July 2010 Archives

A little story, but it could change the way we travel. Researchers in Britain have been working on a robot called EcoBott-III.  It powers itself by digesting urine. Take it to the next step and it could replace oil, gas, battery and solar power.  One thing we are never going to run out of is pee.  I just took my dogs for a walk.  Every 20 meters a crouch from her,  a leg lift from him. 

So, in the not too distant future "number one" could be the number one way to fuel up.  Go from A to B with a pee. (Remember when you were in grade school the teacher had you put up one figer for a pee, 2 fingers for a sit-me-down and if someone put up 3 fingers they'd be gone until recess.  When my teacher saw a 3 she'd send a reading assignment along with you..."War and Pees".)

The researchers are set to construct a proto-type portable urinal and set it up at an outdoor event.  Where better to collect a water closet deposit than at a beer garden. But if this works there has to be a better way for consumers.  Think about it.  You spend the day and your cash filling your bladder.  The next day you're paying to fill your tank with what is essentially the same beer you bought the day before.  You squirt to squirt.  That's double indemnity!

Now, if the oil and gas industry sees this as a threat it will set up R and D for pee. It will dive head first into the wizz biz. They'll want your pee breaks on those cross country trips to Grandma's to take on a double meaning. 

What we need is an inventive wrinkle for the tinkle.  We need a vehichle with it's own  portable privy. Before you start out on your trip you load up the cooler with every liquid beverage known to humanity (non alcoholic of course) and make sure each of the kids has a bottle or carton in their hand every minute of the trek.  When you hear..."I gotta go...I gotta go"....you tell little Cosmo..."close the curtain and star the squirtin".  You wouldn't have to make a pit stop from Hamilton to Hodgeville (it actually exists, it's in Saskatchewan, you could look it up).    

To tell the truth what initially grabbed my attention on this story was the number of cats I have.  I was thinking...if I could harness this concept I could have my car and my cats purrin' with urine.  But then reality gripped me like a full bladder at 3 in the morning.  Cats use kitty litter.  I would have to extract it from their freshly deposited deposits. Not quite on the same scale as working the oil sands In northern Alberta but it's the same concept and very costly.   Investment opprotunities are available.

I hope the researchers get this sorted. It's a great concept.  It's like taking a quantum leak into the future.  Pee is a renewable resource.  Liquid in, liquid out.  It's the cycle of nature and it's eco friendly.  Using it will give us a sense of relief, and a sense of relief. 

THE FOLLOWING INNUENDO MIGHT BE CONSIDERED OFFENSIVE.  OR NOT.

Steve Bolton lives in England.  He has legally changed his name to Buzz Lightyear.  Buzz being one of the lead characters in the Toy Story movies.  Bolton says he's a massive fan. Hey I'm a fan of the Marx Brothers but I'm not flipping my name to Otis P. Driftwood. My favouite movie name is Reno Hightower.  Played by Kurt Russell in a flic called "The Best of Times".  One of those films where you lost the big game back in high school so 20 years later why not get a little revenge and replay it?  That was the idea of the character played by Robin Williams.  Russell as a one time football player works.  Williams as a former grid kid looked more like Mork from Dork.

Bolton says his girlfriend is going to love telling her friends that's she's dating Buzz Lighyear.  Yea, until she finds out he wants her to change her handle to Jesse The Yodeling Cowgirl.  Hey what's good for the billy is good for the nanny (goats).

What if I were a huge James bond fan?  What if I was so  wired on 007 that I changed my name to James..,James Bond?  And what if I demanded that my girlfriend change her name to a female character in Bond flic? 

You take her to a party to finally meet your friends.  "Hey Tony I want you to meet my girlfriend....Holly Goodhead."  "You are a lucky, lucky man James!"  At the family reunion you tell your cousin about your name change and how fortunate you are to have a companion who was 100 % behind you.  To prove it I want you to meet Honey Ryder.  Cousin Elsa replies..."I assume you've pollinated. 

'Course your parents weren't happy with your appelation situation but they learned to accept you being James Bond.  So, bring your fiance home to meet the folks.  She's changed to a Bondian moniker.  "Mom, Dad, this is the love of my life...meet Xenia Onatopp".  Mom replies, "That's the way the good Lord intended it son".

Oh, the company Christmas party.  You are now James Bond.  You want to intruduce your sweetie to the boss.  "Sir, nice to see you. Meet my girlfriend Pussy Galore".  There is just no comeback for that.

Okay, don't like James Bond, then you can change your name to Austin Powers.  You run into an old school pal at the mall.  "Marty I want you to meet Felicity Shagwell".  "I bet you do Felicity.  How do you do it Austin?"   And at your aunts' birthday party you walk into the room with your new nom de plum. You are now Austin Powers and you introduce your honey bunch to Uncle Bradford.  "Uncle Brad, I'd like to say hi to Ivana Humpalot".  He pulls you aside and wispers "Austin, let me know if you ever break up."     

I don't much care that Steve Bolton changed his name.  What troubles me is his obsession with Toy Story.  It was a decent moive.  I rather like it.  But Steve is 26 years old.  At 12 or 13, a Toy Story fixation is okay.  At 26 you might want to think about  up grading to something more befitting like Porky's Revenge.  Besides, Steve went with the wrong character name.  If you're going to pull one out of Toy Story you gotta go with Woody.

I hope you'll indulge me here.  This is a cathartic blog.  I had to put down Maynard this morning.  He's one of my cats.  I've been through this before and it doesn't get easier.  Maynard came to live with me maybe 10 years ago.  Couldn't figure out how old he was but he had a few miles and a few scars on him.  Just a stray showing up at the door looking for a free meal.  Which he got.

Maynard wouldn't stay. He'd show up, hang around for a few weeks and then disappear for months at a time. 'Course I worried about, especially in the winter.  One year I hadn't seen him since the middle of September.  I'd think about him now and again wondering if hewas alright. He came back on Christmas Eve and never left.

He was a black and white tom cat with a black marking on his chin.  It looked like a goatee so I named him Maynard after Maynard G. Krebs the beatnik character Bob Denver played on the old Dobie Gillis show.  I give all my cats nicknames.  Maynard was my main man.  He was Main Man Maynard.

You've heard the phrase "cool cat".  Maynard set the standard.  He didn't walk, he kind of ambled.  He never got into fights with the alpha males and they never bothered him.  He had a been there, done that, don't mess with me air about him and I think the bully boys understood.  He was never overly affectiionate although now and then he'd jump on the couch, put his paws on my leg, stare at me and purr. 

Maynard loved to rub heads.  I called it knock-a-noggin'.  Never have figured out why cats do that but I enjoy it as much as they do.  On the preceding blog I mentioned a Youtube video that Sandy Hart turned me onto.  It's called "Just a Dog?'  No dog is just a dog and no cat is just a cat.  Each one of mine has a different personalty.  They react to noises differently.  They meow differently.  They eat differently.  They show affection differently.  Each one of them has their own little story.  If you take your time and you're patient you can figure a bit of it out.

I think Maynard must have been a barn cat.  Every night I put out treats for the cats.  They'd all get their fill and there are always a few left over.  That's when  Maynard went to work turning into a purloining pussy going from cat to cat stealing the left over treats. 

Maynard was suffering from cancer.  His kidneys were failing and his liver was shutting down. He had stopped eating. I knew I had delayed this long enough and was pretty sure today was going to be the day.  When I got up this morning, as sick as he was, he was out side sitting on the patio.  A bit later he was at the pond.  Then he walked into the bushes.  I've seen some of my other cats who were close to death do the same thing.  I call it their walk about.  This morning Maynard did his walk about. 

On the drive to the vet I put Maynard on the front seat.  No carrying cage this time.  I know it sounds silly but I had a long talk with him.  Telling him how proud I was of him, how glad I was he came to live me.  And how much I loved him. 

He was a friend.  He was a family member.  And God bless him, Maynard was more than just a cat.

I have to be honest. I'm an animal lover.  So this will be a biased blog.  It has to with the situation in Toronto where Donald Keith took his dog Trapper to St. Peter's Angilican church.  The 2 of them were new to the area and the church is pet friendly so it was win win for man and beast. 

Donald went up to recieve communion and Trapper tagged along.  Donald took the wafer which represents the body of Christ. The priest looked at Trapper and offered him a wafer.  Trapper figured he'd try anything once.  Besides if it was good for Donald it had to be good for him.  A nice gesture to welcome the 2 of them to their new community.  No problems....except one complaint.  A member of the flock thought "this is a crock" and got their knickers in a twist. They complained and from now on no more canine communion.  It's not allowed. Trapper is canine non grata. 

This is what makes me crazy about religion.  Some over zealous member of the congretation thought this went against the rules of the church.  Donald is in. Trapper stays put in his puppy pew.  Wonder what St. Francis would think about this.  He talked to the animals long before Dr. Doolittle.  He welcomed animals into his life.  Understood their nature and their beauty.  I'm not a religious person but I do have 2 St. Francis statues outside.  I know they're just made out of plaster and stone but I like to think Francis is keeping an eye on my pets.

Some us, myself included, look at their pets as family members.  I spend more time with my cats than any humans in my life.  I have 2 dogs.  One of them, Warren, sings to me.  It's  actually more like a howl.  He does it when he gets excited.  Not sure what he's communicating but he's giving me the doggie dope on something.

Dogs were the first animal to be domesticated.  Dogs and humans bonded almost immediately.  They work for us.  They protect us.  They keep us warm.  They love us uncoditonally.  They always have time for us. They walk with us and keep us company.  They wake us up at 2:30 in the morning because they have to go outside for a pee (okay there's  always a downside).  They play with us.  They practice the golden rule..."do unto other as you would have them do unto you".  So the next time your pooch licks you on the lips lick him back. 

The DNA doesn't say so but I believe dogs are closer to humans than any other animal.  They just seem to understand us.  How can letting a dog take communion be a bad thing?  It's a ritual, a gesture. 

I have no problem with people praying to what ever god they believe in.  Good for the mind.  Good for the soul.  Not so good early on a Saturday when they knock on your door asking if you'd like to be saved. That's where warbbling Warren comes in hand.  He belts out a bowser ballad and the missionaries go missing.  Religion has give the world a lot of good.  But in the name of God the world has also been given war, crusades, bigotry, inquisitions and intolerance.  I don't recall dogs doing any of that. 

I like to include my pets in as many things as I can.  I wont take them fine dining but I will roll down the window when we pull into a drive thru.  Giving them the keys to car would be wrong.  Giving them the keys to the Kingdom?  Not such a bad idea. 

We're all rolling the dice on this.  We can't prove there's a God.  We can't prove there's a heaven.  Not empiraclly anyway.  If I'm going to heaven I want Warren there with me.  If I'm going to purgatory, he'll wait. Kind of a communion reunion.  If I'm not going to either I'll throw frisbie. He'll go after it and I'll go to hell. 

The priest letting Trapper take communion hurt no one.  It probably did all but one person a lot of good.  Going to church is supposed to get you closer to God.  Spell dog backwards and those magnificent mutts are a lot closer to God than a lot of people I've met. 

Note:  For a better idea of what I'm talking about go to Youtube and write in "Just A Dog?"  in searcj.  (provided by my f/b friend and animal lover Sandy Hart). 

Lorrie Goldstein has an interesting column in the Toronto Sun.  It gets a little involved but the gist is a chriopractor had his licence revoked for at least 5 years for having sex with a patient.  Sounds fair but the patient happened to be his live in at the time.  Here's the problem. Health care workers are prohibited from having a sexual relationship with any patient.  No provisions are made for partners, married or not.

The Canadian Dental Protective Association took a look at this and sent out a warning.  If you're having normal sexual relations with your partner and you're also doing their dental work you have to give up one or the other.  If you want a sex life find someone else to do their molar maintenance.

Now I got to thinking what if this applied across the board.  What if it was like this for all of us. What if we couldn't do at home with our mates what we practice at work. A cook couldn't cook at home.  Florists couldn't give flowers to their partner.  Let's  say you're a hairstylist.  Get home from work.  The love of your life says..."honey can you do something with my hair?".  Under those rules...no boffin' if you're quaffin'.

A photographer spends the day snapping shots.  At home nothing would develope.  If you takes bets for a living you couldn't take one from your mate.  No nookie for the bookie.  Bankers can't give their honey money.  If they did't they'd to wear a cashtity belt.

What about athletes?  A pro golfers could play around but not at home.  A quarterback could make a pass but not at his wife. 

A paper hanger might do a job well hung at work.  At home. well hung wouldn't matter.  Travel agents and their mates would have to take seperate vacations. 

I've been a broadcaster most of my life.  Would something like this mean when broadcasters got home they couldn't speak to the spouse?  Actually I went through that for about 3 years.  Although there was no debating or procreating. 

Comics couldn't practice their routines on their bunk mates.  The closest thing they'd get to a quicky is a one liner.  And it sure would be tough on politicians.  They spend the day doing what they do best, get home, and they can't lie to their partners.

Over the past few days the newspapers have printed pictures of some of the rioters police have been looking for from the G/20 carnage.   They're the ones who like to think of themselves as anarchists.  Ah, you're not.

I guess the idea of these people is to protest globalization, the governments that support it and of course the no. 1 enemy and their main target, big business.   So it's ironic that 2 of the protesters/rioters/anarchists were wearing baseball hats.  One with a Toronto Blue Jay logo the other was a Detroit Tiger. 

America, of course, is the great satan for these people.  America is what capitalism is all about.  It didn't invent big business but it made big business bigger than anyone could have ever imagined.  And nothing says America like baseball.  The great national pass time south of the 49th. A metaphor for the American way of life.

Baseball is what capitalism is all about.  Owners use tax payers money to build their stadiums.  Your town wont ante up, that's okay we'll move.  And they do. Leaving all the fungo fanatics with no one to cheer for.  Baseball has a long history of carpetbagging. 

Baseball also has a long history of mistreating it's players.  For most of that history players were literally the property of a team.  The were treated like indentured servants.  There was no movement unless the teams said there was.  That didn't end until Curt Flood challenged the reserve clause and opened the door for free agency where, like in virtually every other profession, you can sell yourself to the highest bidder and ply your trade in the location of your choice.  But that didn't happen until 1970, just 40 years ago.

Baseball even had the US government involved giving the game an anti trust exemption which allowed it stamp out any compeition.  This cartel of capitalists cohorts even has a social structure.  The uber rich, Yankees and Red Sox and the subsidized teams on welfare, Pirates and Royals. 

Now, if I'm an anarchist do I want associate myself and promote a business with a track record like that?  And I wonder if these 2 idiots have any idea who owns the Tigers and the Blue Jays?  Techno giant Rogers has the Jays in Toronto.  Everytime the company comes out with a new gadget it shrinks the world a  little bit more.  The Tigers?  Owned by Mike Ilitch.  The most prodigous pizza peddler in the US who uses his Tigers and his Red Wings as vehicles to sell  his "large, double cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, olives, bacon, 30 minutes or it's free" pies. 

I have nothing against Rogers or Ilitch.  I like baseball.  I like the Blue Jays.  But you're supposed to an anarchist.  You're not supposed to give comfort and aid to you to your sworn foe.  And think of what you're doing the itty bitty budding anarchists who look up to you for leadership even though anarchy doesn't believe in leadership.  They see you wearing a Blue Jay hat they're gonna want one too. Got the hat, may as well go to a game at the Rogers Center.  But first they buy a Rogers cell phone so they can call all their friends and tell them to watch them waive from behind home plate.  They can see it on Sportsnet, also owned by Rogers.

You see?  You see what you've done by wearing that Blue Jay hat.  You've thrown anarchy into anarchy.  You should really be protesting you.  It's anarchists like you who give anarchists a bad name.  You should be ashamed.  Go take a radical sabbatical and turn yourself in.

Been thinking about Jose Calderon.  The Raptors point guard was traded to Charlotte the other day.  They told him he was out.  He finished in Toronto.  But then Michael Jordan, who runs the Bobcats, put the nix on the deal.  He wouldn't sign off on it. So Calderon remains a Rappie. 

In fairness to "his airness" Jordan did the right thing.  Calderon is a servicable player.  But with a 9 million dollar a year sticker price he's not worth it. For half that price maybe. 

Now, it's hard to feel sorry for Calderon.  He'll cash his 9 mill per.  But if the Raptors can't find another team to cut a deal with this guy has to show for work every day for a company he knows doesn't want or need him anymore.  Not a good situation. 

I had that happen to me once. Told that I wasn't needed anymore but we want you to stick around for a while longer.  No cut in pay.  No change in work conditions.  But everything is different.  You have a hard time sleeping.  You hate getting up.  You despise going in to work for an outfit that saw fit to discard you but they wont cut the cord.  Not just yet. Next week?  Next month?  Next year?  Everyday you're wating to be the target of a drive-by.  You know it's coming but you don't know when.

Saw it happen to some other people too.  A deal had been cut to replace them.  They were on notice.  The deal fell through with the replacements so the termination was called off or atleast postponed.  Nice to still pull a salary but the trust is gone.  Any allegiance evaporates. Day to day you never know if there's going to be another day.

It's no way to run a team. It's no way to run a company.  People working out of fear is not envriomentally friendly. 

Think about it in personal terms.  You're living with the love of your life when one day you're told you have to move out.  I've met someone else and they're moving in.  A week later there's a snag.  We broke up, they're not moving in, so.....you can stay!  Good deal hu?  Yea, good deal.  Can't wait for Valentine's Day.  Come to think of it that scenario happened to me too.  It's a co-habitation abberation (I know that was a stretch)...you're with someone who doesn't want you and now someone who you don't want.

I know it's a little different in sport. Trades are part of the trade. But working for someone, being with someone or playing for someone you know has the juice to cut you loose at anytime is no way to live, work or play.

Few years back I read an article that argued Michael Jordan was the worst thing to happen to basketball.  The consensus best to ever play the game screwed it up?   Here's why.  Jordan spawned a generation of wanna-bes.  Jordan could put his team on his back and win a game all by himself. Win a championship on his own.  Stephon Marbury and Alan Iverson come to mind immediately.  Immensly talented but not talented enough to do it on their own.

George Steinbrenner, who passed away today, is being called by some the best owner in baseball history.  Maybe the best in the history of sport.  But Steinbrenner might, like Jordan,  be the the worst thing to happen to the game.

When I first started out in radio I refered to Steinbrenner as "Sugar Daddy George".  He was baseball's candy man.  If he wanted a player he would simply out bid anyone else who who showed a hint of interest. Sugar Pops wanted to win at all cost.  Cost being the operative word.

As a business man, pure genius.  He bought the Yankees, who had become a standing joke in baseball, for 10 million dollars in 1973.  37 years later the Yankees have a list price of 1.6 billion.  At first I thought Stienbrenner was New York's version of The Maple Leaf's Harold Ballard.  Loud, in your face, I do it my way.  But really, there was no comparison between Stienbrenner and Ballard.  Ballard had a product that was worth far more than he ever realized.  Stienbrenner took an underachieving team and turned it into  the most marketable, most watched, most loved and most hated franchise in sports.  He started his own television network.  Why buy ball park food from someone else when he could start his own company?  So he did.  A 200 million dollar payroll?  Nickles and dimes compared to the return.  He had the guts to gamble and he won big.

Now in hockey and football teams are inspired to aspire to The Patriots, The Steelers, The Red Wings, The Penguins.  That's because of the salary cap.  What you have to do in the NFL and the NHL  is be as smart or smarter.  But Stienbrenner, like Jordan, brings a different set of rules to the table.  Be like Mike?  You can't.  You don't have the talent.  Spend like George?  Uh, Uh.  You don't have  the resources.

And that's where Steinbrenner screwed things up for everyone else.  By driving up salaries he took the fun out of things for a lot of fans in a lot of cities.  The Blue Jays are the classic example.  They can't dazzle you with dollars like Sugar Daddy's Yankees. The Blue Jays can't win their division when at best they ante up is half the Yankees payroll.  

Sure,  I know people will point to the Tampa Rays.  They got to a World Series.  They're contending this year.  But take this to Savings and Loan.  More than one of those good young Rays will end up on the Steinbrenner payroll when their free agency years come up. Tampa wont be able to compete. The Red Sox can.  But you can argue that it was Stienbrenner's money madness that forced the Sox to spend.  You can argue that Stienbrenner had a lot to do with lifting "the curse of the Babe"  with Boston winning it's first World Series since another Yankee owner plucked the Babe out of Bean Town.

Even if you're not a sports fan you probably know who Stienbrenner is.  George Costanza's meetings with "The Boss" when George worked for the Yankees are television lore.  That speaks volumes about his and the Yankees impact. As Jim Nasyum reminds me in his comment Stienbrenner even traded George, for chicken.

Stienbrenner didn't  always win.  But over the past 37 years no other owner, no other team matches the Yankees 16 division titles, 11 Junior Loop pennants and 7 world series rings.  For me, Sugary Daddy George remains an enigma.  You have to admire what the man accomplished even though he ruined it for the rest of us. Which gave us a team we love to hate.   

I've just spent the past 20 minutes deleting spam from my blog.  I'm sure there's an easier way to do it.  But I don't know how.  

It's like telemarketing.  I don't want what you're selling and if you bother me I'll made a point never to purchase anything with your name attatched to it.  I don't understand spam.  Not sure what the point is.  We all hate it and the senders must know this. You've already made me pissed at you.  Why would even consider checking out what ever it is you're pushing. 

'Course the funny thing is some of them try to masqurade it.  "Just read you're blog.  Great stuff, will tell all my friends".  The sender turns out to be "The Porn Factory".   I get spam from people selling Wal-Mart gift cards, all sorts of video games, I just deleted one call "The Seattle Party Bus" with the message "hello from Iceland".  Now, I was never a an honour student but I know that there is no Seattle in Iceland.  If it had been the "Viking Party Bus" signed by Dick from Reykjavik I might have bought it. 

Actually, the VIkings are responsible for spam.  It's from the old Monty Python bit.  A couple comes in to a restaurant to order a meal and every meal comes with Spam.  The Vikings sitting in the back start singing "Spam..Spam..Spam...Spam" and drown everything out.  Like internet spam does to sites.

Selling pharmaceuticals with spam just does't work for me.  I'm not buying anything that's supposed to cure that weird discharge that's been plauging me over the internet.  And I've been getting spam by law firms.  Now if there are lawyers out there who think the best way to get their message across is with cross boarder spamming I don't think I want them handling my next divorce. 

Comic books, cars, action figures.  They all seemed enamoured with my writing although none of them seem to know exactly what I'm writing about.  I could have met a nice young lady via spam who wanted me to check her out on her webcam.  I've been offered glimpses or boobs, holistic medicine, things in Spanish, French, Russian, Turkish and one or 2 languages with characters I've never seen before.  Those ones made me pause for a moment thinking maybe I can be the first to make contact with an alien world!  But they'd probably try to sell me Orknik surgery. Something I've thought about but not over the internet.

The spam for penile enhancement is deleted right away.  Don't  want any of the readers to think that I might be lacking in certain areas.  That's personal.  Once the rumours start they're hard to stop.  Believe me, I know. (guess I should have deleted that last piece).

My mother used to put Spam (the canned "is it really meat?" suff) in my lunch.  Not being a Monty Pythonesque Viking, I hated it.  Swore I'd never have anything to do with it once I started making my own lunches.  Now, years later there's a brand new spam I've learned to hate.   I may not understand the point of spam but one thing I do know, this anti spam rant is going to ge spammed.

Burning LeBron jerseys last night, a bit much?  All part of the theater James created as a build up to what some believe is the most important decision ever made in or about the city of  Cleveland.  I'm surprised they didn't bring in the Black Bloc to wreak havoc in the streets just to underline the point.

LeBron...gone.  Wade...stayed.  And we get to dis Chris for bolting to South Beach and forming the Miami magi.  To hear people talk  you would think this was like the first Roman Triumvirate.  It's nothing like that.  Crassus, Pompey and Caesar got together for money, power and control.  Wait a minute.  That's exactly what LeBron, Wade and Bosh are doing.

Now, losing Bosh stings us here in the Big Smoke.  But Cleveland.  My God, what a hit that city took.  LeBron gave Cleveland cred, respect and a profile.  A lot like what Gretzky did for Edmonton.  Most Americans couldn't find Edmonton on a map of Edmonton.  But hockey fans south of the 49th knew where Gretzky played and where the city was located in their atlas. 

America has 4 glamour cities.  L A, New York, Las Vegas and Miami. You migh toss in Chicago to make it a 5 pack.  Sure you have San Francisco, Dallas, Philly and Boston but they don't have the panache or the allure. Cleveland doen't  make that snack bracket. It's a the low end of the "where I want to spend my vacation" food chain.   Except during basketball season.  LeBron gave Cleveland a profile.  Sports can do that.  I mean we would even mention a backwater like  Green Bay if it weren't for the Packers.  When LeBron decided to flee to Florida Cleveland became Cleveland again.

One of the problems a lot of people are having with this is the way James bailed.  He turned it into a guessing game, he teased us. Although I'm willing to bet he didn't make his mind up until just a few days ago.  But a one hour special on his decision?  Was that necessary? Well, why not?  Sport is entertainment. The entire build up to this was show biz.  I don't know how many times I saw Jon Stewart beg LeBron to come to New York on the Daily Show.  Cities put together music videos to con LeBron. The announcement was the premier of  the latest "Twilight" flick for all of us jocks and jockettes.

People in Toronto were pissed at Bosh for twittering his way out of town.  He'd  intimate, insinuate and give us a sprinkling of inklings on what he had planned.  Welcome to the new media. 

No one knows how this is going to shake out.  The Heat has to figure out a way to  piece together a supporting cast for the Magi.  The Raptors have to rebuild again. And Cleveland is back to being.....The Mistake By The Lake.   Late last nigtht Cav's owner Dan Gilbert sounded like he was ready to fitted up for a trip to the puzzle factory when he issued a statement to castigate the reprobate. It read...in part...."I PERSONALLY GUARANTEE THAT THE CLEVELAND CAVALIERS WILL WIN AN NBA CHAMPIONSHIP BEFORE THE SELF-TITLED FORMER "KING" WINS ONE.  You can take that to the bank."

Ah, no you wont. Didn't win one with him. Wont win one without him.  Edmonton won a Stanley Cup after Gretzky left because the Oilers had a  great supporting cast.  The Cavs don't.  Did LeBron betray Cleveland?  No.  He played by the rules set up by the NBA and agreed to by the owners.  Ultimately he, Bosh and Wade took care of themselves.  Which is what Gilbert and the Cavs wanted to do.  Take care of themselves.  Didn't work out. Love turns to hate. 

And who knows, the Miami Triumvirate could end up like that first Roman Triumvirate.  Crassus killed in battle.  Pompey went to war against Caesar, lost and was murdered.  Caesar was assassinated.  I don't know that Gilbert and the fans in Cleveland would want to see things go to that extreme....but...I'm sure it crossed their mind.

Well, what do we do with Chris Bosh when he comes back to Toronto wearing a Miami Heat unifform?  We'll boo him.  We'll boo him because he turned his back us.  He deserted us.  The jerk left us in the learch. 

Tell you what, if you were Chris Bosh you would have done the same thing. Bosh said it wasn't about the money.  I believe him.  Bosh, Dwayne Wade, LeBron, Kobe.  The money is always going to be there where ever they play, so why not play where you can make max money and have a chance to win?  But it's not just about winning.  Word is LeBron tried to convince Bosh to come play with him in Cleveland.  For Bosh that really would be a mistake by the lake. The Erie shore or South Beach?  LeBron may yet end up with Wade and Bosh in south Florida but think about this, Bosh turned down a chance to play with the best player in the game.  He didn't turn down LeBron, he turned down Cleveland.

There was never an Ontario scenario.  He wasn't coming back to the Rappies.  Why?  Quite simply, the Rappies are crappie.  Bosh isn't the first Raptor first rounder to put the pieces of that puzzle together.  Damon Stoudamire  wanted out and got out.  Tracy Mc Grady balked and walked.  His distant cousin, Vince Carter  knew there was no Dino dynasty in the cards.  The problem with Carter is that he quit before he split. None of them ended up winning any titles.  None of them turned out to be the franchise players they thought they were.  But what each of them realized was that they weren't going to win a title in Toronto. 

Blame owners, blame management, blame the coaches.  It doesn't matter.  The Raptors have become Memphis, Sacremento, Milwaukee, The Clippers, Minnesota and Charlotte.  Teams you don't want to get drafted by.  Teams you don't want to be traded to.  Teams that have no chance of signing high end free agents.

 It's hard for fans to come to grips with that.  We take it personally when a Chris Bosh double doors us.  It's like being dumped by the love of your life. We applaud them, we read their twitters, we buy their jersey's, we adore adore them.  What we don't want to admit is that really, we weren't in their league.  They had bigger plans. 

Dwane Wade is a point guard  who makes everyone around him better.  As good as Bosh is right now his game will improve with Wade dishing him the ball.  The Raptors can't compete with that.  They can't make Bosh a winner next season.  The Heat can.  Winning beats losing.  South Beach beats Yorkville.  Leaving the arena in Miami in the middle of January beats doing the same thing on Front St. 

It's no contest.  It never was. 

I don't much like birthdays.  I don't mind your birthday.  I don't like my birthdays. Not so much that I'm a year older, which is great when you're 15, but I don't like celebrating me.  I don't mind celebrating you but I get embarassed when it's my turn. 

So, another birthday today.  Here's how it started.  4:15 am I hear yowling, not barking, yowling, from downstairs.  It was a mellow bellow and my first thought, actually it was my first hope, was that one of the dogs was singing happy birthday to me. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.  A few minutes later I realized I wasn't  dealing with canine kudos.  It was like a pet in distress.  I ran down stairs and the newest member of my pet pool, Warren, had become Mr.Poopy drawers.  I let him out to do his business while I tidied up the rest of his business,  

I thought, my God, my birthday and it's probably only going to get worse.  Thank the afore mentioned  all mighty it didn't

Now, I don't believe in horoscopes.  But once a year I read my birthday horoscope and every year I quibble with the sibyl.  Today's read.....You're beautiful.  I checked the mirror.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  I didn't behold a lot of beauty. Although like most of us I still look 10 years younger and 15 pounds lighter than I actually am.  It said I was intelligtent. Hmmmm,  then how come I can't figure out how to change my f/b picture,  I don't know how to load my ipod and I trust car salesmen. 

It also said I possess musical talent.  I was asked to leave my grade 8 choir. I can't play a note on any instrument.  It told me that I was mesmerizing.  Once someone looks into my eyes they'll be smitten for life. You know whose eyes I'm looking into right now.  Simon, my cat.  I don't think the kitten is smitten.  I think he wants cat treats. 

I can remember my best birthday ever.  Actually it wasn't mine, it was my daughters'.  Her birthday is July 4th, mine is the 5th.  When she was 5 years old I took her and her brother over to Niagara Falls N.Y. We had pizza at La Hacienda and then went over to Pine St. for a chicken wing chaser at Honey's.  We went to the Cave of the Winds which takes you underneath the falls.  And then, once it got dark I drove to a park where they were setting off a brilliant display of 4th of July fireworks.  I told her..."sweetie this is for your birthday".   She was awestruck.  It gave me shivers.

My daughter also gave me the worst birthday I ever had.  She turned 16 the day before I turned 40.  I had a meltdown.  16 was so vivid to me.  It was like yesterday.  High school, basketball, school dances.  How did I all of a sudden become 40 when yesterday I was 25? This time I was awestruck and I got shivers again. 

Now, it's been more than 6 months since I left my last job.  Let's be honest, since I was asked to leave my last job.  I live in a rural area and it's pretty isolated. Over  that time one of the things that's kept me in contact with people and helped be from going from inane to insane  has been been facebook.  I was overwhelmed today with all the birthday greetings and I want to thank all of you for taking the time.  The doctor says I can't drink beer anymore so I raise a glass of wine to all of you. Simon says ditto.

I was watching Prime Time Sports a few days back and Bob Mc Cown brought up something I've been thinking about for a long time.  What's the deal with shoes?  Did his feet grow or did the shoes shrink?

When I was 25 I took a size 10.  9 1/2 if I didn't wear socks.  I don't wear socks from April Fools Day until Halloween.  It has led to the break up of the odd relationship but now I make sure I use a spray powder to dis-odor any offending odor.  Anyway, By the time I turned 30 I was up to 10 1/2 and 10.  Single digits are history even when I depose the hose.  These days I have no idea when I go in to a shoe store what I'll leave with. 

I'm a bit of a shoe horse.  Not on an Amelda Marcos scale. I have no sense of fashioun but I do like to be mod when I'm shod.  If I find an pair of pumps that are a little different I'll buy them.  About every 3 months I duck into Winners.  Every once in a while they have something out of the ordinary.  No idea where they find their footware but all of a sudden the dimension of my dogs is up 11.  In some cases a 12.

It's not just shoes.  It's shirts too.  I used to buy extra large to get that roomy feeling.  Then one day the XL went all to hell.  Felt like I was wearing a tent dress.  While my feet were expanding my upper body was contracting.  What the hell was going on?  I thought I might be slipping in and out of some parallel high fashion universe.

I consulted my fashion friendly friends.  They told me not to worry.  It wasn't me.  It was those varmints who make the garments.  If you're an XL but all of a sudden an X fits perfectly it makes you feel better about the worth of your girth and you'll buy more.

Which is fine but that doesn't explain my growing shoe size. Although,  the story goes that the larger the man's shoe the larger the man's manhood.  One day in winers I found a pair of "must have" shoes.  I swear the only ones that fit were size 13. 13!  That was new territory for me. I was boldly going where no one from the Hodge clang had gone before.  When I was checking out the cashier picked them up, took a  look at the price the price, then the size.  She stared at me, smiled and then blushed.  Next time in  I'm buying 14's weather they fit or not.