Today started off with two unpleasant surprises. First, I opened the Globe to the Sports section and almost choked on my damn cereal. The Boston Celtics are trying to lure Reggie Miller out of retirement. I understand that the youth movement of the last two seasons has left a bad taste in the region's collective mouth. But skewing ancient isn't the right answer.

In Pulp Fiction, Marsellus Wallace reminds Butch the boxer that people who think they age like wine are gravely mistaken. Unless, of course, by that those people mean that they spoil and turn to vinegar. Reggie Miller is looking much more like vinegar than Dom Perignon at this point. And throwing him out in a crunch time lineup with 2 other defensive liabilities (it's kind of hard to be a defensive stopper at that age) and Rajon Rondo doesn't seem like a nice thing to do to Kevin Garnett.

I know the plan is not to have Miller playing 35-40 minutes a night, but something more like 15-20. Nevertheless, it's still like relying on that little donut spare tire to take you out on the interstate. He's 42. He's not playing 20 minutes a night for 82 games, let alone the playoff run we are told to expect from this bunch. That little spare tire will get you to the gas station in one piece, but when you put all your hopes into a two year window and a 42 year old jump shooter is the missing piece... well that's just depressing. Depressing enough to make me mix metaphors as though I were the CHB.

Speaking of every body's favorite newsman who bears an unnatural resemblance to Dr. Who, he made a funny today. That's how bad this panic move to lure Reggie Miller out of retirement is. Even the CHB can crack a joke about it and have said joke be moderately amusing. Shaughnessy asked: "Why not just see if Cooz wants to lace 'em up one more time?" That's not half-bad. Hell, for the CHB that's pure comic gold. And that was the second unpleasant surprise of the morning.

My final unpleasant surprise came this evening watching the first preseason game on FOX. Troy Aikman cautioned fans not to expect DeMarcus Ware to put up numbers reminescent of Shawne Merriman's 17 sacks from last year under new coach (and former Charger defensive coordinator) Wade Phillips. There I was anticipating that exact type of performance. And even if Ware should get 17 sacks, they shouldn't be measured against Merriman's uncanny performance from last year as Ware will (I hope) play all 16 games this year. And before I move on, let's not forget the little problem of Merriman's 4 game suspension for the use of illicit performance enhancing drugs. But good work on the call, Troy.

And before I sign off, as tomorrow is Friday, and I've really been trying not to post after I've had a few, I've been doing some thinking about my proposed candidacy for the Presidency of Red Sox Nation. I think part of my problem in the initial phase of my campaign has been a lack of statements to clarify my positions on issues which must be addressed.

I propose that a more dignified song be found to celebrate (or in my case, grieve) should the Red Sox continue their disgusting habit of winning home games. "Love that Dirty Water" is beat (from an aesthetic standpoint), it glorifies a shameful lack of respect for our regional waterways on the part of our ancestors and it is no longer the case. In fact, Boston Harbor is now so clean that the EPA and state officials have finally gotten around to banning boats from dumping sewage within three miles of the Harbor.

Look at the Red Sox chief rival. The Yankees feature "New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra. Granted Frank Sinatra doesn't enjoy the stellar reputation among music lovers that has made the Standells the darling of the nation these many years, but he's still somewhat recognizable. Good grief. Sinatra has a song book; the Standells have spark notes. Surely there must be some artist with some song that has roots in the community and just a bit more dignity. I'm not looking for Rachmaninoff, here. Just something that isn't a one hit wonder with a lame hook that has somehow dug into the collective psyche of morons in New England like a tick.

I would also do away with the 8th inning tradition of singing along to Sweet Caroline, which is another beat song. If you really want to listen to it, I have it on Coco Crisp's authority that New England's official Sweet Caroline Station is WROR (105.7 for those of you wishing to tune in at home). Singing along to Sweet Caroline, especially with the slight adaptions inserted by Red Sox fans at Fenway is no better than bringing a glove to the game if you're a grown man or doing the damn wave.

I am also not a huge fan of the pink shirts. I realize that a small portion of the proceeds goes to benefit breast cancer research. But let me let you in on a little secret... you can donate money to breast cancer research without buying a Red Sox shirt. I know this. I know people who do it. You could even donate the money you spent on the shirt or the hat or whatever other pink souvenir you purchased directly to the good people doing the cancer research. Granted you wouldn't have the pink souvenir, but maybe the satisfaction of donating all of your money to cancer research and none of your money to the "John Henry's getting divorced, again" fund could keep you warm at night.

Ladies and gentlemen, I didn't realise until a moment ago that this is the 100th post in the history of Sedition in Red Sox Nation. I was hoping that some interesting would emerge from spring training in Fort Myers, but no such luck. I don't want to be the guy who writes about split squad games until people want to track him down and beat him with a bag full of oranges because of the citrus metaphors in the column.

Thankfully, there have been a few moves of note in the NFL free agency period. I'm not sure how the Joey Porter signing will work for the Dolphins. Based on his past performance, the amount of money involved and his age, this will either be a huge coup or a catastrophic mistake.

Personally, I think it's not going to work. I don't like the idea of switching Jason Taylor from defensive end in the 4-3 to OLB in the new 3-4 scheme. Then there is the performance history of linebackers who have left the Steelers. For every Mike Vrabel there is a Kevin Greene, Chad Brown, Greg Lloyd or Jason Gildon who did not live up to their past performance when they signed the big free agent contract.

Then there is Rich McKay, Atlanta Falcons GM and the man who frantically searches the main streets and back roads of Tampa for the mojo he left behind when he came over from the Bucs. I think it was his signing of Joe Horn that made the Bears panic and deal Thomas Jones. Pairing Ron Mexico with a 35 year old wide receiver makes the Falcons the prohibitive favorites in the NFC next season.

If I were smarter, I wouldn't do this. Joe Horn is overrated. He has done excellent things, as the face of the Saints in their year in exile and in the triumphant return this season. Unfortunately, the NFL is a business where an aging, but media savvy player is a luxury few teams can afford at the rate of $3.3 million per year. I don't think this was as personal a matter as Horn has claimed. It seems like a wise business decision to cut him.

Looking at his career statistics, Joe Horn is a particularly expensive commodity at $3.3 million. He played only 10 games last season, and caught 37 passes. In 2005, Horn caught 49 passes over 13 games. On average, he's caught about 50 passes and 5 TDs a season over his 11 year career. That really isn't #1 receiver production, in spite of his pay. Horn's best season as a pro came back in 2004 (94 catches, 11 TDs), but he's coming back from a serious groin injury and he's 35.

When it comes to pro athletes advancing in years, I tend to think along the same lines as Marsellus Wallace (the Ving Rhames character from Pulp Fiction). Athletes do not age like wine, in the sense that they improve with age. Athletes age like wine in the sense that they grow bitter and turn into vinegar. At age 35, a wide receiver is more like champale than Dom Perignon. Yeah, Jerry Rice played into his 40s, but if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit that he was just a shadow of his former self.

In spite of all of this, and the fact that Ron Mexico seems to continually regress rather than progress personally and professionally, we are expected to take the Falcons seriously as contenders? At the risk of using the editorial we, let me just say...we are not amused. Horn may solidify a shaky receiving corps, provided that he's healthy enough to stay on the field and contribute, or he may not. But the Falcons still cannot protect the passer very well, and their defense has holes galore. So I will short the Falcons until they prove me wrong.

For those of you who are new to this blog, you might not know it, but I spent much of the last season navigating the trials and tribulations of the Bears bandwagon as though I were the Ringo Kid from the John Ford classic Stagecoach. During that process, I became emotionally invested in the team. Even though this offseason has been a nightmare so far, I am not ready to give up on the Bears for next season.

I have tried not to let the Thomas Jones trade bother me too terribly. Make no mistake about it, I am sorry to see him go. I like him as a running back, and he's a proven commodity. But the team put a lot of money and a high draft pick into the development of Cedric Benson, and that was never going to come to fruition with Thomas Jones on the team.

One of my problems is that I am a football fan with a very long memory. I can remember the 1999 NFL draft. The Arizona Cardinals drafted a running back from Virginia with the 7th pick of the 1st round. He didn't develop into the player they had hoped he would, so the team traded him to Tampa Bay for Marquise Walker. Even though providing the link in this paragraph kills what little drama was building, I'll pretend it's still a surprising revelation. That running back was the same Thomas Jones.

That paragraph points to two possible interpretations. First, the Cardinals and the Bucs regret letting Jones go, so will the Bears. That is the line this blogger takes. The other, the Cardinals made a mistake choosing an older back of a younger one (they signed Emmet Smith before they dealt Jones) who had shown promise but not produced to the desired extent. That's the way feel about this situation.

Running backs in the NFL burn out at a younger age than other athletes, except for boxers (maybe). Most running backs hit 30 and fall off a cliff. Thomas Jones might be one of the rare exceptions, but then again he might not. It makes more sense to go with the younger back with fewer miles on him than it does to give Jones a long term extension. With no long term deal, Jones would be leaving town as soon as his deal ends. It makes sense to get what you can for him before he's gone.

And then there's the fact that I know several of the other owners in my fantasy league read this blog. And they know I know this. And I know they know I know this. So there's a chance that I could be talking Benson up so that they fall all over themselves to draft him early, thus allowing me to swoop in and draft some other player they should be looking at.