My father took me to this place months ago. He was born in the town, only a couple of miles down the two lane road. I had never been to this town before, and I had never known the relatives I was visiting in that cemetery. But one thing stood out to me above all others as we wandered around looking at people that we never knew but with whom we probably share some genes. This was the calmest place I have ever seen.

I know that all cemeteries are meant to be calm, but it is impossible to find such tranquility in the city. In the city, the daily activity that surrounds any place intended for quiet and reflection is bound to seep in. But in this place, the only possible distraction might be a sluggish tractor chugging up the two lane road. More often than not, however, the only sound you hear is the wind among the stalks of corn. This is the ultimate calm, and this is where I want to be buried.

(Click for a link to the original. Props to Marc Topkin at the Heater Blog and Dirk Shadd of the St. Pete Times.)

Now, waking up to a text message from a friend that says “You were a champion last night” does the trick. And while I do not particularly remember much of last night, these friendly congratulations must mean that something splendid happened. Ergo, I am very, very satisfied.

(Upon writing that last sentence, I realized that some folks might misconstrue my love for Tang. While I’m sure that Tang as a derivative of “poontang” is equally as gratifying and probably way better than the kick in a glass, I’m referring to the drink that makes me feel like an astronaut. Thanks to Urban Dictionary for that definition.)

No, friends, I am talking about the greatest invention since sliced bread. Eh, scratch that. You know what? It’s better than sliced bread. Yeah, I said it. Tang is just that good.

It’s a strange thing, the love a man can have for a drink. Some folks are scotch men. Some guys sit back with a chilled bottle of some random imported beer. And there are those (and these really annoy me) who swish their glass of Cabernet Sauvignon under their noses before they take the girliest sip in the world. Me? I drink Tang.

It’s a fruit juice. But it’s not.
It’s orange soda. But it’s not.

No, Tang is more than that. Tang is more than some ordinary prefabricated drink. Tang is a gift from the God Dionysus’ teetotaling younger brother, Neil Armstrong. Tang is what the 1980 US ice hockey team drank between the second and third quarters during their match against the dirty Reds. Tang is what Popeye wishes he had instead of Spinach.

Too bad it wasn’t invented back then.

No, I love my sports teams because they give me an outlet for my emotion. I love my sports teams because, as Humphrey Bogart once said, a hot dog at the ball park is better than a steak at the Ritz. I love my sports teams because they let me forget about the world and lose myself in a vast expanse of competition, if only for three hours.

Folks, baseball season is here. I was never a serious baseball fan until a few years ago. But now, in spite of my love for the worst team in the league, it is here. And, at the beginning of a season, one is incapable of feeling anything but extreme optimism.

So, this is it: this is my post of extreme optimism. I think we will shock the world this year. I think we will leave the mouths of the Fenway faithful agape. I think we will blow away the Bronx Bombers. I say it right here and now. Our pitching will make nothing short of a monumental turnaround and come October, we will still be playing.

Because, after all, you have to have hope, right?

I only write these absurd thoughts because during this upcoming year, when we’re approaching 90 losses, I’d like to be able to look back on this post and remember why I come back. I want to remember that in spite of their lack of talent, the Rays have a whole lot of heart.

This is the day that it all begins.

The Immaculate Reception. The Miracle at the Meadowlands. The Catch. This day led to them all, and just as they are forever immortalized in history, more events like these will sprout from this, the holiest of days.

The Monsters of the Midway. The Purple People Eaters. The Orange Crush. They all evolved as bastard offspring of this day, fathered by fury and nurtured by will.

Broadway Joe. Crazy Legs. Boomer. They all drove down the field, spurred on by the idea that one day in history can make immortals out of men.

Today is the first day of football.

Up until a week ago, I wouldn’t watch MTV if my life depended on it. I felt that it would make my brain rot into a casserole of knowledge that once was. However, as an ordinary teenager in the United States, I have learned to embrace the inanity of it all and settle for a mediocre intellectual existence.

That said, brace yourself for the opinion that may encourage you to close your browser and never read my ramblings again:

The “Andy Milonakis Show”:http://www.mtv.com/onair/andy_milonakis/ on MTV is the best show on basic cable today.

I know – it’s a radical view. But this guy throws the best random and in-your-face humor fight at you and you are forced to keep up with his outrageous antics or get left behind in the dust of pure genius. Unfortunately, a majority of the world is so closed minded that the art behind the scripting of the Andy Milonakis Show is lost behind immature cries for more mind numbing filth like “Date My Mom”:http://www.mtv.com/onair/dyn/date_my_mom/series.jhtml or “Room Raiders”:http://www.mtv.com/onair/dyn/room_raiders/series.jhtml and is therefore destined to die a pretty quick death.

Those ignorant fools.

Dude, do you know how many good looking girls go to school in Palm Harbor? Everywhere you look, there is a fine example of a prime piece of beauty. I think it’s primarily a product of two things: the location of my school and my general teenage hormonal activity. The former means that chicks at my school can afford to pretty themselves up. The latter references my low, low standards – but you already knew that.

Anyhow, thus begins Summer of 2005: months without unlimited eye candy.

At the beginning of last summer, I weighed about 175 pounds.
At the commencement of school in August, I weighed about 155 pounds.
At the beginning of Lent, I weighed about 149 pounds.
At the present moment, I weigh 143 pounds.

Life is good.