Ladies and Gentlemen, this was a very good weekend. With a family wedding, bachelor party and a golf match I haven't spent much time sober over the last several day, hence the lack of posts. God knows, the times I have posted while intoxicated haven't worked out for me. I'm rambling, incoherent and hostile and it kills my traffic.

But I predicted that the Red Sox would have a lot of trouble handling the Detroit Tigers should they meet in the postseason. I believe that the Tigers have better pitching and a deeper offense. And there's always Gary Sheffield who seems to take a personal interest in seeing the Red Sox suffer. It was nice to see them sweep the
BoSox this weekend, or at least to know that they swept the Sox since I missed the games Saturday and Sunday.

I think this picture of our dear friend Jonathan Papelbon proving himself a better match for an inanimate object like the water cooler than he was for the Tigers lineup sums up the weekend.

It will probably sum up the season for the Red Sox when it all ends in tears (to paraphrase Marvin the Paranoid Android from Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy). The Red Sox are great bullies, they can front run with the best of them, but they have problems when a team isn't intimidated by Tito's tools.

But the wedding was far more interesting than any mere baseball game. I got smashed beyond all possible recognition. The wedding reception was held at the bride's house, which was surprisingly less disastrous for the most part. Right up until the shots of Irish Mist, Bailey's and Bushmills got together and took me down, I was doing fine. Of course when they did get together, I ended up chasing the bride's young cousin who took my suit coat and shook me down for $10 to get it back.

I didn't want to pay him, so I tried to chase after him to get it back. Unfortunately, I managed to blow through the screen door on the bride's deck. I broke through it as though I were the Kool Aid Man crashing through the wall. Unfortunately, I did not have the presence of mind to shout "Oh Yeah" as I blew through the door. I was also informed that I managed to insult two or three of the bride's cousins.

Even better, the two people who ended up stuck driving me home were reluctant to do so because they were afraid that I was going to vomit in their car. I answered them as I staggered and swayed as though I were out with George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg when the three weather systems collided to form the perfect storm that I had eaten a full pizza and a plate of chicken which the bride's sister cut up for me as though I were a small child. My rationale was that I had at least 35-45 minutes before I'd throw up and it was only a ten minute ride. For the record, I never threw up. I held my liquor, I might not have handled it well but I held it.

Of course I didn't know this until this morning when a few of the other wedding guests told me what I had done and said as they laughed at me. I had the feeling I did something colossally dumb because I had to drive over to the bride's house to pick up somethings I'd left behind. As I turned down the street to get to the house, I had that creepy, horror movie type feeling that I was walking into the scene of a crime.

Then when I got there, the maid of honor (who turned out to be the one who cut the chicken for me) informed me that I owed them a new screen. Thankfully, the bride's cousin, the diary farmer from Ireland managed to repair the screen. And when I ran into the bride's cousins whom I insulted, they accepted my apology and said it wasn't a big deal. It could have been much worse. I expected when I woke up and realized that there were large chunks of the late hours which I couldn't account for, I fully expected someone to throw a beating on me because I am, as my mother says, an obnoxious drunk. So this was a good weekend in Cincinnati Kid Land.