Fantasy Football

It is that time of the year again. When the football experts ride their computers to glory or doom, depending on the heros of the grass and artificial turf to take the bouncy ball across that chalky white stripe (with their cell phones handy to call Mom). Doesn't matter if the team, what team, wins, loses or goes belly up, just as long as the score is done by my guy.

I once won when my guy had been sitting on the bench in a blowout, suddenly was brought in to run the football six inches and get his third score of the day. I once lost when my stupid quaterback took a kneel for a one yard loss. Such is the adventure, and uncertainty. The challenge is done way before the game starts, reading volumes of stats, projections, opinions, gosip, and invoking personal gut decisions and ignoring personal predjudice. Payton Manning is a jerk, but if he is my jerk, he better score. But not too much, cause I'm playing against him in another league. If the hundreds of hours pay off, the winners gets to print the final results and store it with all of the other trash that needs recycling. And then wait six months for next year.

This is my 20th season of this madness. Hopefully, 20 years from now, when I'm gumming my food and my women, and Farve is throwing from a wheel chair, I'll still be able to key with my arthritic fingers and pick Payton Manning the third's pass to Randy Moss junior for the winning score.

Day off

I had to spend the weekend preparing discovery for litigation for the various entities filing suit against Mental Health. So, I rewarded myself by taking Monday off. I visited my Mom, who is doing much better than she was last week. Step-father-in-law was much happier about it, too. I went to lunch with my sister. She is fine in the middle of her school's out summer vacation. I fixed my fence, a section that had so much rot the dirt was holding the boards up. I went to the dentist and got the new sonic slush, which unlike the pic it scrape, the sonic sluch hurts all the time and still hurts. I tried to get my wireless connection back.

I did all of the above except one in about a half day. I spent the other half day on the one. At 9:20 I gave up. All of the phone conversations with people who have English as their second or third language, the internet chat, the download, the execution, and the resetting and turning on and off and on and off, did nothing.

I think Linksys is in India or Pakistan, as they all sounded the same (five tries) and not European or African or even Washingtonian. They were very nice people, that I could not understand no matter how hard they tried. When they tried to pronounce the letters for "ping," it sounded like Victor India Clancy Slush. (Peter, India, Nancy, and I have no idea what they thought G was) They could all say India, though.

Anyway, I gave up. So, I surrender. When I want to connect, I run a wire across the kitchen and family room (50 feet) When I'm done, I disconnect it. Neat. Better than running the phone line 20 feet and getting 7.6 KPS. So much for wireless, the wave of the future, but still in the future.