Lazarus, not Sims It's been six days - complete with packing, stuffing, unpacking, repacking, re-stuffing, and heading out of God's Country. But I'm back. And I'll be retreating back to my hiatus just as quick.

It's been a nice six days. I don't get to spend too much time here in seaside paradise and I've seen exactly three clouds during the whole almost week.

The Sox have been winning, with the exception of the one game I did attend at "America's Most Beloved Ballpark" - which gets me to thinking that it's probably a very good thing for the Red Sox' (check!) chances in October that I'll be chillin' (literally) in Milwaukee. The Olde Towners are 1-4 in home games that I go to, with the lone win a massive Foulke meltdown followed by a round-the-Pesky Pole game-winning (like my friend from UVM, I took eschew the term "walk-off") homer by the Captain.

Last game - a Labor Day makeup vs. the Pale Sox - was ok. Got to chill with my man D-Nice and got to see Schilling hone his craft. He wasn't bloody sock good, but he didn't bloody suck, either. Foulke spun his 86 mph heater for a few popups and had the 77 mph change dive. The Pale Hose don't invoke the '22 Yanks, or even the '05 Yanks, so when a belt-high 86 mph straight one off the bat of A-Rod ought to go real, real far.

Tonight is a big night - hitting the local bbq joint with a few of the boys as a sort of goodbye dinner. This spot also has quite a few tv's, as to monitor both sets of New England-based professional sports world champions. The good thing about all the pre-game fireworks, concerts, and Kanye West political statements, is that it gets me to the 7th with the Sox before the coinflip for the Patriots (check!).
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Since the last real post, lots of horrible stuff has happened in the Bayou and Gulf of Mexico port towns. Pictures are supposed to be worth a 1,000 words. Last week's scenes on national television, the ones that passed and the ones that continue to come in...they still leave me speechless.

It's easy to spread blame. It's easy to postulate and finger-point. It's easy to pick on those whose political ideals I disagree with. It's easy to see the demographics and the afflicted and cry out.

But why do that? It's counterproductive.

Prose doesn't solve problems. People do. Clothes help. Shoes help. Food helps. Donating blood helps. Tools help.

And, like the horrible occurences of almost five years ago today, this country comes together and shows its mettle. Too often, the media highlights the negative and unearths the controversial. Not to say that it isn't true or accurate, but there have been too many stories of the Katrina victims being helped and beginning to put together their lives after it was literally washed away.

From Curt Schilling, who opened his house to a family of nine (without pomp and circumstance and quite anonymously), to the local school who donated old toys and stuffed animals for the children who now live in the Astrodome.

Help can be as big as Schilling's efforts, or as thoughtful (not small. help can never be small) as the eight, nine, and 10-year olds in Richmond, RI. Americans come together. They work together. And they'll fix it together. That's why we've been in business this long.
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TLBR will be making it's Midwestern move this Saturday. SportsCenter spent the summer touting its 50 States in 50 Days and playing that Bryan Adams "Life is an Open Road" song so much, I began to seize. Bryan Adams? He's not even in the top 10 of Canadien songwriters (I'd vote the Tragically Hip and when you go back and listen to their "New Orleans Is Sinking," it gives you the willies).

But regardless, my trip will cover nine states in three days - Rhode Island (check!), Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and finally, Wisconsin. I don't know what the ad nauseaum theme song will be, but will take requests. Email me or drop a comment below and during the stretch (I'll try my bestest to update you along the way), I'll give you the playlist.

All the best. Go Pats! Go Sox! Go you!

One.  ¶ 10:40 AM