while Wachovia folds

So, what do you think about when your bank is about to fold?

Oddly, the dramatic passing of a kidney stone has been on my mind all morning. Have you had the pleasure? It's the closest thing to a male giving birth is what my oh so sensitive doctor told me at the time. Yes, the doctor was a male, so with you I ask...how the frig did he know?

Okay, your hero got up on a sub-zero, January morning in beautiful (in the summer) Belfast, Maine. It was a little before 5:00 AM. My job at the time involved shipping and receiving lobsters. This was in the late seventies, so there are a lot of variables in this story that some of you younger folks might not have a grasp on. For starters, getting up would be a tad euphemistic. I hadn't slept and had been imbibing heavily, smoking ganj and doing (as we called it then) an occasional bump of "toot" to get me through the night.

Now Belfast is a brick town that rolls down Main Street into the harbor. I lived at the corner of Main and High Streets, above the Belfast Cafe (hippy bar du jour) and across the street from Weaver's Dounut Shop...the locals bastion of sanity, where we "flatlanders" could mix with the natives. To navigate down the hill to lobster land, I required a large cup of Weaver's joe, black and hot. It had to be hot, because within forty steps the local weather started to sap the heat out of anything outside. That morning, like so many others my hangover (or, was I still drunk?) led me down the street, where I was to start sorting orders of hommerus Americanus for shipment around the nation and to spots in Europe. The salt air froze my moustache as I carried my many layered self down the dark road, the nasal hairs stiffened up while numbness worked its way from my extremities back to the core. My back always hurt, but that day it seemed to hurt a bit more.

Fumbling with the keys I let my self into the noisy, damp poorly lit building that housed thousands of pound of "bugs" that needed to be prepared for shipping. I was the first one there, and started the Joe DiMaggio coffee maker. The sound of the pumps was playing like Ginger Baker in my head. When the lights came on they revealed a soaked floor, levels of tanks filled with lobsters and crates piled randomly around the depressing workplace. I vaguely remember my back tweaking a little more than usual.

As the aroma from the Joe D machine started to meld with the rotting seafood pungency I headed to the crapper for a morning squirt.

The inside of the bathroom was unique in a couple of ways. There was a full length mirror in what could be the least needed place on earth. There was also and amazing rendition of the last supper hanging above the toilet. It was a montage done by my pal and co-worker Leo, an artist of wonderfully zany talent.

My back was really hurting as I unbuttoned my Levi's. I looked over at the mirror and there stood a real life action figure of a lobster shipper. Steel-toed rubber boots up to the knees of my salt-encrusted jeans. Flannel shirt over a waffled long underwear top and a down vest held together with half a roll of duct tape. On the top of my head was a fitted Cleveland Indians ball cap. My giant moustache drooped in a manner that exuded pain. I longed for a brace of percocets, or even a handful of codeine with Tylonol # 3.

I then turned my eyes to the last supper. Jesus also had an Indians hat on, and he had a Budweiser in front of him. One of the other guests was sporting full Sioux-Ogala headdress , and another wore an international orange hard hat. There were plates of oysters on the table, hamburgers and condiments were there, and there were large plates of chicken wings spread around for easy access. Of course, there were plates of steamed lobsters piled high and next to them were old school finger-bowls for cleaning up after the feast. All of these treats were being served by women who were dressed like Hooter's waitresses...but they didn't have all their teeth. I found something new in that painting every time I took a leak. I always hoped Waldo would show up.

Speaking of that I had started to pee...oddly, nothing was coming out of my penis. The pain was building and I sort of felt like there was going to be an explosion down there. And then there was! The next thing I knew I was on the floor spraying pee around the tiny bathroom. The pain was now excruciating. And then there was a spreading of relief in my back that was better than a narcotic experience. After a few minutes I stood, with my hands on the walls, and looked into the toilet bowl. My eyes were still good then, and it seemed like there was a tiny Siamese fighting fish in the bowl with a pinkish, diaphanous tail.

I buttoned up and headed to the office to sit down. Hours later my doctor confirmed that I had "probably" passed a kidney stone.

I'm more mature now...the bank going out of business can't hurt that much. Somebody will buy it, right?

The Mets have left their fans at the altar two years in a row. On the last day of the season! They need to find some relievers. It's funny, talk radio can not condemn Reyes, Beltran and Wright (the new Axis of Evil) enough. Look at their numbers, they'll work for this Indians fan. Any scrutiny of the bullpen, well, it just plain sucks.

Someone asked how long you had to live in northern California to drop your affiliation with the Rangers and become a Sharks fan. That's a tough question...it's either never or two hundred years...whatever comes first.

Here's the political news for today. One canidate said something shitty about another one. Then they did it again.

Maybe I should get my Wachovia assets and put it on the Ravens tonight...later, biff

biffinfo

Karen stunned me today when I asked her to tell me the five states that have produced the most NFL players. Her sports knowledge has put a lot of juice in our relationship for a long time. (I took a serious double-take years ago when Barry Bonds was making his debut fir the Pirates on TV at the Waterfront restaurant. She asked, "Could that be Bobby Bonds son?") Answer, from the Boston Globe, below.

So, I hope you all invested in Curlin yesterday. Last year's horse of the year slogged through the mud with with Wanderin' Boy nipping at his heels. All right, he only paid $2.80, but with the banking/market situation being what it is a forty per-cent profit in a couple of minutes isn't too bad. Curlin's connections seem like they're trying to avoid Big Brown at the Breeder's Cup, but kudos to them for racing this horse well into his fourth year. We'll see, but if the showdown takes place...my inclination would be to drop a bob or two on Curlin.

College football was nuts this week, 'Bama's rout of Georgia closed it out perfectly. USC's defeat (Thursday) puts them in a tough spot...they'll probably have to run the table to get back into the championship game. When the rankings come out later today Oklahoma will be number one followed in no particular order by Texas, Alabama and Missouri. There are already going to be be a boat load of one loss teams in the top twenty-five. UCONN's (5-0) Donald Brown, leading the nation in rushing after five games could be as big a surprise as any of the aforementioned.

Have you seen the Deadliest Catch? It's this reality show about crab fisherman in the Bering Sea, on the history channel. Crazy stuff, icy pitching boats trying to harvest the many legged delicacy for markets all over the world. I'm ashamed to admit that I've watched more than a few episodes. The crewmen are typical of the hard working hard partying men attracted to these kinds of jobs. I knew many of their ilk when I lived in Maine and was in the lobster shipping business. These guys have round table discussions hashing over their work while main-lining draught beer, cigarettes and maybe a few other brain-cell altering substances; you know, letting us in on the "life." Just remember, a vote for McCain puts the wife of one of those guys a heartbeat away from running the country. Mr Palin is one of these guys. When the First Dude's boys show up on the weekends in the winter the grounds around 1600 are going to take a beating from their snow machines. I think McCain's staff hired Tina Fey to play this woman in order to offset his charming personality. Has anyone seen Palin and Fey in the same room? No offense, but after the last eight years I'd like to have a president who's at least as smart as we are. By the way, the timing of this bail-out of the "economy" wouldn't have anything to do with the election...nah.

Looks like I'm going to have to dump the Hotspurs scarf I'm sporting at the top of the page. They spent a gazillion bucks and can't win a game. They'll be lucky to still be in the Premiership at the end of the season. Today's match in Milan (Inter v AC) will be close...you can double your money by betting on a draw.

The Red Sox will not beat the Angels. Can the Mets screw it up again? Tampa Bay would be a wonderful World Series winner...if only because they're excuse for a stadium is just a few miles from the cortex of the Yankees brain trust. Hank and Hal Steinbrenner show none of the business acumen that the old man (George) had when he was building his latest string of play-off appearing teams in NY. My favorite ending to the baseball season would be Manny hitting one over the Green Monster off Pap to lock it up for the Dodgers and Joe Torre. Girardi (the other Joe in NYC) started showing why he had such a brief tenure while winning with the Marlins. His relationships with the press, Cashman (Yankee GM) and his players are starting to sour like milk on the beach.

Looking for a good read? Non-fiction, THE MYSTERIOUS MONTAGUE, Leigh Montville. Golf scammer deluxe whose checkered past catches up with him in Hollywood in the 1930's. He was sort of like a true life Jackie Gleason in the HUSTLER. Fiction, A GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE TO GRACEFUL LIVING, Michael Dahlie. A novel of manners about a sad-sack blue blood trying to overcome a lifetime of insecurities. He's so inept at life's small details his gobs of money are useless.

The five football states: (in order) California, Florida, Texas, Ohio and Georgia. Alas, she didn't get them in the correct order.

Take the Ravens and the six Monday night...biff