Previously On 24 . . .

Jack Bauer has nothing on me during the last 24 hours.

My Saturday started off on the wrong foot from the beginning. I came home from work at 6am, and jumped on the computer (as always). When I was finished blogging, I didn't feel tired at all, so I stayed online. I checked my voluminous e-mail (yeah, right) and saw one from Katey. We talked back and forth for a while, and the next thing I knew, it was 11am! Thanks, Kate!!!

I finally crawled into bed and slept like a log . . . for four hours! I woke up at 3pm and couldn't fall back asleep. Peachy. I left for hockey at 9pm, and we played the game (see below post). By 10:30pm, I was exhausted and sore. As I was leaving the rink, I called work to tell them I was on my way. The officer on the other line said, "Take your time. The lieutenant told radio to hold you out at HQ." I said, "Okay," and hung up. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . "What?" I called the officer back and said, "Did you just say I'm on the street tonight?" (I was supposed to be on desk duty last night.) The officer said, "Yeah. two guys called out sick, and we have to send one officer to the fire scene in the neighboring district. We're shorthanded, so the Lt. put you out."

Did you ever see Bill Bixby when he turned into The Incredible Hulk? The eyes get wide, and he shakes with rage? That about sums up my reaction. They are going to put me on the street after four hours sleep and ninety minutes of hockey??? WTF? I calmly said okay, and added, "I'll be a little later, then, since I have to go home and get my pistol, gun belt, and vest." I jump in my car, speed home, grab my equipment, and run out the door. I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing - partly because I'm exhausted, partly because I'm annoyed - and take a yellow light at Red Lion Road and Roosevelt Boulevard.

Except it wasn't yellow. It was red!

How do I know? Because of the two giant flashes of light in my rear view mirror. The intersection has the light cameras for people who blow the red lights. The camera takes a pic of your license plate, and the city sends you a $100 fine. I never take that intersection especially because of the cameras, but it was the fastest way to work. Now, I'm late for work, tired beyond belief, and $100 poorer. I imagine the vehicles in front of and behind me heard the ten minute-long string of expletives.

Any whoo, I get into work, get changed, and ask the sergeant about my assignment. I am hoping they will put me on the fire scene, so I don't have to drive for eight hours. No such luck. Not only am I working a sector car, but I'm working a different car than I usually do. My assignment was 14 car, and I kept answering up as 16 car - force of habit. (Oh, and I'm told I am covering four sectors: E, L, M, and A - or, LAME.) As soon as I make myself available, I get the perfect job for my sour mood - a "Sick Assist."

Radio: "14, can you take a sick assist at (address)? An elderly woman has fallen off her couch, and needs help getting up. Her husband is home, but he is an invalid."

Me: "(Sigh) 14, okay."

I get to the address, walk in the door, and there she is, an elderly woman, lying on the floor, babbling incoherently. She's about 150 pounds or so, and hubby tells me that I'm going to have to "pick her up and take her into the bedroom" - which is at least 30-40 feet away. Cool, at least I'm not tired or anything! Let's do it. I pick the woman up (no small feat, since it's just me - and I'm a weakling) and half carry, half drag her to the bedroom. She asks me to put her "on the comode." WHAT? The husband says she needs to go to the bathroom, and I have to put her down on the terlet. I cringe, but I do it, and then the woman says, "Can you help me take off my pants?"

WHAT???!!!

"I need help with my pants." It's about this time that I remind myself that this aspect of the job is never mentioned in the brochures. I grit my teeth, close my eyes and work the pants like a band-aid, "RIGHT OFF!" Finally satisfied, the husband thanks me and I drag my lifeless form out of the house.

And the night went down from there. By 2am, I was getting the "head bob," when you almost fall asleep, but jerk yourself up beforehand. This almost caused me to hit the traffic median three times. After the third near-miss, I said "Screw this," and found a nice parking lot in which to sit. There I fought sleep, and answered the occasional radio call, until it was time to go home. Now I have two days off to recuperate and get the vivid imagery of the woman's pants out of my mind. Bleech!

And you think your job sucks . . .

Puckin' A!!!

A lot of people with emotional problems and/or mental health issues (like me) often resort back to their "happy place" when things aren't going so well. Last night, I spent two hours in my "happy place" - the hockey rink!

As I mentioned yesterday, last night was my team's tune-up for the upcoming men's season. It begins in September, so we wanted to shake off the rust. "I'll take a Rust-oleum cocktail with a WD-40 chaser, please!"

I arrive at the Skate Zone and find my friends in the locker room. Getting there early is paramount, because I take forever to put on all that equipment. Soon, my first big decision rears it's ugly head: what jersey do I wear? I was tempted to bring my Wayne Gretzky Rangers jersey, if for no other reason than to irk my Flyers-loving friends (and to piss off Katey), but I wore the old standby instead - my Stir-Fried Weasels uniform. The SFW is our former team. The jersey is yellow and black, and our logo was a weasel in a wok. Very cool.

We get out on the ice, stretch, and gab (it's like our own little sewing circle) until game time. It is here that we realize that we only have three subs on the bench. A feeling of doom creeps into my puny brain: "Oh crap, I'm going to be on the ice for the entire session." The puck drops and we're off.

Now, when I play defense, I play to win. (This is where the wife and my friends start to cringe.) I have no problem throwing myself in front of a fast-moving puck in order to save a goal. About five minutes into the game, that's exactly what happened. A winger from the other team entered the zone, and I challenged him. He got to the circle and began a wind-up. "Oh no, he's taking a slap shot," I say to myself. Like an idiot, I got between him and my goalie, Lou, and I took the shot off my chest. It hurt like the dickens (luckily, my shoulder pads come down pretty far), but the guy didn't score. About a half hour later, I took another shot off the left shoulder, but wasn't worse for wear.

Here's where it gets bad. We're winning, 1-0. It's late in the game, and the other team is getting a lot of odd-man rushes towards my goal. I, being 36, am exhausted from all the skating, but am trying my best to help out. A defenseman enters the zone and winds up. I flinch and turn away from the puck (bad idea), and BAM!, slap shot off the right calf (where the shin guards don't cover). Guess who drops like a stone? Seventeen hours later, it's still killing me. If it gets all nasty and black and blue, I'll post the pic!

I recover faster than I thought and get back out on the ice. Lou is still posting a shutout, but the other team is rushing. Then, I frak up. I miss my assignment (a wide open defenseman), who throws a wrist shot at Lou. He scores and scores, costing Lou his shutout. My fault. Damn! Of course, I take it well . . . by banging my stick against the boards! Now we're tied.

Two more get by the respective goalies, and it's now 2-2 with about five minutes left. By now, I'm cheating up on offense, trying to help us score. I'm at the blue line, and the puck comes to me. (Now, I don't have a slap shot to save my life, but my wrist shot is pretty accurate, so I toss it towards the goal.) My teammate Jim is by the crease, and after swinging at the puck a few times, he raises his arms. We scored! I congratulate him and head for the bench. We're now up 3-2. When I get to the bench, my friends Brian and Rob say, "Hey, great goal." Eh, what? "Yeah, your shot scored. Jim never touched it." Oh, kickass! I say "Thanks," and sit down, but I am now doing a mental Irish jig.

Unfortunately, the jig didn't last. in the last three minutes, the other team scored two more, and we lost, 5-2. Crud. I had a terrific time, but was plenty pissed that we didn't win. Oh well. For those that care, I am still in pain from the calf shot, and I feel like my partner did (and still does) after her auto accident. Everything is sore, and I feel like a train hit me. But I look forward to doing it all again in a month!

P.S. - Check you bets, kids. Did anyone have "I score a goal and get hit with three pucks?" I'm sure the payout for that will be fabulous!

Oh, by the way, the "Hell Night" began after the game. I'm going to post about that later tonight. And, hopefully, I won't write a novel like I did here.

Hellboy

I will be posting at least once more today, but now is not the time. I'm exhausted, and can't think straight. Four hours sleep in the last day will do that to a person. I'll most likely blog again in the early afternoon. Suffice to say, last night was the day from hell. I'm a bitter little troll this morning, and I don't think sleep will change that. For those of you who enjoyed my wagon rant of a few days ago, you ain't seen nothing yet.

To be continued . . .

Getting My Ice Kicked

I have a feeling this will be me (pictured, in white, eating the boards) when I take the ice tonight.

For the first time in over a year, I will be lacing them up at the ol' rink. My former (and now, current) ice hockey team is renting out the Flyers Skate Zone this evening for a much-needed tune up. Our new season begins in September, and I plan to be there. I have been looking forward to this rent out for months now, but my problem is (as usual) me.

Despite what some may tell you, I am grossly overweight, out of playing shape, and not that great a player to begin with. I have a decent "hockey mind," but having ice smarts does no good when you can't avoid a check. If I don't post tomorrow, it's because I got the crud beaten out of me tonight. Of course, I shouldn't bore everyone with my impending misery without letting you guys make some money off me. So, here's tonight's odds (as they concern me) for all of you degenerate gamblers out there:

• I get an assist (this is actually likely): 5-1
• I lose a tooth (because I wear a face shield, not a full cage): 10-1
• I get injured in a freak accident (like tripping over my own skates): 10-1
• I break my nose (which can only help this face): 20-1
• I score a goal (yeah, that'll happen): 25-1
• I get run over and killed by the Zamboni (a la Eddie LeBec): 100-1
• I score a hat trick, and the fabulous babes in the stands fall in love with me: 1,000,000-1

Well, there you have it. Place your bets!

A Public Service Announcement

Dearest readers,

Please know that I value each and every one of you who takes the time out of your busy day to visit this abomination of the English language. I also thoroughly appreciate every reader who leaves a comment or two (although it is not required). While SYLG will never reach the readership of a Dr. Phat Tony or a Garfield Ridge, the many links I have received from my bloggers in crime have done wonders for my notoriously bad self-esteem. You have my assurances that every site on my "Blog Faves" link is visited by yours truly on a daily basis. As "face painter" David Puddy would say, "Gotta support the team."

That being said, I am not a mind reader. I am more than happy to link someone who has done the same for me, but I can't do that unless you tell me what evil you've done. For instance, the lovely and talented Ding Ding has been kind enough to hook me up on her fabulous What Panda? I have been reading Ding Ding/Billy Fatman's work for a few weeks now, and it's gold, Jerry, gold (despite what she may think sometimes)! Don't let the punk 'do or the pregnancy photos fool you, she's got game. Check her out!

As for the rest of you, if you make the mistake of linking SYLG, lemme know, so I can return the favor. Dismissed!

More Stupid Questions

Okay, it's been a while since I posted a hot babe, so here's my question; Indy driver Danica Patrick (pictured), will you be my girlfriend?

Is anyone else worried about Discovery? Remember, Columbia had the same tile issues on its last mission. I can't take another shuttle tragedy.

How will the Eagles defensive line survive without Jerome McDougle, who was shot in the stomach during a robbery today?

Since the IRA has decided to disarm, how soon will the War on Terror end? I'd take five Provos against the entire radical Muslim nation any day of the week. "You call that a bomb? This is a bomb!"

Why the hell is Dr. Phat Tony getting all the attention? Eh, it's probably because he can really bring the funny. Congrats on your new-found fame, Doc!

Why is Wyatt posting yet another Stupid Questions topic? Well, because I'm fresh outta ideas today. Sorry!

Guilty Pleasures

Well, after a night of misery, I was back in the saddle again last night. My very own solo car, and just back from the shop. God, how I missed her. That car is one of the few pleasures I've enjoyed at work this week, so I got to thinking: what other guilty pleasures do I enjoy? Here's five . . .

• Playstation 2 - I know, I am not a ten-year old (at least not physically), but my PS2 is probably my number one stress reliever. There's nothing better after a long day of fighting crime than blasting Nazis in Medal of Honor: European Assault, or scoring hat tricks in NHL 2004. Sure, it is probably rotting my brain from the inside out, and it's ruining my attention span, but . . . um, I forgot where I was going with this.
• XXX - No, not porn. I'm talking about the Vin Diesel masterpiece. I love this film! I realize that 99% of the population thinks it's god-awful, but I can't help myself. When it's on television, I catch it. I own the DVD, and it's showing twice a month, at least. I can't explain it, but I find it very entertaining. Look, I'm no moron. I realize that Vin Diesel and Asia Argento - although pretty (both of them) - can't act worth a damn, but XXX is one of my favorite films. God, I feel so dirty now.
• Cartoons - Again, I am not an adolescent, but I play one on my blog. I have always loved cartoons - my home is festooned with pictures of Daffy Duck; I tell people they're for the kids - for the simple reason that they're funny. (Wow, that was deep.) Well, that and because you can laugh at cartoon violence (like when Wile E. Coyote falls off the cliff and you see the smoke cloud upon impact) and not seem like a serial killer. I can quote lines from The Simpsons verbatim; I regularly reference Family Guy here; and my favorite superhero is The Tick. I'm really not a bright guy.
• Soda - The number one reason I'm a big "fatty-fat-fat-fat." I love it! I would have soda come out of my faucet if it were possible. Yeah, I know it's bad for me. Yeah, I know it's the biggest no-no on the Atkins Diet. Yeah . . . I don't care. "Hi. My name is Wyatt, and I'm a sugar addict." Admitting your problem is the first step to ignoring it.
• Speed - Not crystal meth, although that could solve my weight problem. I'm talking about "anything fast enough to do something stupid in." (That's a quote from "XXX" by the way.) When I'm off duty, I drive like Miss Daisy - because I'd be embarrassed if I were stopped for speeding. At work, I turn into Dale Earnhardt, Jr, just waiting for a priority call to come out (and give me a chance to floor it). I am proud to say that I got my solo car up to 110 mph on Interstate 95. It drives my dispatcher, Nikki, nuts, but it's a real rush. I mean, who's gonna pull over a police car, right? It's stupid and dangerous, but if I wrap my car around a light pole, at least my partner can say I bought the farm doing something I liked.

Over There: A Review

My TiVo is not gonna be able to handle the extra work.

I already have a Season Pass for "Battlestar Galactica," "Smallville," and "24." Now it looks like the new FX series, "Over There" will be working its way into my rotation. Over There, which premiered last night, takes a dramatic look into the War in Iraq. The series begins with a squad of green recruits dumped into a battle (and subsequent stalemate) they never expected. Most of the episode focuses upon the week-long firefight with insurgents (read: bad guys) holed up in a mosque, but the final ten minutes conclude with a gruesome plot twist.

The series is produced by Steven Bochco, and stars Josh Henderson (as gung-ho Texan Bo Ryder) and Erik Palladino (as the gruff "Sergeant Scream").

I really enjoyed the first episode of Over There, and am looking forward to next week's show. Of course, I was never a soldier, and cannot speak upon the program's authenticity. (I'll leave that to the professionals like Dr. Phat Tony.) In my opinion, however, Over There deserves a shot. As long as the series doesn't get preachy and anti-Bush, that is.

He Owens Us An Explanation

I've had it.

If I had my way, Eagles wide receiver Terrell Owens would never step foot in my town again. Just post me at the city limits with my six shooter and my ten-gallon hat. For those not in the know, Owens and his weasel agent, Drew Rosenhaus, have been crying poverty to anyone who will listen. The terrible two have done everything in their power to distract the team (and the fans) at just the right time: a few days before training camp opens on August 1st.

"T.O.," which must mean "Totally Oblivious," has said that he can't feed his family on the $3.25 million he will make this season. And he said that with a straight face:

"I'm sort of like the man of the house," Owens said yesterday. "I'm taking care of everybody - my brother and sister in college, their children, my mother, my grandmother. That's what a lot of people don't understand... [$3.25 million] might be a lot of money for somebody not playing in the professional arena; it's not for someone playing in the professional arena."

As if that wasn't bad enough, uber-weasel Rosenhaus followed up with this little gem (and I'm paraphrasing here): Rosenhaus said that since Tom Cruise makes $50 million per film, T.O. should get much, much more than he is currently receiving. Why? Here it comes: "because he is out there risking his life every day."

Hold on a second, I'm having a brain aneurysm.

Okay, I'm back. Drew. Baby. Your player isn't risking his life every day. How often do NFL players die on the field? You know who is risking their lives every day? Our troops. Firefighters. Police Officers. T.O.,I'll let you in on a little secret. You know what I make annually as a police officer? About $50,000. My wife doesn't work, because she chose to raise our two children. Four of us on $50,000. And I don't complain about it - we get by. But spare me your sanctimonious attitude. If you are looking for sympathy in this town, you don't understand your fan base. Jackass.

Oh, God Kill Me Now

Last night was my turn on the wagon. (UGH!) And oh, the fun we had! I should have seen it coming:

Scary Omen #1: A brutal thunderstorm knocked out power through much of my district, causing traffic mayhem. Thus, many of the solo cars were on traffic posts for the tour.

Scary Omen #2: The district adjacent to mine decided they weren't going to run their wagon last night, leaving me and my partner the only one in the division. Therefore, if there were any prisoner runs, guess who got them?

Scary Omen #3: Both my partner and I were exhausted before roll call, and weren't looking forward to running our tushies off.

Roll Call, 11:00pm - The supervisor notifies us of our delightful assignment: the wagon. Our first job out of the gate is to go to the hospital and babysit a 17-year old punk prisoner. Oh, here we go.

Hospital, 11:30pm - We arrive at the hospital to find that the prisoner isn't even ours; the jackass was arrested in the district that isn't running their wagon. The doctor meets us and says, "You guys will be here for a few hours . . . at least." Swell.

Hospital, 11:30pm to 2:30am - Adventures in babysitting. The juvenile screams at us, curses at the doctors and nurses (especially "Sandy," who's a really cute redhead, but I digress), and generally gives everyone a hard time. We finally move the kid into a private room with a glass sliding door, if only to drown out his bitching. In the meantime, mommy shows up, and junior starts crying like a baby because "the cops are treating him poorly." Oh, brother!

Wagon, 2:30am - Junior is released, and we find out that he (allegedly) tried to carjack someone. Said someone then beat junior senseless and held him until the police arrived. Dope. junior demands that we uncuff him, and we refuse. He starts the curse storm again, and we politely remind him he was just crying like a bitch in front of his mommy. Junior behaves.

Wagon, 4:00am - After a much-needed break, the neighboring district locks up a DUI. Since they have no wagon, guess who they call. We pick up the drunk who, of course, is acting like an idiot, and transport him downtown.

Wagon, 5:00am - We leave Police HQ just in time for the neighboring lieutenant to call us and tell us to pick up three more prisoners at the divisional HQ. We groan, but comply.

Divisional HQ - 5:30am - We pick up the three prisoners, but instead of taking them to the nearby prison, we are told to take them back to Police HQ! I interject, "You gotta be f**king kidding me. We just came from there!" We load up the truck and move to Beverly, er, Police HQ.

Police HQ, 6:00am - Arrival at Police HQ is terrific in daylight. You can really notice the dirt. We drop off the very attractive jailbirds (*gag*) and head for home. Thankfully, our tour ends in a half hour.

District, 6:55am - It's almost time to report off, when the neighboring lieutenant is at it again. He asks our sergeant, "What's the wagon's status?" Are you kidding me? We go home in twenty minutes!!! To his credit, our sergeant says we are enroute back from Police HQ. The lt is satisfied, and our day officially ends.

Home, 7:30am - I cheat on Atkins for the morning, and stop to get a twenty-ounce Coca-Cola. I need stress relief, and drinking beer at 8am isn't for me.

God, I hate the wagon!

P.S. - Sorry about the rambling, but I needed to vent.

Wagon Drain

I have to be honest; I'm dreading going into work tonight. Why? Because it's my turn to work the dreaded wagon. (Or, "paddy" wagon if you prefer.) The wagon sucks because, a) I have to work with a partner, b) it gets all the crummy jobs, such as transporting prisoners and dead guys, and c) I have to work with a partner. I don't work well with others, and I don't do the partner thing. At least, not anymore.

My sergeant, in his infinite wisdom, recently decided to put every officer in the platoon on "the wheel." Meaning, that everyone would get their turn, whether they like it or not. Of course, in every other district, if no one volunteers for the wagon, the two cops with the least amount of time get stuck with it. I worked it for two years in my first district, and worked it steady for a total of two years in my current assignment. I didn't like it when I first got on the job, but I realized that (being the low man on the totem pole) I had to suck it up.

Eleven years later, the department has changed, and not necessarily for the better. My sergeant believes that "the wheel" is a fair system, because everyone gets it. I think "the wheel" is ridiculous, because instead of pissing off two cops, he's pissing off twenty-five. No offense, but I pain my dues; and I don't think someone with as much time on the job as I have should get the wagon . . . ever. But that's just me.

So, as a tribute to my upcoming eight hours of misery, I present you with SYLG's first Top Ten list:

Top Ten Things I Would Prefer To Working The Wagon

10. Wear porcupine underpants.
9. Join the Democratic Party.
8. Attend a Ben Affleck/Jennifer Lopez film festival.
7. Convert to Scientology.
6. Make out with Teresa Heinz-Kerry.
5. Move to France.
4. Root for Penn State football. (Bleecch!)
3. Let Allen Iverson raise my kids.
2. Ask the Eagles to give Terrell Owens a new, bigger contract.
1. Have unprotected sex with Paris Hilton.

Men Are Pigs

Since I am an all-powerful entity in the blog world, do you think Kirsten Dunst will go out with me? Oh, sure, I am happily married with two beautiful kids, but forget Mary; there's something about Kirsten. Maybe it's because she played Mary Jane Watson in the Spider-man films (and, as we know from reading SYLG, Spider-man is the coolest superhero . . . ever!). This first picture (above) is terrific, but I think I like her hair better when it's down. That's just a suggestion, not a rule.

Do you think that someone as pretty as her has self-confidence issues? I mean, is it possible that she thinks her legs look awful, or that she isn't very attractive? Or that she has to settle with the first guy who looks her way? I doubt it, but stranger things have happened.

Anyway, there's really no point to this post. (Like I ever have a point here.) It's just been a while since I last wrote about Jennie Finch, that's all. Yeah, my wife is gonna kill me.



Yup, I'm dead.

A "Kate" You Don't Want To Support

Break out the duct tape; my head is going to explode.

"The family of a Marine who was killed in Iraq is furious with Lt. Gov. Catherine Baker Knoll for showing up uninvited at his funeral this week, handing out her business card and then saying 'our government' is against the war." - Tom Barnes, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

I know I'm a little late on this story, but it just came across my desk. (And by "desk" I mean the little computer stand in my basement.) I have been purposely avoiding political news since I started SYLG, because too many people get nuts when you talk about it. (Me included.) This, however, cannot pass without some much-needed bile.

Those who know me, know that I despise Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell. I truly hate him. Now I know why he's so happy Knoll was elected Lt. Governor - she's an idiot. The broad was State Treasury Secretary for cripes' sake! I'm better qualified for her current position! But I digress. This isn't about me; it's about the thought process (or lack thereof) of Knoll. Look, this isn't an Owen Wilson sequel. There is no one clamoring for "Funeral Crashers." If you're not invited, stay the hell home. But, in the off chance that you want to pay your respects, by all means, shut your pie hole! No one at that funeral (or the state in general) cares a whit about what an octogenarian Lt. Governor thinks about the War on Terror. Hell, I don't care what Rendell thinks about it. It's not your place, Cath, plain and simple.

And speaking of knowing your role and shutting your mouth, the last place you should be "pressing the flesh" and/or campaigning is at a frakkin' funeral! These people are mourning a hero, and you - like your partner in crime, "Fast Eddie" - treated the occasion as a photo-op.

Catherine Baker Knoll, you are a piece of garbage.

A Bloggers Love Connection

Okay, I have two friends, Dr. Phat Tony and The Conservative UAW Guy. Only one of these friends can make this young lass his bride. (Forget it, Damian, you're still a pup!) I realize that this woman is their dream date, and it is evil of me to post her picture here, but I just can't resist. Well, that, and the fact that I want to see the two of them fight to the death for her hand in marriage.

Let the games begin!

There She Is . . .

In a comment from "Drop The Puck!," Kate asked me my age. How rude! I responded, but it occurred to me that since most of my readers have never met me (your gain, trust me), I could occasionally regale you with some of my personal anecdotes. With that in mind, I wanted to start with a bang (no, not like that, get your minds out of the gutter!).

The following story is 100% true.

It's the Winter of 1990, and I am the Editor-in-Chief of Saint Joseph's University's newspaper, The Hawk. My best friend (and previous EIC) Heather Simmons hooked me up with the interview to end all interviews: Miss America 1990, Marjorie Vincent. Now, being a guy (read: pig), I was all for it. Heather, of course, asked me the prerequisite questions, like "Do you even know what her platform is?" I responded by staring and saying, "Eh, what?" Immediately I went from fairly bright college student to Beavis and Butt-Head. The only catch was that the interview had to be conducted in one of the university's vans, because Marjorie had to catch a plane. Being the trooper I am, I took one for the team and hopped aboard.

Any whoo, we're driving eastbound on the Schuylkill Expressway (aka The Road of Death), and the interview is going swimmingly. I'm my usual charming self (and Heather, who is in the front seat, is rolling her eyes at me), and Marjorie's laughing at my dumb jokes. I figure I've got it made. And then, she opens her mouth. For someone from Duke Law School, she's not particularly bright. She blathered on about this and that, and soon I was praying for a quick end.

Little did I know I almost got it a mile later.

We're still talking as the van is approaching Passyunk Avenue. At the exit there is a brutal curve. The driver is doing about 60 mph. The next thing I hear is Heather and the driver screaming, and I am slamming into the seat in front of me. A tractor-trailer with an open bed took the westbound curve too fast and tipped . . . into our lane! Our van collided with the cab of the trailer. Panic. Smoke. Pain. That's pretty much what I noticed when I came to. The driver jumped out his door, but Heather's was stuck. Miss America and her escort were still slumped over, blocking the side door exit. I hurt like hell, but realized I didn't want to be in the van if it went up in flames.

The next thing I knew, I was jumping over Marjorie, and heading to the exit door. I forced the door, which was slightly damaged, and yelled at Marjorie and her escort to get up. They did, but they were wobbly, so I carried them both (one at a time, of course) to the stopped vehicles a few yards behind us. I came back as the Highway Patrol was pulling up, and noticed Heather was still in the passenger side front of the van. her door wouldn't open. Like an idiot, I tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge. (Embarrassingly, we realized later that it was locked!) I told her to get up and come to the rear door, which she did, and I helped her out of the vehicle. Thankfully, the van never caught fire, and everyone escaped with minor injuries.

Rescue took Miss America to St. Agnes Medical Center with her escort, while Highway transported Heather, Bill, the driver, and myself. While we were sitting in an emergency room (the three of us), Marjorie was being looked at by the docs. (I guess Miss America's bump on the forehead was more important than any of us. ) It took them two hours to look in on my friends. I had a few bumps and bruises, and a lot of glass in my hair, but that's all. Three hours later, Heather's parents came to pick us up, and drove us to her house near school. All that time, would you think Miss America would take a second to either check on my friends, or say thank you to yours truly. Hell no!

But, I'm not bitter or anything.


Miss America (Ingrate)

Drop The Puck!

Does anybody remember the NHL? I barely do, and I'm what you would call a rabid fan. Last year, the NHL's players and management were embroiled in a ridiculous CBA stalemate that effectively cancelled the season. Thus, the league pissed off even the most loyal of fans. (Read: me!)

Well, the lockout was ended recently, and now the NHL has come crawling back on their hands and knees - much like women always do to me. (Oh, sorry, I blacked out there for a minute.) Should hockey fans take them back? The jury is still out.

On the one hand, I get extreme pleasure out of the fact that the players got the shaft with the new deal. Had they agreed to the last proposed contract offered by the owners, they would have been better off. They didn't, and now I can do my Nelson Muntz impersonation: "Haw! Haw!"

On the other hand, the league is already trying their best to woo fans with a better product. Even the Philadelphia Flyers (I hate Bobby Clarke as a GM, so I'm a Rangers/Penguins fan until he is run outta town on a rail) have reduced ticket prices and created "family sections" for the Flyers faithful. It's a good start. NHL commish Gary Bettman has also implemented some much needed changes to the game itself in an attempt to spur exciting, wide open, higher-scoring contests. Among the new rules changes are:

• The reduction in size of the goaltender's equipment.
• The red line will be eliminated with respect to two-line passes (breakaways will be more common).
• The elimination of ties. Whoo hoo! If a game is tied at the end of regulation, the teams will play a four-on-four overtime. If it is still not settled, the teams will go on to a shootout. Finally, the teams will play "sudden death" until the game is decided.

I can't argue with any of these changes. In my humble opinion, I think the league is trying to capture the excitement of Olympic hockey, which I'm all for. Sure, the fights will still happen, as will the brutal checking, but I think this season will see scoring aplenty.

Okay, maybe I'm a sheep, just desperate for my favorite sport to come back. I'm still pissed that we lost a season, but I'll give the NHL another chance.

Bear With Me, Kids

It has been the day off from hell. Our tur-let is leaking, even though it is one month old, I had to run a few errands in the ridiculously oppressive heat (today's heat index in Philly is 110 degrees!), and I needed to keep off the net in case the plumber calls. Well, it's after 3, and I don't think that's happening. Sorry for the delay. I will resume posting within the hour.

Stupid Questions

I am currently watching Seinfeld, so I have to ask: Would Babu Bhat (pictured, left) be on the FAA's "No-Fly List?"

What was the point of the NHL lockout? The players settled for a salary cap much less than was proposed months ago! (I'll post about that tomorrow.)

With today's splintering of the AFL-CIO, are Democrats jumping out of their high-rise windows ?

Why was NBC's Joey not cancelled? And who the hell is in charge of programming over there? "I have an idea, Mr. Chairman, why don't we do a Friends spin-off with the most annoying character?" Good plan, Einstein.

I watch golf on television (shut it!), and here's a question I want answered: If ABC is going through the effort of televising a "dream" golf match, why would they show the first hour on ESPN2? Cripes, it just came on, and I missed the first four holes!

Finally, can someone please tar, feather, and gag Skip Bayless of ESPN2's "1st and 10?" I had the misfortune of catching some of his show today, just in time for him to tell the world that Lance Armstrong is a great "endurance" athlete, but couldn't be spoken in the same breath as Jordan or Ali. Hey Skip, please enjoy a nice, cool glass of shut the hell up!

Humility, Thy Name Is Wyatt

Support Your Local Gunfighter has become a boom town in recent days. Since Saturday, I have had almost 300 hits! That is not a typo. Three-hundred in three days! At this rate, I will hit 1,000 visitors by the end of the day. And I have no idea how I'm gonna deal. Frankly, I am humbled beyond belief. When the boom started on Saturday (thanks in large part to a mention on Domelights) I was dancing a jig in my living room. My wife will (with embarrassment) confirm this. I cannot thank you, the readers, enough for your support, and I especially want to thank my linked friends who have been there from the beginning.

P.S. - Before Damian asks, this is not a fishing for compliments expedition. And to prove it, I have disabled comments for this post.

Don't Mess With Texas!

Was there ever any doubt?

For the past month, I have inundated my loyal readers with daily updates from the 2005 Tour de France (er, Lance). Although you have been too kind to tell me, I realize that there are many out there that were getting tired of the constant coverage. Relax, kids, it's all over. And, for the seventh straight time, American Lance Armstrong is the King of the Road!

And, it wasn't even close.

Of course, it isn't all joy in Mudville today, because the end of this year's Tour means the end of Lance's career. Armstrong has officially retired - a real retirement, not a Michael Jordan "retirement." Undoubtedly the greatest cyclist ever - and in my opinion, the greatest athlete ever (the guy beat cancer, man!) - Armstrong is going out at the pinnacle of his career. As Tyler D commented, he could probably win ten straight! I believe that.

If there's any downside to the Lance Armstrong story, it's that there still too many people who don't appreciate what he's done. Cycling is still a fringe sport in America (although I don't know why, as I saw every exciting stage on TV), and there are knuckleheads who see the headlines and reply, "That's nice."

Those people will never know what dedication it takes to train for the Tour. Those people will never know what courage it takes to fight through cancer. Those people will never know what a true role model Lance Armstrong has always been. Lance Armstrong is not just the ultimate athlete, he is also the ultimate human being.

I'll miss watching him ride.

She Caught The Katey

. . . and left me a mule to ride (The Blues Brothers).

There's a new blogger in town, and her name is Kate. Kate is already a Domelights legend, but today she joins the blogosphere with her new venture, Katey's Korner.

Since the Korner is only one post old, I'll fill you in on what to expect. Brilliance. That is all. Look, Kate is smarter than me. (Who isn't?) She is more well-spoken that I will ever be. And her writing can be witty, funny, thought-provoking, and entertaining all at the same time. Her stuff will make you cry, she's so good. Next to her, I'm a novice who couldn't hold her athletic supporter. (Okay, bad metaphor since she's a woman, but you get the idea.) In short, if you enjoy the drivel I toss at the screen like so much monkey feces, you will love Katey's Korner. If you don't, I'll personally refund 110% of your money.

Katey's Korner is a must-read, kids. The Conservative UAW Guy has already stopped by, and even posted a comment already. (Thanks, Jimmy, for helping to make her feel welcome.) So, what are the rest of ya waiting for? Check out her blog. NOW! Would ol' Wyatt steer ya wrong?

Chevy Chase Has More Fight

I'm sorry it took me so long to post after this morning, but I spent my day in the heat and humidity of scenic Camden, New Jersey. My friend Bill and I have a partial season ticket plan for the Camden Riversharks, the local minor-league baseball team. We've been ticketholders for three years now, but our patience is wearing thin. We're almost in Kate Moss territory!

I realize that it's minor league, but is it too much to ask to see a little fire in these guys? The team is now at .500, but fading rapidly. For example, during the last two Sunday games (which we attended) the Sharks lost a lead in the top of the ninth, and went on to lose the game. Twice in a row? What the hell??

Today, however, I was brimming with confidence as my beloved Sharks took a 7-4 lead into the ninth inning. The Lancaster Barnstormers aren't exactly the kind of team I would worry about, but after the last two games, I was ready for the worst.

I got it.

Former Phillie (that should have been the first red flag) Wayne Gomes came on in relief, and promptly gave up four runs in the top of the ninth. Four freakin' runs! (This is why I don't carry my weapon off-duty.) Incredibly, the Riversharks loaded the bases with two outs in the bottom of the ninth . . . only to see Brian Hunter look at a called third strike. Cripes! Take the bat of your shoulder, Bri! All they needed was one lousy hit! Am I alone in this world???

It's bad enough that they took Flippy Girl (pictured, below) away from me (she would have been my bride - when my wife finally kicks me out), but to do that and play crummy baseball? That's powerfully uncool.

Domelights Outed Me!

"I've been outed. I wasn't even in!" - Jerry Seinfeld, "Seinfeld"

One of the great things about Blogger is that they provide a keen-looking sidebar in which to put your favorite links. Since I'm a big, dumb guy, this pleases me, because I couldn't possibly create my own website. My personal sidebar contains sites that I both enjoy and frequent, including other blogs I read daily, television shows I watch, and the requisite police-related destinations. My favorite of these is Domelights.

Domelights is a Philadelphia-based police/fire/military website that includes "free-for-all message boards," where folks like me can vent about anything and everything. (My apologies to Domelights head honcho McQ for that sub-par description.) Most of us don't use our real names, because when you're bashing the incompetent, corrupt Mayor or the underachieving Fire Commissioner, it's safer to do so behind a nome de plume (two days in a row for that phrase!). And believe me, the city and the respective departments would just love to punish someone for speaking their mind. Of course, ripping politicians not what the site is all about. It's more like an internet watering hole, where you can talk to friends and co-workers about topics unique to law enforcement. Think of it as group therapy.

Some of the "regulars" on The Dome are household names in the department - at least their screen names are. So, imagine my surprise today when I received an e-mail from Kate (aka "Katey Kakes") telling me she enjoyed reading SYLG. She said she heard about my blog on The Dome. I jumped to the site, and there in the Philadelphia Blue forum was a topic called "Who is the 'Wyatt Earp' blogger on Domelights?" Oh . . . my . . . God!!! I'm still not sure how they found me, or how they knew I was a poster on Domelights, but here I was for all the world to see (Domelights has 2503 current members, and 485,792 page visits - I should be so lucky) - naked and alone. Sorry for the imagery, kids!

Don't get me wrong, I love the guys and gals at Domelights, but they are brutally honest. I am scared to death that they are one keystroke away from telling me how much they think this blog reeks, and that I am a hack of the first order. (I mean I know it, I just don't want people to tell me that!) I care what the posters there think, as I care about what each and every one of my readers thinks. (Hell, one poster "Officer Donut" is an accomplished author; and I am insanely jealous!) If nothing else, the notion that some Domelighters may occasionally stop by will motivate me to work much, much harder on this train wreck.

And for that, I thank them.

P.S. - Hat tip to "Lt. Anger" who started the ball rolling. Next beer is on me!

Tour De Lance: Stage 20

What is there to say about today's final time trial, and next-to-last stage of the Tour? I'll give you the All-American highlights:

Lance Armstrong won the time trial (his 22nd stage win of his career).

He passed Mickael Rasmussen, who started the trial six minutes before him!

Overall, Armstrong's lead on Basso grew to 4:40. Ullrich is 6:21 behind.

Barring an earthquake, floods, fires, and locusts, Armstrong will easily win his seventh straight Tour de France tomorrow, and cement his place as one of America's greatest athletes.

Reader Mail

Today is as good a day as any to answer the voluminous amount of reader mail that floats my way. These are actual letters from actual readers.* Enjoy!

Q: Wyatt (if that is your real name), what do you really look like?

A: No, it is not my real name, but my nome de plume (is that French?). As for the looks, I happen to have a picture of myself right here:


Frightening, isn't it? Okay, this is actually Drew Carey, but ask anyone who knows me: with my glasses on, I'm a dead ringer. And, I'm not as secure in my appearance as Dr. Phat Tony is, so you'll probably never see the real me. So, to answer your question, I am vulgarly unattractive. At least Drew has money to lure the ladies. I've got bubkis.

Q: Jeepers, your posts suck! Why do you continue this futile attempt at writing?

A: Terrific question. Let me answer it in three parts. First, I agree I suck rocks. My writing has taken a nosedive since my days at The Hawk (my university newspaper, where I was really pretty darned . . . um, average). Blogging keeps me in writing shape (hey, round is a shape!) until I land a book deal. Second, I abandoned my first blog because it wasn't fun anymore (some of my liberal "friends" hijacked my comments section), and the six months off made me rusty. I'm still trying to work out the kinks, and hadn't told my friends I started blogging again until SYLG was a month old. Finally, if you don't like what I post, get bent. (Nah, I'm just kidding, I am desperate for readership. I will do anything to keep folks checking back. Anything!)

Q: What is being a police officer really like?

A: On average, it's seven and a three-quarter hours of boredom, and fifteen minutes of adrenaline-fueled terror. For every shooting and vehicle/foot pursuit, there are fifty calls for loud music, disorderly crowds, and message deliveries. I have a much better chance of dying in an auto accident at work than being gunned down in a back alley shootout.

Q: Have you ever been scared during a call?

A: No. Not a chance. Never. Oh, okay, probably about fifty percent of the time. Unlike most of the cops in my platoon, I draw my pistol when I check burglar alarms. I have my hand on my gun (and my holster unsnapped) when I do a car stop. And I am deathly afraid of heights (but don't tell my partner, because she thinks I'm not). One time, the two of us had a call for a burglar alarm at a warehouse. We needed to check the roof, because it was burglarized before at that point of entry. Doris told me that she was scared of heights, and I said she didn't have to go up the hook and ladder (courtesy of the Philadelphia Fire Department). She did it anyway, which I still give her tremendous credit for, while I was sweating my way up. It wasn't so bad ascending, but the trip down had me shaking. It may not seem manly, but yes, I do get scared on the job.

* Not a guarantee. My few readers rarely ask me questions. Sorry for the lie.

Tour De Lance: Stage 19

LE PUY-EN-VELAY, France (AP) -- Italy's Giuseppe Guerini won Friday's 19th stage of the Tour de France, with overall leader Lance Armstrong riding safely behind in the main pack.
The six-time champion maintained his comfortable advantage of 2 minutes, 46 seconds over Italy's Ivan Basso, and 3:46 on Denmark's Mickael Rasmussen heading into Saturday's final time trial.

That race against the clock should determine the top riders' standings ahead of Sunday's final ride into Paris, where Armstrong is expected to collect his seventh straight Tour title before retiring.

``Big day,'' Armstrong said. ``I'll give it everything I have.''

I personally don't have a problem with Armstrong playing it safe throughout the tour. It may not be as exciting as I'd like, but he's got his eyes on the prize. Tomorrow, he'll probably dominate the final time trial, and then coast into gay Pa-ree sipping champagne and pissing off Frenchmen. Sweet.

Not So Super-visors

Sometimes, a business is only as good as its supervisors. In a major metropolitan police department, supervisors can make or break a squad. Unfortunately for me, some of the supervisors in my platoon are about as popular as Bill Lumbergh from "Office Space" (pictured, above left). Why? Because they haven't got a clue.

My sergeant is useless in the same way that many ineffectual parents are: he wants to be everyone's friend, and not their boss. The problem with this line of thinking is that when one of the platoon's screw-ups (and there are a lot of them) does something idiotic, nothing is said or done about it. The workers (like me) are left to pick up the bums' slack. Allow me to give you an example:

Two nights ago, the wagon crew (one bum male and one uber-bum female officer) exited roll call at about midnight. The policy is that when you are available, you notify police radio. They refused. Radio, not knowing any better, kept them listed at headquarters. In the meantime, the solo cars (like myself) were running around the district answering 911 calls. The wagon was on the street, but they weren't telling anyone. I know because they passed me while I was rushing to an alarm. Radio kept the wagon listed at HQ until 4:47am!!! Basically, the two officers (and I use that term loosely) got to kill more than five hours of their workday because the sergeant wasn't paying attention to the status screen. Five hours! While the rest of us were busting our humps. Now that's leadership worthy of the DNC.

Last night, the male bum was on a solo car (assigned next to me as my primary backup - scary) and his first mission out of roll call was to tell radio that he had to take his vehicle to the garage for service. He never specified what was wrong with the vehicle. Go figure. He leaves the district at midnight, and comes back into service at 3:31am!!! Three-and a half hours at the garage! One of my co-workers asked if he was getting a new engine. And where was the supervisor in all this? Silent. He had to know what was going on, since everyone else did, right? I mean, take a friggin' interest, will ya? (Oh, in case you were wondering, I had to answer two calls on this bum's sector, and had to wait five minutes for a backup on a car stop because toad-boy was checking his wipers or something equally inane.)

I'm sorry for the rant, but until my sergeant gets the toads in line, I am at greater risk of getting hurt. And that had better not happen. If my police department is only as good as its supervisors, then we're in very big trouble.

Tour De Lance: Stage 18

MENDE, France - Lance Armstrong feels so sure of victory, so ready for retirement, that he doesn't want to get off his bike. Not now, with the end this tantalizingly close.

"Why don't we just not stop? Let's just keep riding, get it over with," Armstrong said when teammate George Hincapie, pedaling alongside during Thursday's 18th stage, reminded him that only three days and 219.6 miles remained until the Champs-Elysees in Paris.

"That would be better for me," the six-, nearly seven-time champion said. "The sooner it's done, the better."

Ullrich, who has three second-place finishes behind Armstrong, said: "We tried everything. But Lance is so strong, just like last year. We tried to attack him, but you have to accept he is the strongest. The way he rides, the way his team rides. He deserves it."(AP)

Three days and 219.6 miles left until the greatest American athlete wins his 7th straight Tour de France. Vive le Lance!

(Flip) Flop House

Ya know what really bothers me? It's when media jackass types try and make a news story out of jack squat. The latest non-story roaming the airwaves is the hubbub over the National Champion Northwestern Women's Lacrosse team, and their visit to the White House. Why all the hubbub, bub? Well, everyone is up in arms that a few of the gals wore flip-flops to the meet and greet with G.W.

Oh, the horror!

I had the distinct displeasure to hear radio right-winger Mike Gallagher (whom I usually like) go on (and on, and on) about this "controversy" for an hour yesterday. By the way he was blathering on, you would have thought that the team wore hemp skirts, dog collars, and "F**k Texas" t-shirts. Hey Mike, take a Valium, will ya? The ladies dressed appropriately, and the few who "dared" to wear the flip-flops are auctioning them off on eBay for charity! Get a grip, you dolt.

I have a vested interest in this flip-flop flap, since I am a high school lacrosse coach when I'm not fighting crime. Lacrosse players are a special breed, and are usually ones to buck fashion trends. The fact that a few of the ladies wore unconventional footwear doesn't surprise me in the least. Good for them.

By the way, I never met the man, but from what I hear, Bush is a pretty down-to-earth guy. I don't think he gave a rat's arse what the team had on their feet. Just my $0.02.

Tour De Lance: Stage 17

Lance Armstrong's Discovery teammate Paolo Savoldelli won his first Tour de France stage today, while Armstrong kept his overall lead at 2:46. Lance was in cruise control today, content to keep pace with his closest challengers, instead of going full bore after a stage win. He seems to have the big picture in mind this year, and the way he and his Discovery Channel teammates are going, championship #7 is right around the corner.

Buried Treasure

The Smithsonian Institution has announced that they have found 60 rare photos of the 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial buried deep in their archives. The Tennessee trial argued the teaching of evolution versus creation in schools, and showed off the talents of two of America's most famous lawyers, Clarence Darrow and William Jennings Bryan.

Support Your Local Gunfighter has acquired one of these rare, unpublished photos of the monkey trial. Here we see the defense counsel arguing his case before the court . . .

GOD . . . IS . . . PISSED!

Yesterday, the FDA warned doctors to check for rare and deadly diseases in women who have been taking RU-86, the "morning after" abortion pill. (It's a shame the pill isn't retroactive: lest I give it to Michael Moore's mother.) Since the pills' release in 2000, five women have died after its use, but the Agency couldn't positively confirm a link between the deaths and RU-86.

The Associated Press story had some terrific quotes from God. The most notable of these was this little gem:

"I told you sons of bitches that RU-86 would come back and bite you in the ass! I told you!!!"

Justice Romijn Presiding

President Bush will be addressing the nation tonight, and will announce his nomination for a successor to retiring Supreme Court justice Sandra Day O'Connor. Many pundits believe that
Judge Edith Clement of the U.S. Court of Appeals in New Orleans will be G.W.'s nominee.

I have a better idea . . .



Please, please, please!!!

"It Tastes Like Burning!"

(The author, at left, this morning.)

Oh, my aching head!

Last night, I spent some quality time with my neighbor Denny, a captain in the Philadelphia Fire Department. By "quality time," I mean lots and lots of drinking at Jillian's, a local restaurant/bar/pool hall. Yuengling Lager for him, Guinness Draught for me. As is usually the case when I go out, I spend more time blabbing and watching sports on the eight millions tv's in the place than actually counting how many brews I had.

That's a problem.

Here's a bigger problem: Denny's wife and kids are in Germany to visit her parents, and left him alone for two weeks. For some inane reason, Jillian's had last call at midnight. I wanted to flash my badge and say, "Not happening!," but thought better of it. So, Den convinced me to close another bar, "Chickie and Pete's."

Now it's 2:30am. Chickie and Pete's is closed, and Den gets the great idea to go to his house, sit on his back porch, and drink some more. By this time, I can't tell a bad idea if it hit me in the face, so I agree. Unfortunately, Denny is fresh out of beer, and all he has left is Jack Daniel's.

Ouch.

As my friends are so fond of reminding me, the last time I drank whiskey was at the Psychedelic Furs concert in April. Five shots later, I was incoherent. Five hours later, I was worshipping the porcelain god. Not fun. But, what the hell, I was up for more abuse last night. I kept it simple, and took three shots in three hours. At 5am, I stumbled home (two doors down).

Long story short, I woke up at 9am, and have been up ever since. I am sure I am still drunk (which would explain this incoherent rant), but I wanted to teach all the kids out there a life lesson: DON'T DRINK WHISKEY . . . EVER!!!

Thank you. Now, I'm gonna lie down for a spell.

Tour De Lance: Stage 16

Sweet sixteen! Today's 16th stage saw the end of the Pyrenees mountain stages, and the continuing dominance of American Lance Armstrong. Armstrong still has a very comfortable 2:46 lead on second place, and is ready to set his cruise control. Hopefully, he won't have to deal with obnoxious French cycling fans, who have been the cause of two disappointing incidents in the last two stages.

On Sunday, a fan got too close to the riders, and was run over by a motorcycle camera crew. Today, another idiot hit rider Andrey Kashechkin in the face during Tuesday's 16th stage, allegedly by accident. Are you kidding me? Is this cycling or soccer?

Stupid Questions

Okay, I took a lot of grief (especially at Garfield Ridge) over asking the Rebecca Lobo question, so I'll throw out a sure home run:

Does anyone else think softball icon Jennie Finch (pictured, left) is uber-hot?

Is Jeff Gordon's 2005 NASCAR season officially over yet? Currently 15th in the standings, I wouldn't even trust him to drive Miss Daisy this year!

(Cue Jerry Seinfeld voice.) What's the deal with poker? Although a blast to play, why in the hell would anyone watch it on television? Cripes, I watch golf regularly, and I wouldn't watch this crap! They should only televise cards on ESPN 8 "The Ocho."

What's the purpose of back hair? I hate to go all Grizzly Adams on everyone, but it's a real problem. For some (like me) it's a minor issue, but you should see my brother-in-law! Oh, sorry, Mike.

Does anyone else wanna see more Jennie? Me, too. Here ya go.

Tour De Lance: Stage 15

Finally, an American other than Lance Armstrong brings home good news.

Team Discovery cyclist George Hincapie - possibly the heir apparent to Armstrong - won Sunday's stage, which was considered the toughest on the Tour. Hincapie is the first teammate of Armstrong's to capture a stage since 1999. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

Armstrong is still wearing the yellow jersey, and actually increased his overall lead to two minutes, forty-six seconds over second place.

The fat lady hasn't sung yet, but she's clearing her throat.

People I Hate

In my former blog, Friday was "People I Hate" day. Every week, I pointed out a few individuals that drew my ire. The posts were very cathartic, and thus, beneficial to my (fragile) mental state. I'm about due for a soul cleansing, so here goes . . .

Hollywood military/police consultants

These folks really piss me off. I was watching Donnie Brasco last night and there's a scene where Johnny Depp is at the pistol range. Depp's character is a true marksman, hitting the 5X ring with every round. Here's my problem: when the camera shows Depp's face, he is aiming WITH BOTH EYES OPEN!!! The same thing happens in Independence Day (a lousy film, by the way) when Adam Baldwin, who plays an Air Force officer, shots a soda can off a spaceship. He aims WITH BOTH EYES OPEN!!! Who the hell is overseeing this nonsense? I'm sure my military gurus will back me up when I say that if someone is getting perfect scores while aiming in this manner, it's purely dumb luck. Damnit, people, let's get it right from now on! Cripes!!!

Pauly Shore

I know, there is no explanation needed. Most people wish Pauly dead just on general principle. Like most of America, I thought Pauly was dead, but it seems that was just his career. Thankfully, the brain surgeons at TBS hired "The Weasel" for a new reality show, where we get to see what goes on in Pauly's everyday life. Swell. Looks like another triumph from the network that brought us "The Real Gilligan's Island."

Name Withheld

I can't publish the name of this guy - because he's just a regular schmo – but I hate his guts anyway. About a week ago, my partner Doris was racing to a priority backup call. Her lights and sirens were activated as she went through an underpass . . . then BAM! This unnamed scumbag ran a red light and plowed into her. The front end was destroyed, and my partner is now out of work, in excruciating pain, and walking with a severe limp.

Wait, it gets better.

After the accident, Doris literally crawled out of her car, and drug herself over to this scumbag's vehicle. Although injured, she wanted to see if the scumbag was okay. The scumbag was pissed off at her, and refused to answer any of her questions! Typical dirt bag: breaks the law, wrecks a police car, and he thinks he's the victim! Guess what, ass-hat, you can whine all you want, but you're not getting paid!

Dave's All The Rave

If you read one blog a day . . . well, read mine. However, if you read two blogs a day, I suggest checking out Dave at Garfield Ridge. A week or so ago, I posted about my boom in hits. Considering Dave has a fanbase of millions (to date his site had 143,021 visits!), his link probably contributed to my newfound readership. I mean, it can't be the content here, right? Something has to explain why people are checking in, because Bill can't keep coming back twenty times a day!

Any hoo, I wanted to give him a shout-out and my thanks. And, remember, just because he has a picture of Neil Diamond and the cast of T.J. Hooker (sans Adrian Zmed) in his sidebar doesn't mean that he's not entertaining.

(Editor's note: I'm not taking anything away from CUG, Damian, Dr. Phat Tony, GOP and the City, and Tyler D., et al. Read them daily, too. Must . . . remain . . . thankful . . . to . . . friends!)

Tour De Lance: Stage 14

Lance Armstrong finished second to Austrian rider Georg Totschnig in today's mountainous 14th stage, but the American didn't feet. Why? Because he tripled his lead in the overall standings! Armstrong is currently one minute, forty-one seconds ahead of Denmark's Mickael Rasmussen, leaving his main competitors scratching their collective heads.

"We knew we had to go on the attack but it just didn't work out," German rider Jan Ullrich said. "Armstrong just matched everything and I am disappointed I faded out at the end."

God, I love it when a German (of all people) takes a defeatist attitude!

Sunday's 205.5-km effort between Lezat sur Leze and Pla d'Adet is expected to be the hardest stage of the Tour.

Ginger . . . Or Mary Ann?

They say no man is an island. For the past four days, however, I have felt like one. The wife and kids trekked to our cousin's beach house in Sandy Hook, New Joisy, leaving me home alone. (Insert lame Macaulay Culkin joke here.) Since I already had my vacation, I am stuck going to work to feed said family. But I digress.

Since it's a lazy Saturday morning, and I am battling my loneliness, I figured I would steal any idea that has been batted about for centuries:

What five things would I desire if I was stranded on a desert island? (Sure it's pointless, but no one reads this thing on weekends!)

And away we go . . .

• I love reading, especially about history, so the first thing on my list is my copy of Stephen E. Ambrose's Band of Brothers. I think I have read this book a dozen times, and it never gets stale.
• Coconut milk would get old really fast, so gimme rum, rum, and more rum! Preferably Captain Morgan. Hell, if I'm stranded, I might as well get drunk, right?
• Gotta exercise, right? My Nike 260 aluminum ice hockey stick should fit that bill. It was a toss up between the stick and my golf clubs, but I'm a lousy sand player. Besides, knocking stones into the ocean all day would really help my slap shot.
• Although I'm taking a little poetic license here (since I wouldn't have a power supply), my 7" portable DVD player would be a necessity. If that were available, I would only need one movie: the original Star Wars (Episode IV). And forget that "Special Edition" crap. I want the original theatrical version, where Han Solo shoots Greedo first in the cantina. George Lucas really lost me when he "re-worked" that scene!
• Finally, a man has needs. And companionship is a top priority - especially if I never get off this island. Jessica Biel would do nicely!

Well, there you have it. That's my list. If anyone is actually reading this drivel, lemme know what you'd like on your island. And none of you wise asses say "a boat!"

Tour De Lance: Stage 13

I'm really tired today - only got five hours sleep - so I'll be brief with my Lance Watch. Fairly uneventful stage of the Tour today. Lance kept out of trouble, and his strangle hold on the yellow jersey continues. That is all.

"By Your Command"

I really need a fix.

Thankfully, the Sci-Fi Channel will give me some of the good stuff in the form of Battlestar Galactica. Tonight's Season 2 premiere (10pm EDT) should be chock full o' entertainment, if last season's finale is any indication.

Okay, I know what you're thinking: this guy can't be a bigger loser. Normally, I would agree, but hear me out. This updated version of the campy (read: brutal) 70's science fiction series takes itself much more seriously than its predecessor. Although it is classified as sci-fi, it leans more towards a powerful drama. Sure there are special effects - and make no mistake, they don't skimp on the dogfights - but BSG's magic lies in its writing. Where the original series' characters were about as interesting as Hayden Christensen's Anakin Skywalker, the new version surrounds itself with dozens of people I actually care about.

The new series basically follows the original's plot line (Cylons attack Caprica intent on eradicating all humans) with a few twists (many Cylons have been upgraded to resemble humans in every way . . . and many are "sleepers" inside the fleet) and different (but better) casting (Starbuck and Boomer are women). It's a recipe that works.

For those of you who didn't take advantage of NBC's reruns the past few weekends, here's how last season ended: (If you haven't seen the finale yet, stop reading here.)

• Baltar (who is now Vice-President) learns that he impregnated the devious cylon "Number 6" (played to perfection by Tricia Helfer, the hottie pictured above).
• After sending Starbuck (Katee Sackhoff) back to cylon-occupied Caprica (against Commander Adama's orders) President Laura Roslin is imprisoned along with Adama's son, Apollo (Jamie Bamber).
• Lt. Boomer returns from a successful military mission (she destroyed a Cylon Base Star), and when she is congratulated by Commander Adama, she shoots him in the chest! (This was one of those moments when I actually said to my television, "Oh my God!!!")

The new series is engrossing, suspenseful, and sports a tremendous cast, including Edward James Olmos (Commander Adama) and Mary McDonnell (President Roslin). Ronald D. Moore, whose credits include Star Trek (TNG, Voyager, DS9), Roswell, and Carnivale, handles the excellent writing. This is one of the few must-see series' on television today. And, don't take my word for it, my brother Chris is very hard to impress, and he loves it!

So there.

Tour De Lance: Stage 12

Lance Armstrong kept his overall lead (and the yellow jersey) after the Tour's 12th stage, but Team Discovery suffered a major setback with the loss of cyclist Manuel Beltran. Beltran touched wheels with another rider, and tumbled to the ground, hitting his head. When officials reached him, he had no idea where he was. Beltran will be kept overnight in a hospital for observation, but his penchant for helping Armstrong up the tougher peaks will be missed.

Gun Crazy (Emphasis On Crazy)

Even Vincent and Jules weren't this stupid.

Dig if you will, a picture: two men on opposite sides of the law, doing something borderline insane in the course of a few minutes. Last night, the theft of an auto almost resulted in the serious injury of two men. Here are their separate stories (in my best Quentin Tarantino jumping scenes). It's a little lengthy, but bear with me.

At approximately 0230, bad man jumps into an idling, unlocked SUV. Bad man steals the car with a squeal of the wheels, and drives southbound on a major road at a high rate of speed.

About a mile south of the scene, good man hears the information of the theft, and decides to intercept the fleeing vehicle.

A witness to the theft notifies police, who give chase immediately.

Bad man ignores traffic signals and police sirens. His pursuit is all the more exciting, considering the crack cocaine in his system.

Good man realizes the pursuit is headed directly for his HQ, leaves his desk, and runs to the roadside.

Bad man notices his pursuers, and ignores their attempts to try and stop him.

Good man hears that bad man is still leading police cars on a high speed chase, and refusing to stop his vehicle.

Bad man is still eluding police, and still heading southbound - directly towards the police HQ.

Good man sees the stolen vehicle, and (unwisely) steps into the roadway.

Bad man still refuses to stop or even slow down.

Good man draws his pistol.

Bad man is still coming.

Good man is getting worried, but keeps his weapon in the "high ready" position. Not really aiming at the vehicle, but in a position to do so.

Good man is starting to get worried. Bad man is closing in.

Backup arrives in the form of pursuing vehicles coming northbound, and bad man finally stops approximately 200 yards in front of good man.

Good man runs toward the stolen vehicle.

Bad man refuses to exit the stolen vehicle. Backup uses their nightsticks to attempt to smash the driver's side window.

Good man reaches scene, but ducks when he hears the nightsticks cracking against the window, mistaking the sound for gunfire!

Bad man finally exits the vehicle, and assaults two members of the backup.

Good man holsters his weapon.

Bad man continues to fight backup. Bad man loses fight.

Good man finally realizes that staring down a speeding SUV was idiotic, unsafe, and reckless. Good man's adrenaline dissipates. Good man starts shaking. Good man needs new shorts.

Long story short (I know, too late.) The stolen car was a Philadelphia police cruiser. The bad man was a guy high on crack who thought it would be a good idea to steal a police car when the officer left the running vehicle to throw out some trash. The good man is yours truly. (I know, I'm not that good, but what are you gonna do?) I was working in my district HQ last night instead of on the street. I don't wear my ballistic vest when I'm inside, so in hindsight, running outside was an asinine thing to do. The adrenaline got the best of me - why else would I think standing in front of a speeding stolen car with my gun pointed at it would be a smart thing to do? - and when I heard the "gunshots," I thought, "This is it, I'm gonna get killed." At the time, I was running towards the stolen cruiser, without a vest, and the backup officers were pointing their weapons in my direction! Hence the need for new shorts.

Just thought you'd like to hear about my day.

It's About God-Damn Time!

The NHL lockout is over. I'll comment more after the new contract is ratified.




Rangers right wing Jaromir Jagr in his office.

Tour De Lance: Stage 11

Alexandre Vinokourov won today's 11th stage of the Tour de France, but Lance Armstrong's lead did not change. Today's portion was the hardest Alpine stage of the Tour, and although Vinokourov's performance was stellar, Armstrong and his Team Discovery mates are looking at the big picture: namely, another title:

``We can't chase down everybody that is at five, six, seven minutes,'' Armstrong said. ``We have to prioritize and he was not on our list of priorities, so we left him (Vinokourov) out there.

Team Discovery Yoda/manager Johan Bruyneel echoed Armstrong's sentiments:

``We are in a good position,'' Armstrong's team manager Johan Bruyneel said. ``It is up to us now to defend it.''

And defend it, they will.

A Laurel And Hearty Handshake . . .

. . . to everyone who stopped by Support Your Local Gunfighter yesterday. My site meter registered 62 hits on Tuesday - yeah, I thought it was a typo, too - which is my highest one-day total ever! I appreciate each and every visitor, and welcome every single comment.

By the way, feel free to click on the comments to add some input. If you're not a blogger, you can leave an anonymous message with you name at the end . . . or not. Whatever floats your boat. Just try and keep it clean. My mother-in-law reads this stuff! Thanks again!!!

Meme-nto!

meme: n A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another.

The lovely and talented Pam Meister tagged me for a meme. As a history buff, I am excited to participate. Here's my question: What ten events would you care to witness if you could travel in time and observe them?

• I hate to be morbid right off the bat, but I would have loved to be in Dallas in November 22, 1963. I want to know if my jackass Senator (Arlen Specter) was right about a "magic bullet," or if Oswald acted alone. By the way, if Oswald was the lone shooter, he was a helluva shot.
• Although it would be a hairy situation, I would have loved to witness the Battle of Stalingrad (1942-43). Arguably the turning point of World War II, the Soviets dug in and stopped the Nazi juggernaut in their tracks. Had it not been for the Soviets, most of Eastern Europe would still be speaking German.
• Since my favorite President is Theodore Roosevelt, put me inside Wilcox Mansion, Buffalo, New York, September, 1901. There, TR was sworn in as POTUS (after the assassination of William McKinley) in a solemn ceremony. His inaugural speech was the shortest ever, but straightforward and to the point; just like Roosevelt.
• Considering the title of this blog (and my alias - what, you thought my name was really Wyatt Earp?) I can't resist this one: Tombstone, Arizona, October 26, 1881. Wyatt Earp, his brothers Virgil and Morgan, and Doc Holliday fought the Clantons and the McLaurys at the O.K. Corral. Thirty shots were fired in thirty seconds. Yikes!
• My favorite football team is the Denver Broncos. My favorite football player of all time is John Elway. Hence, let me bear witness (in person) to the Broncos' first Super Bowl win (since I had to hear it from my friends after the previous losses) in 1997. Beating Brett Fahr-vre-vre and the Packers: does it get any sweeter?
• I hate to keep going back to violence, but I'd like to be present for the D-Day invasion. (Witnessing at a safe distance, of course.) I think EVERY American should bear witness to the sacrifices our troops make every day, and not just on June 6, 1944.
• I'm a huge hockey fan (remember hockey?). I remember when I was 11 years old listening to the 1980 Olympics at Lake Placid. And I remember missing the Miracle on Ice game! Oh, to be in the stands for the victory over the Soviets. It's great to see the tapes - and even the film "Miracle," which was terrific - but it's not the same as being there.
• Knowing what I know now, I'd also like to travel back in time to the night I lost my virginity. The current me could bark instructions to the younger me, and tell myself what I was doing wrong! (Sorry, I guess that was inappropriate.)
• Let's go way back: allow me to sit silently in the room while William Shakespeare is writing Hamlet. It would be an honor to be present while he gave birth to his greatest work.
• Finally, speaking of giving birth, how could I resist being present for the birth of Christ? Whether you think he is the Son of God or merely a prophet, there's no denying his impact on the world.

Well, there you go. I hope you enjoyed reading my thoughts as much as I enjoyed writing them. Thanks, Pam! Damian, CUG, Dr. Phat Tony: You're up!

Tour De Lance: Stage 10

Well, that didn't take long.

After giving up the leader's yellow jersey for one day, Lance Armstrong grabbed it back in style after dominating today's Stage 10. Armstrong cruised through the Alps, leaving his serious challengers like Jan Ullrich in the dust. Media types are already asking Armstrong if the Tour de France is more or less over. Nice! How are the other cyclists doing compared to Lance? Take a read:

"Mickael Rasmussen is second in the overall standings, 38 seconds behind Armstrong. Ivan Basso, among the main challengers left behind by Armstrong on Tuesday, is third overall -- 2:40 behind the Texan. "

Rasmussen will begin to fall back. I guarantee it. Basso is a terrific rider, but at nearly three minutes behind during Armstrong's best stages (the mountains), his chances at overtaking the American are fading. This event isn't over, and there is still a lot of cycling to go, but Armstrong is in the catbird seat . . . and looking at his seventh straight Tour victory. Whoo hoo!

I Left My Blood In San Francisco

Props to Michelle Malkin for exposing this disgusting story. This San Francisco police officer was surrounded and beaten to a bloody pulp by protestors at the G8 summit this weekend. The officer's crime? Doing his job:

The department's spokeswoman, Maria Oropeza, said the officer and his partner were driving on 23rd Street in response to a vandalism call when protesters threw a mattress underneath their patrol car.

"They got out to apprehend the suspects, at which point they were surrounded by a crowd," Oropeza said. "One of the officers was struck on the head by an unidentified object." Police arrested Cody Tarlow, 21, of Felton (Santa Cruz County), Doritt Earnst, 31, of Berkeley and a third suspect who refused to identify himself.

They were being held on suspicion of attempted lynching, malicious mischief, battery to a police officer, aggravated assault on a police officer with a deadly weapon and willful resistance to a police officer that results in serious bodily injury.

"The officer remains in the hospital in serious condition with brain swelling. He has developed a blood clot as a result of his injuries."

The offenders - who, in my opinion, should get the death penalty - all wore the usual clothing ensemble of these cowards: ski masks and bandanas over their faces, and only attacked the officer (AND TRIED TO LYNCH HIM!) when he was outnumbered.

Thank God for Michelle Malkin, the Patron Saint of Police Officers. Without her piece, this story would have probably gone unnoticed.

Why Did I Even Take The Test?

A year ago, I made the mistake of taking the Detective's test. After ten years as a Philadelphia police officer, I needed a change in scenery. Detective is a great gig. It is a promotion - with a 10% raise in salary, not including the extra court overtime - that gets me out of patrol and into "soft clothes." To be honest, a three-year old monkey could push a squad car around for eight hours a day, but detectives need brain power. (Hey, no wisecracks!)

To my surprise, I did very well on the exam. I am currently #18 on the promotional list (out of approximately 1,500 test takers), which is active for two years. Basically, if and when our obscenely corrupt mayor decides to promote, I'll make it in the first batch. Sweet, right?

Wrong.

In three weeks, the current list will be one year old. Or, as I like to think of it, halfway to expiration. The mayor has told anyone who will listen that the city doesn't have the money needed to make promotions at this time - even though the city shelled out $500,000 to tree-hugging hippie Bob Geldolf for his terrible Live 8 concert. (Maybe Geldolf can hold a concert to raise money for the police?)

The department is losing five to ten officers, supervisors, and detectives each day to the Optional Early Retirement Plan. The Detective Division in my patrol area is usually (under)staffed with three detectives a night. The "normal" complement in a Division is at least six. Long story short: the current detectives are under-staffed, over-worked, and burning out fast.

I would like very much to give them a hand, but the way things are going, Katie Holmes will win an Oscar before I get promoted.

FRAK!!!

What, me worry?

Armstrong Yields Tour's Yellow Jersey

MULHOUSE, France - Lance Armstrong is content to let someone else wear the yellow jersey at the Tour de France - for now. He surrendered the overall lead in the ninth stage Sunday, taking the pressure off his team as the Alps await and challenges with key rivals could begin in earnest.

Armstrong's ultimate goal, however, remains unchanged: a seventh straight title at the finish in Paris on July 24 before he retires.

"We don't need the yellow jersey," said Armstrong, who is in third place, 2 minutes, 18 seconds behind the leader. "We don't need to keep it in the Alps, we need to have it at the end."

I had a little freak-out last year early on when Lance wasn't on top. I'm not gonna do that again. He'll get that jersey back . . . I promise.

Stupid Questions

Am I the only person in America that thinks former WNBA star Rebecca Lobo (above) is attractive?

Why are "reality shows" like Hogan Knows Best, So You Think You Can Dance?, and the God-awful Hell's Kitchen getting so much exposure, and terrific programs like the Sci-Fi Network's Battlestar Galactica getting zilch?

Why do most mass-produced American beers (Budweiser, Miller, Coors Light) suck so bad?

When are people gonna realize that actors like Steve Buscemi and Gary Oldman are national treasures, and toads like Ben Affleck and J-Lo are no-talent clods?

Does anyone remember when "Saturday Night Live" was funny?

Tour De Lance: Stage 8

The hills are alive . . . with the sounds of Armstrong. Lance Armstrong tackled the first hilly terrain of the Tour de France today, and came out on top. Not only is his overall lead still intact, but he increased it by five seconds over second place George Hincapie. Today's stage began in Germany, believe it or not (I mean, they invaded so easily, it must be an homage), and ended on the frog side of the border.

Sunday's stage will be similar to todays, and hopefully, so will the results.