My Sunday Feeling

The day job required that I spend 2 days in the air and 1 day in Long Island last week. We were supposed to have a 3 day hearing while we were there. But the other side and I worked out a tentative agreement on 3 of the 4 issues and have agreed to keep negotiating about how much money it is going to take to make this go away. So our hearing got put off pending the resolution of settlement negotiations and the next day I was headed back to the People's Republic of Hillcrest. Evidently, there was much activity in and around my neighborhood while I was gone.

This Old G#*&%$#* House: As you might recall, just before I left, I discovered an amusing gas leak that was wafting up from somewhere in my little eighty something year old house. After Centerpoint cut the meter off, the foreman for the plumbers came out to give me an estimate. After crawling around for a bit he told me, " This won't be any kind of a job at all. Maybe 5 hours tops. I think we can get you out of this for around $500"

In golf, we rarely give ourselves over to rosy predictions or even permit ourselves the faintest glimmer of hope lest we give offense to the Gods of Golf, who despite being otherwise distant as the stars, hear such pronouncements and punish them severely. There must be a corresponding deity for plumbing jobs as well because my little house was pimp slapped mightily by fate after the foreman aired these hopeful predictions.

By 3 o'clock last Friday, the plumber crawled out from under the house to tell me the happy news that everytime he tried to test the system he found a new leak. Not only that, he found a water leak that I didn't know anything about. Long story short: Cold showers for the weekend.

My excellent neighbor Betsy informed me that "it was quite a circus" over here last week with guys in and out of the house for the three days I was gone. Indeed, she called me on Tuesday with the amusing news that they had managed to set the alarm off despite me giving the foreman the security code.

They forgot.

The bottom line is that my little 5 hour job, having been cursed by the Gods of Plumbing, turned into a 3 day job, I will get a citation from the City of Little Rock because they had to send a policeman over when the alarm went off and I will be presented with a bill considerably heftier than the 500 buck number I was quoted originally.

But at least I can take take a hot shower now and could light a cigar (if I still smoked cigars) without fear of blowing myself to bits.

I'll let you know if it was all worth it after I get the bill.

Welcome to Little Rock: My cell phone got quite a workout Tuesday. The plumbers called me with their grim "progress" reports. Betsy called to tell me that they had set off the alarm. The church called me. They heard the alarm all the way over on Woodlawn and were making sure that I was ok.

And then J called to tell me about some guy who had beaten a couple of people with a section of rebar while they were trying to eat lunch at Leo's about 5 blocks from here. Seems these folks were in town from Oregon to visit a relative who lives around here and had decided to eat lunch outside at Leo's when this damned fool appeared out of nowhere with the aforementioned rebar, accused them of being "white devils" who were carrying on with his wife and proceeded to beat the living hell out of them. Welcome to Little Rock!

I might have mentioned in passing that we have something of a problem with violent crime in our fair city. Indeed, they were forced to release this idiot last week because they didn't have room to hold him on the "failure-to-appear" warrant they picked him up on. Well, he's locked up now pending a trip to the forensics unit for a mental status exam. That's for sure. It's just too bad that he had to injure somebody before he was taken off the street.

We like to think of ourselves as immune from such ruffians around here. We sometimes act like the problems of society here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest. This episode is a reminder that we are not.

It was not too long ago that I was joined on a walk by a gentleman who hooked up with me from a side street. He seemed normal enough until, out-of-the-blue, he informed me that his attorney was Houston's Racehorse Haynes and that Haynes had gotten him acquitted of a rape charge down there. It got even crazier after that.

" You ever hear of Jeff Bagwell?" he asked.

" The one that plays for the Astros? Sure. Why?" I asked.

" Friend of mine. Took an interest in my case. Paid for my lawyer."

" Jeff Bagwell paid for Racehorse Haynes to defend you."

" Yeah. That's what I'm sayin'."

" I seeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

Clearly a loon. I told him that while I would love to chat further, that I needed to go home. He accepted that explanation and I took my leave.

The point is: We can't pretend that we are our own little Switzerland around here where we get to claim diplomatic immunity from society's ills. The cops have got their hands full with violent offenders. The nuts and the riff-raff are going to be turned back on the streets. And some of them are going to make their way over here.

Until we get more jail space, that's just the way it is.

I am glad to be home. I would like to go back to New York when I have more time and when I am not lugging two briefcases full of documents.

Maybe after I pay the plumbers.

Head's Up!

There will be no Sunday post this Sunday as I have to go out of town on business. I hate it when reality intrudes.

I will resurface sometime next week.

Courage.

Oxygen

I love my old house. God knows I do. But sometimes funny stuff happens with old houses. One of them happened last night.

I woke up around 4:30 or so feeling rather restless and jumpy. I then started feeling vaguely nauseous. I got up around an hour later to go take a walk thinking that the morning air might make me feel better. It actually made me feel worse and caused me to throw up. "Great. "I thought. " I've caught a bug." But as I sat in my chair I noticed a smell and I wondered, "Do I have a gas leak?"

Centerpoint had a guy out here by 8:30. He confirmed my suspicions and cut off the meter. The plumber came out and located the source of the leak: the wall heater in the master bathroom some 8 feet from where I lay my little head. Great. Good thing I don't smoke. I would have woke up in Kansas.

The plumber says that it won't be too bad of a job. They've just got to pressure test it before the city can authorize Centerpoint to come back out and hook me up. He says he thinks it will run around 500 bucks. Fine. Whatever. Just fix the damn thing.

The doctor's office said that there are 2 things of which we can be thankful: 1) That I have a "reactive body." I guess by this they mean that when the oxygen levels in my blood started dropping I woke up rather than, well, died. And 2) That there were no small children in the house. 8 hours of LP gas might have killed a little kid.

In any event, they said to rest up and let the gases get out of my system and to take tylenol for the headache.

As one of my "friends" said, "Looks like you have once again cheated the untimely death we have all predicted for you."

Yeah. Looks like.

It's a good thing that I don't smoke. It's a good thing I have a "reactive body." It's a good thing that one of my nephews wasn't spending the night.

And it's an awfully good thing to be typing this from my porch swing rather than from a hyperbaric chamber somewhere.

My Sunday Feeling

The dog days of summer have descended upon Little Rock a little earlier than usual. The earth is parched. My flowers are all wilted despite repeat waterings. You really get no relief from the breeze. It just feels like a hair dryer is in your face wherever you turn. I don't like this. If I wanted to live in Oklahoma or West Texas I would move there.

People must be crazy from the heat. Rick was telling me that he and Sharon were coming back from North Little Rock around dusk the other night and were alarmed to see some goddamned fool walking along the top of the guardrail on the Arkansas River bridge. His arms were stretched out as he tightroped his way across. A misstep to the right and he would have plunged into the river. A misstep to the left and he would have gotten kissed by a tractor-trailer rig. I guess he made it. I didn't read about him either getting killed or arrested.

Not to worry, other people were more than making up for him in both the killed and the arrested departments last week. Little Rock is now up to thirty seven homicides this year. Thirty seven! That's a lot for a jerkwater town like Little Rock. Most of the killings are drug related as you might imagine. One of the theories I have heard from more than one knowledgeable source is that Hurricane Katrina messed up the distribution system for the Louisiana drug dealer types and that some of them are trying to take over turf occupied by the local criminals. I have also heard that some of the local talent is busy fighting to get turf back. In any event, the cops around have their hands full.

A week or so ago, they made a grisly discovery out at one of the old cemeteries over by the airport. Somebody rammed a car through the gates and then set it on fire. Naturally there was a guy in the trunk. We are just not used to this kind of mob style "send 'em a message" violence here. You add this dirty little war to the Saturday night drunks that get whacked over dice games or by jealous husbands-the kinda stuff we are used to in these parts-and it's like Dodge City all over again in some parts of town. I used to live in one of those hotspots. One of the guys they picked up for No. thirty-six lived in a house two streets over from the house I grew up in.

My, how the neighborhood has changed.

Maybe it was the heat that got to some old boy that J prosecuted last Friday for stalking this poor woman. It would appear that this girl had the extreme poor luck of buying a house next door to the elderly parents of this idiot who noticed the new neighbor on one of his visits over there. He took an immediate and inappropriate shine to her. At first he was leaving her notes and presents. Then he was following her around and coming about her place of work. They finally arrested him last Wednesday when he pulled alongside her on the Interstate and pointed his finger at her as if to shoot her. The victim took this provocative gesture to be a wholesale violation of the "no-contact" order she had gotten on him. This was J's interpretation as well and the good folks from the Arkansas State Police were dispatched in short order to get his ass into custody.

My brother John once said of stalkers: "One thing you can say about them is that they really, really care."

I suppose. But, still, I don't get it. I know any of a number of beautiful women, some of whom still return my calls and say "hello" to me on the street. How many of these women are worth me losing my job or going to jail? Not a goddamned one of 'em.

But then again, maybe I just don't care enough.

Back when I was young and had potential, long before I had been beaten down by life, I lived in a high-rise apartment over by the river. The place was awash with good-looking women. I was very happy there. Until one of the women-I confess I don't know how good looking she was. I suspect not very-that lived there in one of the 4 buildings there took an inappropriate shine to me. First it was notes on the car. These gifts progressed to weird shit like tiny stuffed animals, cut flowers and balloons. I am pretty sure it was someone that lived close by because my phone would ring just as I turned on the lights in my apartment when I would come home at night.

This was back in the olden days before caller ID, back when I used my answering machine to screen out Mother and the bill collectors. Usually all I would hear was sighing on the other end, punctuated by the tick tick tick of a clock. Sometimes all I would hear was the clock. I would look out through the windows at the other buildings to see if I could ever catch a glimpse of someone looking over at me. I never did see anybody in any window across the way.

One day she actually left a message. " I'm returning your call." my stalker said, in a voice cloaked with the sort of intensity that is only reserved for really bad actors and the deranged. "Please call me back. I love you." She pronounced the word "love" as "loff" as in "I loff you." Clearly a head case. I remember looking down at the answering machine and yelling, " I didn't call you! I don't even know who you are!"

I never heard from her again. I guess she took an inappropriate shine to some other lucky bastard. One that would return her phone calls. Either that or stuck her head in the oven a la Sylvia Plath.

I was asked if I found getting stalked by a woman flattering. No. I found it stupid and annoying. However, it's a different deal with men. Men who stalk women are dangerous and these situations can end very badly.

The jails are full due to all the guys getting whacked around here. Our hero was fined and released with the warning from the Judge that if he ever came around his parents' neighbor again he would "throw his ass in jail." That's a quote from the bench. He is even banned from visiting his parents. That's how mad the Judge is.

Good for him. There are folks getting plugged left and right around here. It is obvious that the Court means to take advantage of the opportunity to head off trouble on the front end for once. J says he'll violate the order in 2 weeks. I give it a month depending on how much money he had to pay his lawyer. One thing is certain. He will come back around. These guys never change. Because say what you will, they really really care.

And that's the latest from Little Rock. Where the lead is flying, the jails are full to the brim and everybody is crazy from the heat.

Icarus Descended

I got an e-mail today from the Senior Pastor at my church. It went something like this: " The Ken Lay story is a critical commentary on our times. And yet, we must remember that he had a family and that he was on the Board of Trustees at First United Methodist Church in Houston. I feel sorry for the minister that does his funeral. I will be praying for him."

That's a preacher for you. Trying to find something positive. Trying to cut an explosive issue down to size, maybe provide some context to it. They can't help it. It's what the good ones do.

After all, day in and day out, they listen to the bereaved, the lonely and the frightened of their respective flocks. And typically, the good minister/therapist/friend will attempt to provide reassurance by putting the problems of the troubled soul before him into a larger context. Sometimes when we are adrift, it helps to have someone around to remind us of the bigger picture. It helps when someone that cares for us reminds us that we are not unique in human history, that other folks have been in the same boat and have somehow made it to shore. We are creatures of the temporal. Most of our problems have short half-lives when viewed as part of the bigger picture.

But then again, most of us aren't Kenneth Lay.

Ken Lay's problems, at least his problems with the temporal authorities, ended when he died of a heart attack the other day. The embattled CEO of Enron was facing the almost certain prospect of spending the rest of his life in prison. Actually, that's not quite true. Typically most elderly or terminally ill patients are released before they die in Federal custody. You would not believe the paperwork otherwise.

The fact that Lay checked out prior to his sentencing reveals a quirk in the criminal law. Because he never got sentenced and/or because he did not have the opportunity to perfect an appeal (depending on who you talk to) it is as if the criminal charges never existed. Which means that the government will not be able to use the criminal forfeiture statutes to go seize his remaining assets for distribution to the many victims of the scam that was Enron. This, in turn, means that any claims against Lay will have to be made against his Estate. Not only that, but they won't be able to use the fact of his being found guilty as evidence in any subsequent proceeding since, technically speaking, he was never prosecuted.

This would have to be an exceedingly bitter pill for all the people that lost their life savings because of all of this. Indeed, there is much to this abrupt denouement that leaves one with more questions than answers. It does seem to be a fair statement to say that it just doesn't seem that justice has been done seeing as how no penalty was imposed upon him by the Judge. But while a perverse turn of events means that his assets cannot be seized, I believe that the people in the blogosphere who are outraged that Lay didn't live long enough to catch a bunch of jail time need to chill.

I believe that white collar criminals cost society a whole lot more in real dollar terms than drug dealers or violent offenders. They just aren't as scary looking on TV. Still, I think that a 30 year sentence for a 62 year old man who was absolutely no candidate for recidivism is ridiculous, sentencing guidelines or no. Better to hit him in the wallet. That will do society more good. Having said that, he would have had to do a substantial stretch. Every day the Lord sends they are packing off some 20 year old with an 11th grade education. Lay had every advantage in the world. Fairness would have demanded a just term of incarceration.

But all of this is exceedingly idle talk. None of that will happen. Ken Lay is dead. He belongs now to the business school textbooks and to a Probate Court somewhere.

So let's put on our preacher hats. How do we put such an amazing life into context? Where do we go from here?

We may say that, by all accounts, Ken Lay was a devoted family man. He loved, was loved and will be missed. It is likewise true that he was active in his church and he was widely perceived as kind and generous. His supporters will say that he was the victim of hyper-aggressive financial cowboys who kept him in the dark about their machinations. That was certainly his defense and he maintained his innocence until his last breath. His minister has said that Lay hoped to perform some sort of meaningful work for the good of others despite being incarcerated, that he felt he could still be of some use. This is certainly commendable.

But this is what else Ken Lay did. He flat-out lied about Enron's financial condition to the regulators, institutional investors and the shareholders after he first learned about Enron's problems. That's his story at least. In reality, what he had seen was the evidence that Andy Fastow and Jeff Skilling had cooked the books to a fair-the-well. Any, he lied. Maybe he believed he could pull the business out of the fire. But lie he did. And investors, many of them loyal Enron employees, held on to their shares of worthless Enron stock based upon Lay's misrepresentations, many of them to their financial ruin. And as if the Enron debacle were not a sufficient feather in his cap, Lay was also convicted of bank fraud in a separate criminal case involving his personal finances. He never faced the music on that one either.

Kenneth Lay is now beyond man's justice. Our human desire for vengeance and closure are irrelevant now. It is unseemly to wish for anything other than God's mercy upon him and for the peaceful repose of his soul. We have all done things that we hope nobody ever finds out about, although granted, not many of us were in charge of a company whose speculation on the energy markets caused rolling blackouts in California. The point is that we will all be on that other shore sooner than we can know. I don't know about you I will be in enough trouble based on my own misdeeds at that point. I won't need folks back home wishing me ill. I will need all the prayers I can get on that fateful day when my name is called. So will you. And so does Kenneth Lay. And so do all of Enron's victims.

Whether Ken Lay was a criminal or an idiot is irrelevant now. And that is all that there is left to say. It is a strange and hollow feeling. But that is all there is left to say.

A Program Note: "My Sunday Feeling" will not run this Sunday. I have a paid gig that is due on that day. Will check back with you next week!

Independence Day

Greetings from the patriotic People's Republic of Hillcrest where we just completed the 30th running of the Firecracker 5k. It is a very popular race around these parts because about half of it is straight downhill. The course starts off up in the Heights and then heads down Van Buren to War Memorial Stadium. Because it is on such a decline, some pretty crazy times get thrown up by the racers who come in from all over for the prize money. I'm sure that whichever Kenyan or Nigerian won it turned in a time of around 14 minutes. Back in twenties, I once did it in around 16. As you might guess the course is not certified. So none of the times turned in today will count as official records.

I don't run in races much any more. A couple of years ago, they finally figured out that I had exercise induced asthma. I guess I got away with it for years in tennis because of the frequent breaks in play. Even with the inhalers, I can only go about a mile or so before I have to stop to catch my breath. I complained about this to my doctor once. I thought I should be doing better. I mean, there are plenty of professional athletes that have asthma and are able to perform at a high level.

"Yeah, well." he said, while scribbling in his chart. "They ain't pushing 50."

That kinda stung. But if that's the worst that happens to me in this life I will be damned lucky.

I hadn't run this race in about 5 years or so. I had forgotten how much fun it is. It seems as if the whole neighborhood is either running or has turned out to cheer the runners on. There are flags and bunting everywhere. People hold up signs along the way cheering loved ones on. The cops are all in a good mood, the female cops especially so. The lady cops, every one of 'em, clap and cheer as folks go by. Children that are running, especially the little girls, always wave to the lady cops. The lady cops always bend way down at the waist to acknowledge the kids down at their level. Which can't be the easiest thing to do with all the equipment they are lugging around.

It is a wonderful and joyous thing to see. And it sends a powerful message from people wearing badges and guns, the ultimate symbols of civil authority : "We are the good guys and we are here to protect you. You are safe because of us."

Hell of a good thing for a kid to know.

I like the 4th of July although it seems pretty weird to be celebrating it on a Tuesday. The old holiday mode is tempered somewhat by the reality that most of us will have to get up to go to work tomorrow. Of course, I'm certain that the the holiday mode in Iraq is tempered by the reality that there are crazy bastards trying to blow our brave men and women stationed over there to Kingdom Come and back. I don't have it so bad.

I did OK in the race. I had to walk a couple of times because I couldn't breathe but I still came in under the time I had set in my head that would otherwise qualify me as a candidate for wussdom. My buddy Steve and 2 of his kids ran. 11 year old Jacob beat me. However, I kicked 9 year old Abigail's ass. Damn straight I did.

"You'll get him next year, Abby." Steve said. What the hell. She probably will. Some families chart the growth of their kids by marking their heights on the wall. Steve charts the growth of his by whether they can blow my doors off in a 5k. That's OK. That's the way it is supposed to be. One day you are running the race under 20 minutes and today, in what seems to be the blink of an eye, you cross the finish line to find an 11 year old that you used to hold-he's all arms and legs now boy- waiting for you there wearing a grin that any monkey would be proud of. That's life.

And it is a very sweet thing.

I am grateful to be an American. No man has been more blessed than me. I love my life, I like my neighborhood and I enjoy participating in an event where the cops-bless their underpaid little hearts- humble themselves to encourage the children.

I do not take the freedom that I enjoyed for granted. They continue to be purchased on a daily basis by young men and women both known and unknown to me who have placed themselves in harm's way for my sake.

They are the good guys. They are there to protect me. I am safe because of them.

Happy Independence Day!

My Sunday Feeling

It is @ 10: 15 on Saturday as I type this. It is already a scorcher out there. As you may recall, my buddy Jim from Baton Rouge was in town last weekend when the highs were in the low nineties. He thought he had died and gone to heaven. Well, if he were here today he would have thought he had died and gone to Hell. Still, it is not altogether unpleasant here on the porch swing. It is just the place to drink ice water while thinking about certain hot topics such as:

Gay Foster Parents- Last week the Arkansas Supreme Court upheld a lower court ruling that held that a regulation passed by the Child Welfare Agency Review Board (hereinafter referred to as "Those Idiots") banning gays or straight people with a gay person living in the household from being foster parents exceeded Those Idiots' authority. Let's talk about what the Court didn't say. The Court didn't say that that gay folks have a right to be foster parents. All the Court said was that Those Idiots couldn't promulgate a regulation purporting to be in the best interests of the welfare of children-here a ban on gays being foster parents-without any evidence to support such a regulation other than the moral beliefs on Those Idiots. Counsel for Those Idiots conceded that there was no evidence that gay folks were, ipso facto, unfit to be foster parents or that there were any reported instances where a child had been harmed by a foster parent. Pretty simple case actually decided on exceedingly narrow grounds.

Judging from the response by the right-wing nut types out there in the blogosphere and the politicians who pander to them, you would have thought that the Supreme Court had ordered Arkansas's foster kids to be raised by the cast of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy or something. Gay folks and immigrants have become a useful target for unscrupulous politicians in that they provide an equal opportunity scapegoat for both black and white bigots.

Here's what will happen during the next legislative session. Whatever House committee that is in charge of Those Idiots will convene a hearing. They will find them an "expert" to testify that gay folks are unfit to be foster parents, adoptive parents or to own pets. It will not be hard to find somebody for such a task. You can find an expert somewhere that will testify to anything. I predict it will be some nutbar psychologist with dubious credentials from some Bible college or evangelical "think tank" somewhere. No matter. The legislature will pass a law banning gays from being foster parents. And we will be back in Court before the the Governor's signature dries.

In the meantime, the Mike Huckabees and the Jim Holts of this world will demonize gay folks and a so-called "activist" court system that politicians of this ilk will unfairly characterize as their special friend.

Meanwhile back on Planet Earth there are plenty of serious questions that merit discussion by serious people. Folks are getting whacked around here left and right. The prisons are full to the brim. Medicaid is going broke and the schools are not much better. These are just the ones that I can think of off the top of my head.

The known universe of gay folks that want to be foster parents would have to be pretty small. Is this the only issue that matters?

I predict that the mute button on my remote will get quite a workout this fall.

A Quick Sports Hit- The grand fortnight known as Wimbledon is proceeding apace at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club in London. Andre Agassi had the misfortune of drawing Rafael Nadal as his next opponent. Nadal is basically a younger, stronger version of Andre who employs much the same withering ground game that Andre uses. Andre's back is feeling pretty good right now but let's see how good it feels after about the 7th or 8th 35 stroke point. It says here that Rafael sends our boy packing today.

Sunday Morning Update: Nadal clobbered Agassi in straight sets.

And while we are on the subject of sports, my buddy PM called this morning to say that he found me a left-handed Adams "Tight-Lies" driver for around 115 bucks at a local sporting goods store. Do I need a new driver? No. Will a new driver appreciably improve my prowess off of the tee? Nope. Could the 115 dollars be put to better use? Undoubtedly.

So will I buy the goddamned driver? You're damn skippy I am.

Hatchet Job- There are those who have said that I am pretty rough on Wally Hall, the editor of the sports page of the local paper. I prefer to think that I am tough but imminently fair about such matters. However, reasonable minds can disagree about these things. But reasonable minds would have to agree that my occasional tirades upon the subject of Wally's inane sports column cannot hold a candle to the guy in Chicago who has seriously got it in for Jay Mariotti of the Chicago Sun-Times and who publishes a blog called "Jay the Joke" which you can find here: http://jaythejoke.com .

This blog is sweet, calm voice of reasoned debate next to "Jay the Joke."

Jeez.

Ronnie Brewer- OK. One more sports item: Arkansas's Ronnie Brewer was drafted in the first round of the NBA draft by the Utah Jazz. Good for him. This means that he will get a minimum 2 year deal for 1.6 million bucks. After that, the sky's the limit.

If he pans out.

There is plenty of upside with this kid. He is tall and rangy (basketball geeks like to refer to this attribute as "length" much in the fashion as baseball people referring to the speed of a pitch as "velocity." They think the use of these high-falutin' words makes their guesswork sound more scientific). He is athletic and can play 3 positions.

They say they drafted him for his defensive ability but I never really saw it. Sure, he led the SEC in steals but I never really saw him lock down too awful many guys one to one. Further, the Jazz brass likes his ability to attack the rim which strongly implies that they are going to get out and run more. This would be a good idea because the last time I looked Karl Malone was still retired. Further, I don't think it is a good idea to rely on his jumper as Ronnie Brewer possesses the ugliest stroke in the history of basketball. I don't know how it is going to hold up under the rigors of an NBA season. But we shall see.

He's a great kid and I wish him well. Good luck, son. Make us proud.

It's time to go do my usual Saturday chores, this being one of them. So I will close for now.

Oh. Ozzie Guillen, the manager of the White Sox is in all kinds of hot water with the suits at Major League Baseball (and with the White Sox front office, come to think of it) after getting mad at the aforementioned Jay Mariotti and calling him a "fag."

MLB should have come down harder on Ozzie than they did. They ordered him to attend "sensitivity training."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! That'll learn him.

The reason that they should have really lowered the boom on Ozzie Guillen because this sort of hurtful and inflammatory rhetoric has no place in public discourse. There's another reason MLB needs to get this all cleared up.

If Those Idiots got wind of this Jay Mariotti might not be allowed to become a foster parent in Arkansas.

Be cool. Write if you get work.