The human brain is an amazing thing. Last night, reading one simple baseball tweet set off a string of randomly linear thoughts that led me to ask a not-so-simple question.

At 11:17pm last night, Joe Posnanski tweeted “Kyle Davies gave up five runs in six innings. His ERA went down.” Reading that tweet got me changing the channel to the Royals game. The Royals were playing the Tigers, which got me to thinking about Detroit, which led to thoughts about Joe Louis, who fought Max Schmeling, who was a pawn of Adolph Hitler’s Nazi propaganda. We all know the simplified history of how Hitler trumpeted the virtues of the Aryan Nation while he, himself, was not Aryan. Well, is Michelle Bachmann doing anything different? She preaches that women should submit to their husbands, who should be the heads of the households, but she is running to be the leader of this country. According to her own principles, how can she lead the country if she cannot lead her own family? Then again, Donovan McNabb often professed how he was the leader of the Eagles, yet his parents and brother did more speaking out for him than he did himself. Of course, I started thinking about the McNabb/TO drama in Philly. When you think about it, TO final season in Philly wasn’t all that different from Jim Riggleman’s last year in DC, was it? I know one of the things that pissed Riggleman off was knowing that he was the lowest paid manager in the majors, yet his management spent $18million a year for 6 years on a guy who never drove in 100 runs, and in his 3 years as a starter seen his batting average with runners in scoring position go from .274 (.268 with 2 outs) in 2008 to .186 (.139 with 2 outs) in 2010 despite hitting 5th in the best offense in the National League. In that way, Jayson Werth reminds me of Mark Texiera. They both put up good numbers—Tex’s numbers are borderline great—but they always seem to be inconsequential to their teams’ success. Texiera does, however, share the record for the most times homering from both sides of the plate in a Major League game. I’ve never seen a player do that in person, but I had to get on the internet to look up Danny Espinosa. He’s a switch-hitter and I’ve twice seen him hit 2 homeruns in a game (the first time, both came left-handed; the second time, both were right-handed). Danny Espinosa is from Santa Ana, the same town where Matt Leinart is from. Who can think about Matt Leinart without thinking of Vince Young and Jay Cutler? Those two obviously bring Nashville to mind. Nashville is in Tennessee, which is where Memphis is. Thoughts of Memphis reminded me of Toya’s conversation with Chill on The Morning Jones. Chill is from Miami, where LeBron plays. LeBron brings to mind Delonte West who leads to Michael Beasley, who plays in Minnesota. I wonder if Beasley has anyone in his life who really cares about him and will help him get his life together. I wondered the same thing about Eddie Griffin, who also played in Minnesota. Griffin was never able to overcome his demons. I hope recent events do not keep Josh Hamilton from continuing to overcome his. I do wonder, though, why everyone feels sorry for Josh Hamilton right now while Darryl Strawberry only faced ridicule and scorn when he relapsed into drug usage while undergoing cancer treatment. Whenever I think of Strawberry, I think back to the 1999 World Series and how I will always believe the Braves lost that series because Greg Maddux was afraid to pitch to him in the 8th inning of Game 1. Greg’s brother, Mike pitched for the Phillies. Philadelphia teams always have the wrong brother. Dom DiMaggio, Jeremy Giambi, and Harvey Grant are a few examples. Harvey Grant was brought to the Sixers to motivate Tim Thomas. Tim Thomas was foolishly brought to Philly by Larry Brown, who always fought with Allen Iverson, who tried to be a rapper, but wasn’t as successful at it as Shaquille O’Neal, who once admitted that the FU-Schnickens were his favorite rap group. Their first single featured Pfife Dog, who was in A Tribe Called Quest, whose documentary opened today. Why isn’t Beats, Rhymes, & Life playing anywhere near our nation’s capital?

A few weeks ago I learned that Chris Rock is performing on Broadway( Of course we went to New York to see it... )

The big change in the NCAA man’s basketball tournament this year is the First Four. I believe I am one of just a small number of people who thought the First Four was a good idea. A lot of people slammed the idea. I heard all the noise, and before the tournament began I stated that the First Four would never have any relevance with fans until the year after one of those teams reached the Sweet Sixteen. When it comes to the NCAA tournament, fans only care about three things: their team, their team’s biggest rival, and their brackets. I think it’s safe to say that Virginia Commonwealth destroyed a few brackets these past two weekends.

First, before any new early rounds can be fully accepted and appreciated by the public, they must start on the Thursday after selection Sunday. This year, the First Four began on Tuesday, about 24 hours after the brackets were released. That’s not enough time for people to fill out brackets and put money into their office pools.

(And if you happen to be one of those people who believes that the NCAA tournament would be a big deal in America without the brackets and pools, then this planet Earth is not quite the place for you. The NCAA must consider the brackets in every change they make to their big moneymaker. And since the NCAA neither benefits from nor runs the bowls, this is Mtheir big moneymaker.)

( It needs to be more than the First Four )

Since the problems at nuclear facilities caused by Friday’s earthquake and tsunami barrage in Japan, television, radio, and the internet have been bombarded with people demonizing nuclear power. I am not here in support of nuclear power—I am neither pro nor con on the issue—but I am here to speak to the idiocy of many of the people who are speaking out.

Among the chief criticisms heard over the past five days is that Japan was supposed to be the most prepared nation for nuclear emergencies. I have also heard cries that the disasters are the result of poor regulation. These techno twits are in no position to speak to this. Not a single one of them can say for certain that poor preparation and poor regulation was the case.

It is only to a very limited extent that someone can prepare for an 8.9 earthquake. Even if you are structurally prepared for that much seismic activity, how can anyone, in preparation, account for hundreds—yes, HUNDREDS—of 5.0+ aftershocks in the 48-72 hours immediately following that 8.9?

The nuclear problems in Japan remind me of a plotline on The West Wing during which a nuclear plant in southern California caused a crisis when a valve failed. Every politician on the show blamed poor regulation for the crisis. How stupid. What does poor regulation have to do with a bad valve? Even if you perform preventive maintenance on a daily basis, you can’t check every valve every day. If you did, there would still be 24 hours during which the valve can fail.

The truth of the matter is that things happen. People know this and accept this in their everyday lives, but are unwilling to do so when it comes to science and technology. This is foolish. Sometimes valves fail. Sometimes a disaster for which there is no proper training or preparation strikes. Sometimes things happen. Not everything can be checked.

Here’s an example for you: the next syringe a diabetic uses to administer his/her insulin has not been tested. The processes by which the syringe and all its parts were made and packaged have been validated, but the syringe itself has not been. Had it been tested, it would have been used and no longer sterile, which means that the patient cannot use it. See?

We are human beings. Our understanding of science and technology is very limited. All we can do is our best. Sometimes our best is not good enough. But that is no cause for the blame game. This whole ordeal is the opposite of 1692—people are persecuted for not being witches who can make things happen. Come on people, get real.

Last night, my wife and I agreed that I am a combination of Seth Bullock (Deadwood), Toby Ziegler (The West Wing), Gregory House (House, M.D.), and Frank Pembleton (Homicide: Life on the Street).

I said she is Jaye Tyler (Wonderfalls), Claudette Wyms (The Shield), and Olivia Dunham (Fringe).

Accurate?

I married into three pets and later inherited one more. I can’t stand them. I can’t stand living with them. They drive me crazy. And all the people who supposedly love me get endless joy from all this. If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d find some new friends, people who would empathize with my plight instead of delighting in my misery.

One of these people, the_ellcrys, has asked me to rank the four pets in order of how much they annoy me. poisontaster urged me to undertake the task, so here I am:

The least annoying of the four pets is the youngest cat, The Dookie Maker (aka The Dookie Girl, Bad Cat, The Mighty Huntress, The Fart Dookie Monster, Dame Dookie, Baby Girl Cat, and The Nimbertarder). There was a time when she was the most annoying. Now she’s the least. Her behavior is no better than it was back then. Her annoying habits include sleeping all day so she can be up all night stalking the other female feline. In her spare time, she sharpens her claws, sleeps on my chest, and head butts me hard enough that I worry about suffering a concussion. But she behaves like a cat, so she’s not always up in my face. And whenever she becomes a behavior problem, I just have to put a nature video on the television. That’ll keep her attention for a couple of hours.

Next is the other female, The Geezer (aka Feezgeezero, Feezgeezergirl, and Big Girl Cat). She spends most of her time hiding and sleeping. But when she comes out, she is a doozy. These times usually coincide with me getting ready for bed or getting out of bed. In the hour before dawn, the cat thinks she’s Zenyatta. She’s not big, but she sounds like a thoroughbred when racing through the house. Another problem is that she can’t stand comfort. If she rests on your lap, she will dig her claws deep into your skin—it doesn’t matter how many layers of clothes you wear. If you pet her, she will inevitably try to take a nip at your hand. Don’t sleep too comfortably or she’ll lie next to you and dig those saber-like claws into your foot. Don’t move too much in your sleep or she’ll think you’re playing a hunting game. And she yowls. For no reason. And she pukes. A lot. I mean a lot lot. But don’t try to place a paper towel under her mouth because she’ll run under a bed or something to finish vomiting. When you visit us, make sure you place the lid on the toilet after you finish using it. Otherwise, she will try to drink from it. If the toilet is closed off to her, she’ll compensate by trying to drink up whatever droplets of water remain in the bathtub totally ignoring the two, completely full water bowls left out for pet usage.

I oscillate between hate and dislike of the male cat, The Dookie Boy (aka Peter, Litter Foot, Insulin Boy, The Fat Boy Cat, and One Tooth). I don’t complain about giving him insulin shots twice a day. That’s just life. But I do complain about what the neuropathy has brought into my life: a cat who can’t scratch over his turds after he drops bombs. And his shit STINKS. No combination of words can adequately describe to you how awful his funk is, so I’ll just tell you that any bomb dropped in the middle of the night will wake poisontaster and I up and inspire one of us to leave the bed and take care of the problem. This same neuropathy means that he can’t feel the litter buildup in his paws. As a result, he tracks it all over the place. Sometimes, it affects his gait, and he shakes his leg. I have found litter granules stuck on a wall more than three feet above the floor. I mentioned his daughter’s yowls, but he has her beat. For no reason. My wife and I have discussed whether or not he even knows he’s doing it. I’m not sure. He also has the annoying habit of lying on whatever you’re looking for. Can’t find the remote control? Bet he’s on it. Hear your cell phone, but don’t see it? Check under the cat. Can’t quite pull up the covers in the middle of a cold night? Throw the cat off of them and onto the floor. Actually, don’t throw him on the floor; that could lead to more trouble. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve been awakened by the sound of him eating. Not food, mind you, but receipts, envelopes, napkins, and whatever paper products have fallen onto the floor. If I hear him try to chew through one more plastic window from a bill envelope, I may pull out the last of whatever few teeth he has left. Speaking of plastic, he likes the taste of that, too. And anything else that he shouldn’t eat. He once chewed on the power cord of my old computer so much that it was permanently sticky.

But the three cats combined cannot equal The Fart Dog (aka The Dumb-Ass Dog, The Peanut Butter Boy, The Mighty Defender, and Fierce Warrior). This dog is the most egotistical pet I have ever known. He follows poisontaster as if she’s Sonic and he’s Tails. Which means that he hates me. If I come home from work, he barks. If I try to hug my wife, he jumps up and gets into attack mode. When playing quietdiscerning’s Wii for the first time, he jumped up and bit my ass. He’s hairless, which means he must wear a jacket when the temperature drops below 50. And when there’s snow and ice on the ground, we must put boots on him. And he must be bathed every 3-4 days. And then lotioned. He can’t eat dog food. I mean, he can, but that will just lead to diarrhea. So he eats chicken. Every day. And if he doesn’t get enough chicken to satisfy his appetite, he eats the cat food. The expensive diabetic diet cat food. He can’t be left home alone without a diaper on. When my wife is not home, he cannot be left out of my sight without a diaper on. When he gets scared (i.e., when I’m home or poisontaster is not), he shakes. When he gets scared, my wife my gets to decide whether she prefers to have him clawing at her skin for the next hour or licking her foot for the next hour. He has breathing issues. This means that in addition to sounding like an old, snoring grandfather while he’s awake, he often goes silent for a while in his sleep, which frightens us to death. I think he’s a sleep apneatic dog. Sometimes his snores wake us up; sometimes they wake him up. All the time, his farts wake us all up. poisontaster and I have been known to pause movies and leave the room for a while after one of his poison gas releases. I can’t play with any of the cats while he’s around. He just doesn’t allow for it. Everyone knows cats like to chase laser dots. All he knows is that the cats are running around having fun and he jumps up and gets in the way. The game usually ends with the cats ceasing to chase the red dot when they have to take a swat at the dog for trying to sniff their butts. You ever try cuddling with someone only to have a cold dog nose pressed against your back? A couple of months ago, I was left alone with him for eighteen days. Can you imagine dealing with a dog diaper after working for 10-12 hours every day for eighteen days? After about two weeks, I think he concluded that poisontaster was never coming back home and he actually started to warm up to me. He even came and laid his head on me once. Then poisontaster came home. Within two minutes, he was barking at me again. He understands commands, but he doesn’t understand that they’re not meant to be instantaneous. Tell him to sit and he will sit…for about three seconds. Tell him to stay and he will stay…for about one second. The dog was ten years old when we got him. It’s a struggle teaching this old asshole new tricks. And I haven’t even brought up the fact that he’s going blind.

When I first heard the reports that surfaced two months ago that Auburn quarterback Cam Newton was suspected to be part of a pay-for-play scheme, I immediately thought about the Heisman Trophy. Newton, both then and now, is the front-runner to win the 2010 award. Although I hadn’t thought about it consciously, but I knew not many Black quarterbacks had won the Heisman Trophy. I looked it up and saw that the number was three. 3. I decided to dig a little deeper, and I found a few interesting things.

( Yeah, I had to do some research for this )

From the moment I saw the first preview for it, I knew this week’s 30 for 30 film on ESPN was bound to be a good one. Once Brothers is a 90-minute documentary about the relationship between Vlade Divac and Drazen Petrovic. As an avid NBA fan who grew up in the 1980s and 90s, I knew of the downfall of the relationship between the two, but I knew nothing of the actual friendship they had shared. My hope was that Once Brothers would provide that.

Unfortunately, 30 for 30 films premiere on Tuesday nights at 8pm. This Tuesday was also Game 5 of the Rangers-Rays best of five American League Division Series. First pitch was scheduled to 8:07. Deciding playoff games trump just about everything else; Once Brothers would have to wait until yesterday.

( Oh, what a day yesterday was )

Apparently, Angelo Cataldi is bringing the Dirty Thirty back together. In case you don’t know who Cataldi and the Dirty Thirty are, he is the morning radio host on WIP, one of Philadelphia’s sports talk stations. In the weeks leading up to the 1999 NFL Draft, Cataldi was upset that Andy Reid was looking to draft a quarterback, specifically Donovan McNabb instead of Ricky Williams. He decide to put together a group, the Dirty Thirty, to take on a bus trip up to Manhattan for the draft. His revisionist history may now state otherwise, but when Cataldi auditioned callers for spots in the Dirty Thirty, he had asked them to boo as they would on draft day when they heard McNabb’s name called.

( I see your bullshit )

I know there are a lot of people out there who believe Andy Reid made the right call in electing to start Michael Vick over Kevin Kolb for the foreseeable future. There are a seemingly equal number of people who believe Reid is making a huge mistake. I am about ninety percent into the latter camp. I think the coach made the wrong decision, but I don’t think it matters much. No matter the quarterback, I fully believe the Eagles are incapable of winning the Super Bowl as long as Andy Reid makes the team’s football decisions.

( This has nothing to do with dogs )

If I was an Eagle fan, I’d be very upset today. This is a sign that the Eagles organization, once again, is settling for merely competing.