Four Days.

I was going to stay with the cryptic approach, but it began to strike me as a real cheddar-gobbler, so here it ends.

There are four days left until this event occurs.

I will be there, and I'll have a full report for you on Sunday.

Oh, and unrelated: I'm getting a fisking queued up. Watch this space.

To Quote Homer Simpson:

Nnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrdddddd!

That just had to be said.

Pledge Allegiance to Red Sox Nation.

So goes the header for today's column by Bill Simmons, ESPN's invaluable Sports Guy.

I think I might be getting it now--Boston fandom, that is. In a recent phone conversation with Bryan, one of my best friends, an occasional commenter and full-bore BoSox fanatic, he mused about what would happen if--wonder of wonders--Boston actually managed to pull it off and win it this year. What could possibly replace pulling for--living and dying with--the eternal Greek tragedy that is the Boston Red Sox?

Mulling it for a moment, I said: "How about Poland?"

Really--he's suggested that I may be gravitating toward rooting for Boston, given the consistently dire play of Motown's Tigers. But, he warned--beware: rooting for Boston comes with a heavy toll. Sure, you're part of a nation of true believers stretching across a continent, but oh, the agony. The litany of glory almost within reach, but lost through the intervention of the Furies, Fates, or dark gods of baseball.

Simmons captures this brilliantly:

You couldn't ask for a more insane week. Now they're only two and a half behind the Yanks. Who knows? And yet, with October looming ... I mean ...

I'm just not sure that I'm ready to go through this again.

Nobody is. And that's the rub. It's the best Red Sox team of my lifetime, a well-rounded machine with quality pitchers and big bats, a good defensive squad with a deep bench, a likable group of guys who care about one another. They deserve the benefit of the doubt, a clean slate with a fan base that won't panic every time something goes wrong. It's just that we can't help it. Last October nearly broke us. You can only heal so much.

During that Deja Vu game against the Yanks on Friday, even before the gut-wrenching eighth, you needed Leatherface's chainsaw to cut the tension at Fenway. Ever attended a wedding where the best man was hammered beyond belief? Remember that peculiar tension after he grabs the microphone and starts rambling, when everyone pretends to enjoy the speech -- a seemingly captive audience -- but deep down, they're dreading the eventual F-bomb or inappropriate story about the bride, so they're hanging on every word?

That was Fenway on Friday night. When Pedro yielded that bullpen shot to Matsui in the eighth, it was like the best man dropping that F-bomb. The place went silent, save for a few brave Yankee fans, everyone else paralyzed by the moment -- even the manager, who inexplicably left Pedro out there for a few more batters, losing every Red Sox fan for life.
This wasn't just another loss. People were crushed. Everyone filed out of Fenway like we were leaving a wake, and maybe we were. It was happening again. My Dad and I had tickets for Saturday night's game ... I'm ashamed to admit this, but we gave them away. Neither of us wanted to go. We just weren't ready to go back to Fenway. It was too soon. We ended up seeing the Shawshank Redemption -- which was playing downtown, a limited two-week re-release -- the cinematic equivalent of Keith Richards having his blood changed. Three hours later, Andy and Red were hugging in Mexico and we were ready to continue following the 2004 Red Sox. You know, because hope is a good thing. And no good thing ever dies.
(Well, unless that good thing is being managed by Terry Francona.)

Like I said at the outset--I think I get it now.

And the reply is: no, thanks--I already have a sports albatross, and it is called the Michigan Wolverines football program. Last year I compared the Sox to the Red Wings as a sign of hope, but that comparison doesn't really work. No, the Wolverines are more like it--a whole passel of mythical championships before 1948, tilted toward the first quarter of the 20th Century, and bupkis since. But 1997...? Wait for it, it's coming.

You see, my first clear sports memory involves sitting in the finished basement of our old house with dad and one of his pals, watching happily as Michigan whipped up on Ohio State in 1976. My second is crying after Michigan lost to USC in the Rose Bowl, less than two months later.

I was being initiated into Wolverines fandom, with all that entails. It's been more agony than joy since the bronze age of Fielding Yost--a deadzone in the fifties and sixties with two bowl victories and growing mediocrity. Then the 1970s, a revived program led by Bo the Woody-Chopper, which is where I joined up. The Wolverines managed to beat the Buckeyes more often than not, but fell flat against more agile opponents, and endured routine bowl humiliation. The kind that cost you National Championships.

Sure, the occasional major bowl win was nice, but it never let Michigan grasp that brass ring--the Best in the Land. National Champion. Because they'd tripped up along the way before getting the bowl win.

And the horrors--like Charles White "scoring" the decisive touchdown in the '79 Rose Bowl against UM despite securely depositing the ball on the two yard line first. Steve Smith getting his shoulder wrecked in the '83 Rose Bowl, leaving a superior team rudderless. Another superior team blowing a 12 point lead to ASU in the 1987 Rose Bowl. Blowing leads against Miami and Florida State in defining contests in 1990 and 1991, wrecking seasons early. Inexplicable losses to the Freakin' Irish. The 1994 game against the Colorado Buffaloes, watching Kordell Stewart heave a desperation pass with five seconds left...
The BS losses to Sparty in 1990 and 1999, the pass interference and Longest...Second...Ever games.

And the piece de resistance: the early morning hours of January 2, 1998, watching ESPN like a meth-addled lab rat following Michigan's victory over a tough Washington State team, cementing a perfect season and an undisputed National Championship--Joshua, We Have Crossed The Jordan!

Only to watch as a sack of brain donors (a/k/a the ESPN/USA Today Coaches' Poll) decided to give Tom Osborne's Police Blotter U. team a share of the title.

Funny--they didn't do the same favor for JoePa in 1994, or Lou Holtz in 1991. What should have been perfect joy, now forever tainted.

And nothing close to it since, nor, I'm afraid, does it look likely to come around again for a long, long time. If ever. Because I still refuse to watch sports news or read the paper after a Michigan loss on Saturday. [Notre Dame--GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!] Can't stand it.

If I barely function with that, why would I want to add the admirable BoSox to my portfolio?

Still, BoSox fans, FWIW: I'll root for you against all comers, especially the evil Yankees.

But I won't get emotionally involved.

Six Days.

The Cuomo Argument, Revisited and Refuted.

Lost in the disastrous Democratic Presidential campaign of 1984 (a/k/a "Mondale's Charge") was a significant political moment, especially for those of us who profess to be mackerel-snappers. At the 1984 Democratic Convention, the then-Governor of New York, Mario Cuomo, gave a speech attempting to reconcile the pro-choice actions of Catholic politicians with their professed faith convictions. Not least of those politicians was Mondale's running mate, Rep. Geraldine Ferraro. Nevertheless, the speech had reverberations beyond 1984, and remains the standard article for the equally pro-choice politicos of our day.

Kenneth Woodward, Newsweek's former religion editor and a current contributing editor, eviscerates the logic in this month's Commonweal:

A whole new generation-including Senator Kerry-has come of political age since 1984, when Cuomo’s speech was seen as a defense not only of his own prochoice politics but also those of Geraldine Ferraro, a Catholic congresswoman from New York who was that year’s Democratic candidate for vice president of the United States. Since then, Cuomo’s apologia has been enshrined in books by and about him, highlighted in recent histories of American Catholicism by John T. McGreevy and Peter Steinfels, and echoed by the forty-eight members of Congress who recently asserted that “As Catholics we do not believe it is our role to legislate the teachings of the Catholic Church.” It is, then, a kind of benchmark statement that is worth revisiting to see what his arguments were and whether they hold up.

Woodward convincingly demonstrates that Cuomo was not really opposed to abortion, despite the obligatory disclaimer. Not even close:

At this point it is worth noting what Cuomo did not say, as well as what he did. Never once did he say that abortion was evil, intrinsically or otherwise. Never once did he say-as the bishops had, as he himself could have-that opposition to abortion as a matter of public morality is a defense of the human rights of the unborn. Never once did he say the abortion dispute is a disagreement over the scope of social justice. He did not say these things, and never has, I believe, because doing so would make his position difficult if not impossible to defend. He did not say these things, and never has, because, as I think his record makes clear, he does not believe them to be true.

In his book, A People Adrift, Peter Steinfels has cautioned against twisting Cuomo’s argument “into the crude formula, ‘I am personally opposed to abortion but I don’t want to impose my view on others.’” In fact, Cuomo’s argument strikes me as even cruder than that. It says that his reasons for thinking abortion “sinful” are not only “private” but sectarian as well. Thus, while formally rejecting the notion that Catholic opposition to abortion on demand (another phrase he avoids) violates separation of church and state, Cuomo advances a rationale (the church has told him so) that bolsters the case for advancing just such a charge. It was, withal, a carefully crafted speech. Cuomo sought to defend both his docility toward church teachings and his right-indeed, his duty-to act against them.

* * *

This teasing way of letting his listeners know that he was aware that this argument and option were open to him was, in fact, Cuomo’s way of telling them the option was merely private-a “prudential” judgment that no one could make for him. But his words led not a few in his audience to assume that he would use his influence to modify his party’s embrace of abortion on demand, should the opportunity arise. God knows, he had his chances.

In 1988, the Democrats dropped from their platform a mild statement recognizing “the religious and ethical concerns which many Americans have about abortion.” Cuomo said not a word of objection. At the 1992 convention in New York City, where the Clinton forces proclaimed the Democrats the party of “the big tent,” Cuomo again stood by as the Clintonites silenced the prolife Catholic governor of Pennsylvania, Robert P. Casey. Casey, who was at least as liberal as Cuomo and far more effective as a governor, had asked to read a minority report challenging the platform’s endorsement of abortion as “a fundamental right” deserving of government funding. Instead, in introducing Clinton to the convention, Cuomo twice denounced Republican opposition to abortion. I was standing just behind Governor Casey’s empty seat when Cuomo brought the delegates to their feet in extended applause with this line: “We need a leader who will stop the Republican attempt, through laws and through the courts, to tell us what god to believe in and how to apply that god’s judgment to our schoolrooms, our bedrooms, and our bodies.” Stripped of the overheated partisan rhetoric, is this god he so derides not the same god who privately instructs Cuomo the Catholic that abortion is “sinful”? Here we see the whole intent of Cuomo’s Notre Dame speech-the spurious justification of a Catholic politician who wants it both ways.

RTWT--and Cuomo's response. Note that the Governor doesn't even attempt to rebut this part of the argument, and doesn't effectively answer the rest of it.

Here she is!

Pictures of Rachel, here.

Interestingly enough, she's displaying four of the fingers she has her father wrapped around.

"Nazi Bot Sadistic."

The above was the alleged internet moniker of a Metro Detroit wannabe Harris/Klebold, Andrew Osantowski, stopped by an alert teenage girl and her police officer father in Washington State before his plan went into action. The paraphenalia and gear of young Mr. Osantowski proved diverse and interesting:

Among the items seized by police at the Osantowski home in Clinton Township:

AK47 7.62-caliber semiautomatic rifle
Mossberg 12-gauge pump-action shotgun
Legacy 12-gauge pump shotgun
Several boxes of shotgun ammunition
Numerous large-capacity magazines for the AK47
Two gas cut-off saws
One SDS-Max hammer drill
One Hilti laser kit
One bolt cutter
Several knives
Several Nazi-related books, including "The Threat of the Hitler Cult," "Adolf Hitler" and "The Neo-Nazis"
Several homemade videos, including one of Andrew Osantowski pretending to fire weapons
One Nazi flag
Pipes and pipe-bomb material
Two propane canisters
Aluminum nitrate and other chemicals

Nazi paraphenalia in the hands of a young man of Polish descent. All righty, then. I strain to understand how one can idolize the murderer of one in six of your ancestral countrymen. Forgive and forget, I guess--especially with all those cool black uniforms. Maybe he thought of himself as one of those "salvageable Aryan" Poles that the paperhanger decided to reclaim as fully human, and not a member of the Slawen sind Sklaven.

Or maybe he's just a deeply screwed up young suburban idiot desperate to find meaning in a reprehensible cause that offers discipline and answers in the face of adults unable or unwilling to provide either. See Lindh, John Walker. The latter sure can embrace the former. It does so easily, these days.

Good morning, America! Oh, nothing to worry about here--just keep hitting the snooze bar, and I'm sure it will all go away. Yes, I'm starting to have some pity for the kid, even as I hope for a lengthy prison term.

And, because it's so relevant to the charges, the elder Osantowski's religious affiliation is described:

He is a member of the Knights of Columbus and a founding member of a local Catholic church.

Well, you know how those "Knights" organizations are--Columbus, Klan, same diff. Now you know where all that Tootsie Roll money really goes. No, here's a better indicator of the problem:

Osantowski wrote about the Chippewa Valley High School police liaison officer, saying: "Now, I'm not even worried about getting into a gunfight with her because it doesn't matter. Now, I'm more than ever determined to blow her head off."
The teen apparently targeted the liaison officer because she handled a case in which he and his father were accused of stealing three golf carts from Fern Hill in May. Both were charged with receiving and concealing stolen property and were arraigned Thursday morning, only hours before their home was raided on the terrorism tip.

Remember what I said about "adults unwilling or unable to provide discipline/answers," above? Let's just say there might be some evidence that dad might be abdicating his God-given role. That, and apparently there was some inkling on Mom's part that the kid was not exactly profiting from his Hitlerjugend reading list.

"I think he's just been brainwashed by this Nazi stuff he had."

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllloooooooo! Anybody home? WHY DID YOU LET HIM KEEP THIS CRAP, THEN?

[Sound of head repeatedly pounding into computer keyboard.]

Oh, and the final interesting fact: Heather graduated high school with Mr. Queentry, the younger Osantowski's alleged explosives tutor. Local clamor caused his bond to be raised after he was initially released.

Speaking of Florida...

If I lived there, I'd be wondering if there might be some kind of message in this sort of thing. Mind you, I'm not saying I understand what the message is. But whatever it is, it sure is being said very, very loudly.

After this year, you'll never hear me complain about the Wolverine State's weather. There's a reason my parents decided to retire to northern Michigan, folks.

"Lying adulterer wins court fight to kill incapacitated wife."

--What the news would be like if Dale wrote the headlines.

The Florida Supreme Court strikes down Terri's Law.

Because Michael Schiavo and his brother said that Terri Schiavo-allegedly-made a couple of offhand comments in the 80s saying she wouldn't want to live in a coma, she will now die.

[Update: Post edited for incendiariness while I digest the opinion. Gut reaction: something's missing in the analysis of judgment finality, especially with regard to a largely-unanswered argument made by the Gov. and the various amici.]

Thanks, everyone!

The prayers, kind words and well-wishes on the occasion of the birth of Rachel Hannah were and are much appreciated.

Mother and baby continue to do well. Details will be over at Domestic Bliss II during the weekend.

In fact, Rachel is easily our quietest, most mellow baby. I have been getting intermittent sleep the past week, but not because of the youngest. My boy, unfortunately, has not taken well to being displaced as the baby. He doesn't take it out on little sister (a fascinating creature, from his behavior), but he refuses to sit with daddy while "Yaya" (his designation for me) is holding Rachel. We're making the effort to direct some D3-only attention his way, and hoping that works. Maddie has been perfect with the baby, and not a hint of resentment. We're trying to get her some Maddie-only time, too.

Thanks again--and yes, pictures will follow.

Welcome to this place, I'll show you everything.

Rachel Hannah Price was born at 4:03pm, Thursday, September 16, 2004. At 8 lbs., 5 oz., and 19", she is--believe it or not--the runt. Both her siblings were bigger at birth.

Mother and infant daughter are both doing very well.