, and me there is a lot of arguing, compromise, and give and take. There's also some occasional name calling. But that's the fun of it. We like each other to varying degrees and have known each other for longer than any of us care to remember.

I came on board after the tubby twosome already had the Top 2009 songs list made up. From what I've been told, they started working on it in 1988. They didn't agree on a lot of the songs, but again, that is what makes this venture worthwhile. If we agreed on everything, what fun would that be?

Speaking of IHSAA basketball, it's tourney time!!!

Yeah, me too. Who really cares? I'm starting to get the feeling that Class Basketball might stick around. There's just no comparison to the old days when you waited anxiously for the big bracket that took up a full page in the paper and came complete (at least in the Kokomo Tribune) with that goofy looking kid with a Coke Bottle cap impaled onto the crown of his head.

I loved filling out those brackets, even tho the hometown Wildkats usually took it on the chin in the afternoon game of the regional. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear Tom Carnegie and Tony Hinkle talking above the crowd's din at Butler Fieldhouse giving us the starting lineups for the championship game.

If that makes me an old fogie living in the past, so be it. At least I'm not fat.

Til Next Time
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PHAT FAT FACT: The American Medical Association is starting a campaign to take obesity more seriously. Currently, only one out of five obese persons actually have an "Obesity" diagnosis recorded in their medical record.

PHATTER FAT FACT: The other four have a medical diagnosis of either "Lard Ass" or "Chub Chaser".

Let Me See...

2009-03-04T18:53:00.000-08:00

The Fat Guys have tough decisions to make every day. Things like what time to get up(since they don't work), what's for breakfast, what's for midmorning snack, what's for late-mid morning snack, what's for lunch... you get the idea. While some of these decisions may be perplexing to us, others have had to make much tougher decisions, and they haven't always exactly worked out. Here are ten examples:

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight…”

CEO of Coca Cola: "Let me see if I've got this straight...you want to take the most commercially successful soft drink product with the greatest name recognition in the retail world and completely change the formula? Sounds good to me!"

Landlord of Lee Harvey Oswald, transporting him to work at the Texas School Book Depository on November 22, 1963: "Let me see if I've got this straight...You've got curtain rods in that brown paper package, and you're taking them with you to work today at the warehouse, where you will have absolutely no use for them at all? OK, get in!"

DECCA Records A&R Department Head to The Beatles manager after audition: "Let me see if I've got this straight...Two guitars, an electric bass, and a drum...That's it? And that hair!   Sorry, I don't think so.”

San Diego Chargers Draft War Room, 1998: "Let me see if I've got this straight...Fred Taylor, Randy Moss, and Hines Ward are available, but you guys just have a gut feeling about this Ryan Leaf kid?   Let’s do it.”

Marketing director of M&M Mars - to the producers of, E.T. The Extraterrestrial: "Let me see if I've got this straight...you want a product placement of M &M’s in a movie about a three foot tall alien who only wants to get back home? We’ll Pass”

McDonalds Product Development Team:   "Let me see if I've got this straight...we’ve got $100M set aside to develop a new product and you want to try a low fat burger made of seaweed extract and call it a McLean Deluxe?...A Healthy Burger? Let’s get started, I don’t see how it can miss.”

Richard Nixon to Chief Advisors: "Let me see if I've got this straight...we’ve got the re-nomination sewed up, and there isn’t a viable Democrat to possibly challenge us in November, but you want to go ahead and bug the Democratic National Headquarters? Ah, what could it hurt”?

Red Sox Manager John McNamara; Game 6, 1986 World Series: “Let me see if I’ve got this straight…we’re three outs away from winning the World Series and you want me to put defensive replacement Dave Stapleton in for Billy Buckner to protect our 2-run lead, just because Buckner is hobbled and I’ve done it all year? I won’t do that to Billy Buck or the Red Sox fans”!

Actor Jerry Van Dyke; 1964: “Let me see if I’ve got this straight… You want me to accept the role of Gilligan on a preposterous sounding show like Gilligan’s Island? Thanks, but no thanks! I’m holding out for a show called My Mother the Car, people will be talking about it for the next 50 years”!

Monsanto Executives - inventors of Astroturf in 1964: "Let me see if I’ve got this straight..You want to lay antimicrobial protection, rubber fill-in backing and nylon yarn fibers and put it on top of concrete and play football and baseball on it. No mowing, no lawn maintenance. It sounds too good to be true! We'll put it in every stadium in America".

2009-02-27T12:24:00.000-08:00

I have a very fuzzy, vague memory of The Beatles when they happened. I wasn't even four years old when Ed Sullivan presented them to America in 1964. I do remember some of their later songs at the time of their initial release.

When I was 15, I discovered them for all intents and purposes for the first time. It began with a stack of dusty albums from my aunt Mary's attic. Even though the Beatles had split up just five years earlier, and the Sullivan debut was merely a decade gone by, it seemed as though I had found a treasure that was as ancient as King Tut's Tomb.

This sparked in me an obsession that lasted well into my 20's, and even though the fanaticism has waned somewhat, in many ways continues to this very day.

I discovered the fab four for a second time in the early 90's when their music was finally released on CD. The clarity of the sound coming out of the CD player, compared to the scratchy noise from well worn vinyl made it seem like I was listening to their music for the first time.

The other day, I finally joined the 21st Century and got all of their albums downladed onto the ipod my kids got me for Christmas. I had unearthed the Holy Grail for the third time in my life.

And for the third time, I have come to the same conclusion -- The Beatles were pretty good. Actually more than just pretty good. In my opinion, the only one that really counts, they are better at what they did than anybody else in history was at whatever it was they did. Get it?

The distance between The Beatles and the #2 musical act, who ever that might be (as if it really matters) is greater than that between, say, the best baseball player and #2 in that sport. Or between Albert Einstein and the #2 physicist, ect, etc, ad infinitum.

When it comes to music, The Beatles have lapped the fields so many times, it's not even a contest anymore.

And that, my friend, is pretty good.

'til next time

PHAT FAT FACT: Consuming more calories than you burn leads to being overweight and, eventually, obesity. The body stores unused calories as fat. Obesity can be the result of:

- Eating more food than the body can use

- Drinking too much alcohol

- Not getting enough exercise

PHATTER FAT FACT: Phil and Denny aren't taking any chances. They do all three, just to be safe.

DotDot.Fat

2009-02-13T12:26:00.000-08:00

Hi! Last week, one of our devoted readers commented on our seldom-used Message Board that NTD’s dotdot.fat blog appeared to have been thrown together at the last minute and was basically a waste of time. I have had almost a whole week to think about this, and now I’ve got something to say about both of these accusations.

1) It most certainly was not written at the very last minute. The new stuff each week gets posted around 9:00 PM Friday night. That particular blog was completed & proof-read several minutes before 9:00. The very thought that NTD would display such blatant unprofessionalism is galling to say the least.

2) A waste of time? Of course it was a waste of time. That’s the point of twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com. As a matter of fact, isn’t that the point of most every website? Isn’t that the point of the internet, period? Heck, for that matter, isn’t that the point of life itself?

OK, maybe life itself is a shade more substantive than “a waste of time”, but you get the drift. It all kinda goes back to the point I was trying to make a couple of weeks ago (back when I used to get my blogs done really early, like by 8:30) when I told you all to not take every little thing like the very survival of the human race hung in the balance.

There’s a very good reason this junk is called trivia: It’s trivial. I read somewhere once that in order for a body to be good at something, two conditions must co-exist:

You have to be smart enough to understand it; and

You have to be dumb enough to believe it really matters

Understand?

Till next time

_____________________________________

PHAT FAT FACT: There are two accepted methods for measuring body fat –

1) Skin Fold Thickness Measurement; and 2) Biometrical Impedance Analysis

PHATTER FAT FACT: Phil and Denny both prefer the first method. You can use the Skin Fold Thickness Measurement without getting up from the table.

BONUS PHATNESS: An imaginary $500, plus the right to name next week’s song of the week to the first reply on the message board that identifies the title of an (obscure) early Beatles song in the text of this blog.

DotDot.Fat

2009-02-06T12:28:00.000-08:00

Why the past? I mean basically this whole Two Fat Guys thing is based on stuff that's already happened. Now that you know that there are really three of us thinking up this crap, you might as well know also that none of us particularly likes what is happening these days, and we're all scared to death of the future. So what does that leave?

The past.

A lot of neat stuff happened in the past. In fact, just about every great event that has ever taken place happened in the past. Just kidding.

But really, when you think about it, especially in the realm twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com occupies (sports, music, movies), there isn't a lot going on these days that is really any good.

Most of the movies coming out these days suck. Sports has become less and less about the games and more and more about the money. And don't even get me started about what passes for music anymore.

Here's what I mean in a nutshell:

SPORTS: Walter Payton vs. Terrell Owens?

MOVIES: The Godfather vs. I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Larry?

TV: The Andy Griffith Show vs. The Bachelor?

MUSIC: The Beatles vs. The Jonas Brothers?

Need I go on? Because I can go on all night if I need to.

Actually, I can't. See, as soon as I finish downloading The Dave Clark Five's greatest hits on my ipod, I've got all 113 episodes of Gilligan's Island TiVo'ed and ready to watch.

Til next time...
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PHAT FAT FACT: In Biblical times a "talent" was a weight measure equal to 75 pounds.

PHATTER FAT FACT: Between Phil and Denny, 550 pounds is pretty much equal to no talent.

Laugh...Please

2009-01-30T12:28:00.000-08:00

I want to tell you a story about Pammy. Before I do though, you should know that before Nothing to Do had nothing to do, I was a Qualified Mental Health Professional. Pammy, you see, was one of many who need the services of a QMHP.

Pammy was born a long time ago and never got to experience the joys of what we call today in our school system “Special Ed”. Back when Pammy was in school, if your peg didn’t fit neatly into the slot designed for the “normal” student, you weren’t labeled Special Ed; you were labeled one of three things: Idiot, Moron, or Imbecile. (I’m not kidding about this). Pammy’s peg didn’t fit.

Years later, at the Qualified Mental Health Professional place, Pammy asked me what was wrong with her. In my most compassionate tone, I informed her that she had an illness called schizophrenia. She seemed to take this OK.

Apparently, after having had a few minutes to think about it, she changed her mind. By the time she got home, she wasn’t taking it well at all and called to let me know just that.

“I just want you to know that I am not schizophrenic. I’m a Moron, and I expect to be treated like one!” Then she hung up.

Why am I telling you this? Just one reason – LAUGH.

Is schizophrenia, or a person who has schizophrenia, funny? Of course not. But life is funny, and if you can’t laugh at the every day stuff, then you’re headed for trouble my friend.

There are a few occurrences in the human experience that you can’t wrap a good chuckle around. I don’t need to go into it, I’m sure you know what they are. But the fact is funny things happen everywhere, even at funerals sometimes, I suppose.

The bottom line is: The biggest downer of all is running into someone who can’t help but take everything seriously. I know two Fat Guys who not only don’t take everything too seriously, they’re trying like heck to get a website off the ground that takes the trivial junk all around us and brings it front and center.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

Until next time…

______________________________________

PHAT FAT FACT: Here’s a way to find out if you’re obese:

(1.2 X Body Mass Index) + (0.23 X your age) – 5.4 – (10.8 X gender)

GENDER: 1 for male; 0 for female

If the answer is > 33 (male), you’re obese.

PHATTER FAT FACT : There’s an easier way. Try on one of Denny’s shirts. If it fits, you need to go on a diet.

DotDot.Fat

2009-01-23T12:30:00.000-08:00

I'm back! Either Phil and Denny were too busy eating for the past week and never read Volume 1, Issue 1 of the NTD blog; or their dislike wasn't quite strong enough to prompt an immediate cease and desist order. Either way, with all that in mind, here goes...

I have been hearing rumblings lately from the tubby twosome that somewhere there is someone who is thinking of putting them on the radio for a regular gig. My first thought in that regard is that they certainly have faces suited for it. My second thought is that, while I don't have an over abundance of experience on the airwaves, I believe it originates from someplace called a "booth". This might present a problem. When I think of a booth, I think of either Steak n' Shake or a phone booth (when was the last time anybody saw a phone booth?), neither of which is conducive to hosting 550 pounds of jovial jubilation. Oh, well.

In just a little over three months, twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com has been checked out by close to 35,000 pairs of eyes.(assuming there are no Cyclops who count themselves among our faithful) That's pretty darn good, but apparently not good enough. Every Saturday afternoon, Phil & Denny order a six-foot sub and then sit down to have a web site business meeting. The sandwich usually lasts longer than the meeting, but I have overheard them say (I don't get invited to the meetings) that they wish the message board would become a bit more active. If you are a regular visitor, a first timer, or like most people just got here by mistake, jump in and say "hi". Let 'em know you care.

Did you know that the word "fat" is actually one of the most versatile words in our language? It can be used as a noun, verb, adverb, and adjective...there are only 16 such words in the English tongue. I myself could only think of two others -- "snow" and "poop". Fat has also been adapted as an idiom (fat chance or chew the fat, etc.). It's even been modified as a current slang term for something great or impressive, as in "That fat guy is really phat!"

Before I close and go back to what I do best, nothing, let's go back to the message board for a minute. Supposing Phil and Denny really do get their radio show, what would be a good name for the show? (Please, not twofatguyswithnothingtodo! That's too easy.) Submit your idea to the message board and at the very least get your name mentioned here next week. I can't promise that they'll really call it that (the last time they followed one of my suggestions it involved an ex-cheerleader, a swiss army knife, and a potato), but you never know...

_________________________________________

PHAT FAT FACT: Phil's favorite movie is The Untouchables. Robert

DeNiro purposely gained 45 pounds in order to look more like Al Capone in

his portrayal.

PHATTER FAT FACT: Every time he puts on another 45 pounds, Phil celebrates by watching

it again. Since 2006, he's seen it five times.

Till next time....

Nothing To Do

DotDot.Fat

2009-01-16T12:30:00.000-08:00

Iʼm not one of The Fat Guys, but I know them pretty well. Weʼve been doing this web site thing for going on four months now, and Iʼm still trying to get a bite in edgewise.

I want to accomplish two objectives with this blog that hopefully will become a regular feature on twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com. If you havenʼt pieced it together by now, Iʼm Nothing to Do, but my friends call me NTD. I like to be on a first initial basis with those closest to me.

My first goal is to just get the word out there in the blogosphere that being fat doesnʼt have to have the stigma that we Americans have so delightfully attached to it. Secondly, I hope to shut Phil and Denny up about constantly telling me I donʼt contribute anything to the site.

Just in case you have the ability to read but at the same time lack the ability to discern...we love trivia. Yes, we could have started this website as another panegyric to useless information (last count: 3,333,333 such sites). Instead, we hope to take those self same tidbits, give them just a quarter-turn, and presto -- The Twilight Zone of Trivia. Most of the stuff you see on this site is based (in varying degrees of looseness) on fact. What happens to it after that, well it's anybody's guess.

By the way, we have never, we arenʼt now, and we never will make fun of fat people. See, as far as weʼre concerned, being fat isnʼt a physical state, but rather a state of mind. What word almost always comes to mind when you think about a fat person? "Jolly" -- am I right? It is therefore almost incomprehensible to us that , as a recent study of how people dispose of their disposable income pointed out, the third most popular way to get rid of our money is chasing physical fitness. Talk about a trivial pursuit! There are only two things that we blow our extra money on more freely than the quest to get and stay skinny.

Of course, number two on that list is fast food. Think about that for just a minute. Out of every disposable dollar in our pocket, we spent 14 cents of it eating at McDʼs, then turn around and spend the next 12 cents sweating it off! How did it come to this? FYI: The number one expenditure: Porn. Thatʼs blog fodder for another time.
______________________________________

Phat Fat Fact: If you could extract all the fat from the body of the average 200 pound man, then spread that fat out at the thickness of a piece of copier paper, it would cover an area roughly the size of one-half of a one acre field.

Phatter Fat Fact: At exactly 3:47 PM on the day of the Summer Solstice, Dennyʼs shadow covers the other half.

Till next time...

Nothing To Do