Where There's A Will, There's A Wee-Wee

The Jaybird wore a green, long-sleeved shirt to daycare on Tuesday. It was cold outside, so long sleeves were called for.

Sometime between the morning dropoff and afternoon nap, he decided he no longer wanted to wear that particular shirt. He informed Miss Betty of that fact. In no uncertain terms, the green shirt had to go. He pointed out, very reasonably, he thought, that Mommy and Daddy had brought a change of clothes that morning and it sat there in his cubby, waiting to be worn.

Miss Betty, very reasonably, she thought, pointed out that the reason Mommy and Daddy brought in a change of clothes was that on Monday, when he was lumped in with the older kids for nap time, the Jaybird had a little ... accident while he slept, and had to wear the way-too-big "house" clothes provided by the school for the rest of the day.

Now, I can almost envision the little wheels spinning in his little mind after Miss Betty's refusal:

Hmm.
I want to change my clothes, but they won't let me.
I got to change yesterday because I went pee-pee on my clothes.
What do I need to do to get my way and change out of this horrible, hand-me-down, too-stupid-for-words green shirt?
Oh. I know!

I'm not sure at what point Miss Betty noticed the wet stain spreading across the Jaybird's pants and shirt. I can only imagine her horror when she realized that the Jaybird had wet himself -- on purpose -- in order to force the much-desired change of clothes. I am sure that she was not at all pleased about the turn of events, and neither were the Jaybird's Mommy and Daddy when we found out that afternoon.

Still ... you have to hand it to the kid. He knew what he wanted, and Miss Betty inadvertantly gave him the means to reach that goal.

There's no way she could have perceived the depths of depravity I evidently have bred into my first-born son. It's not on Miss Betty, by any means. She's used to dealing with normal kids. Kids who actually try NOT to wet themselves.

At least now we know what we're up against. I don't even want to think about what he'll do the first time we refuse his desperate plea for a puppy, or a car of his own, or a mohawk. Or a tattoo. Or a sword.

Santaphobia Rears Its Ugly Head

We want to think our kids will be different. You know, perfect little angels. Inquisitive, appreciative, calm when other kids go nuts. We are, of course, kidding ourselves.

Take my kids, for example. (No, really. Please. Take them! At least for the afternoon, so I can decompress.) Just don't take them to Disney World. Or to visit Santa Claus.

OK, I know. A 4-year-old and an 18-month-old are going to act like ... well, a 4-year-old and an 18-month-old. Knowing that doesn't make it any less exasperating.

The 4-year-old was a 3-year-old on Monday. Tuesday, his birthday, we took him to the Magic Kingdom. You know, the Happiest Place on Earth?

Ugh.

He rode the Indy cars and the merry-go-round. No Peter Pan. No Small World. No Goofy's airplane roller coaster. No Pirates. No Haunted Mansion. No Dumbo ride. No teacups.

He watched Country Bears Jamboree (after I threw him across my shoulders and carried him in, kicking and screaming), the Tiki birds and a couple of parades. That was it. Did I mention that lunch at the Happiest Place on Earth was the Saddest Meal on Earth? He did not -- DID NOT -- want the chicken nuggets and fries. He ate a couple of sliced up grapes and an oatmeal cookie.

He settled down, though, and once we decided not to abort the mission and just take in the day on his terms, it was a very nice day. He loved the cupcake, so we had that going for us.

Then, today, Santa Claus came to town. The daycare center brought him in for photos. Every other kid in the place jumped on Santa's lap and generally had a jolly good time with the old elf. Not mine.

The 4-year-old refused -- REFUSED -- to sit on Santa's lap for a picture. The 18-month-old took one look at that red costume, that shaggy beard and those awful, nightmarish white gloves and began to bawl.

Sigh.

Other parents and the daycare director tried to comfort me by saying a lot of kids act like that around Santa. It's a form of separation anxiety. Or maybe they just don't like the look of that dude in the red suit. Evidently, there's something shady about that beard, those glasses and that just-too-happy-to-be-for-real countenance.

I didn't see any other kids acting like that, though. Ah, well.

At least now when they're in therapy after college they'll be able to pinpoint the traumatic moment that made their childhoods such a misery.

Happy birthday. Merry Christmas.

Sigh.

Should Crime Dog Take A Bite Out Of Hall?

The Hall of Fame ballot came in the mail today. This is my second time voting, my second year with the privilege of helping to choose which baseball greats are enshrined at Cooperstown.


I'll never forget the thrill of receiving my first ballot in the mail last year. I've been waiting for this year's since Dec. 1. It was post-marked Nov. 30 out of Long Island, so I'm not sure what took it so long to get here. But it's here now. Let's take a look at the candidates (the guys I voted for last year have an asterisk; I also voted for Rickey Henderson and Jim Rice, but they're not on this year's ballot because they got in; and I voted for Tommy John, but it was his final year of eligibility).


2B Roberto Alomar
P Kevin Appier
OF/DH Harold Baines
P Bert Blyleven*
OF Ellis Burks
OF Andre Dawson
1B Andres Galarraga
P Pat Hentgen
P Mike Jackson
1B Eric Karros
OF Ray Lankford
SS Barry Larkin
DH Edgar Martinez
1B Don Mattingly
1B Fred McGriff
1B Mark McGwire
P Jack Morris
OF Dale Murphy*
OF Dave Parker
OF Tim Raines
P Shane Reynolds
1B/DH David Segui
P Lee Smith*
SS Alan Trammell
3B Robin Ventura
C Todd Zeile

I'll definitely vote for the players I checked last year, and I will not vote for the players who received the required five percent for carryover but did not receive my vote. That means no McGwire, no Morris, no Raines, no Trammell, no Parker, no Mattingly, no Dawson.

That eliminates a good portion of the ballot. I can also say right now that these are the only players I'm considering to join Blyleven, Murphy and Smith on my ballot: Alomar, Larkin, Martinez and McGriff.

I'm not one of those who believe in the concept of "good enough for the Hall, but not great enough to be a first-ballot Hall of Famer." Either a player is a Hall of Famer or he's not. Once I've eliminated that player from consideration, almost nothing will change my mind in subsequent years (assuming I still have a vote next year; the BBWAA membership is a precious thing, and even those of us who've been in it long enough to vote for the HoF aren't guaranteed anything if we're not affiliated with a newspaper or a Web site. So ... anyone out there hiring? No? Didn't think so.) I say almost nothing will change my mind, because if anyone ever proves without a shadow of a doubt that McGwire did not use performance-enhancing drugs during his career, his candidacy will deserve serious consideration. Now, do I have hard evidence that McGwire used steroids or anything else to crack the top eight all-time in homers? That he cheated when he became the first to hit 70 home runs in 1998? Nope. But the guidelines we're given for Hall of Fame voting are important to remember.

What are the guidelines? I am allowed to vote for up to 10 players. I don't have to vote for any. As I did last year, I'll just show you in its entirety my favorite rule for election, Rule No. 5: Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played.

Rule No. 5 means I will not vote for anyone who can't sit before a Congressional hearing and say, unequivocally, that he did not use steroids. (Or for anyone who can't sit before a Congressional hearing and say, honestly, that he did not use steroids. I'm looking at you, Rafael Palmeiro. But you're next year's problem.)

I'll probably send my ballot by fax to secretary-treasurer Jack O'Connell of the BBWAA the final week of December. Meanwhile, I'll review the records of my viable candidates, making liberal use of my favorite Web site for answers to all things MLB: baseball-reference.com.

The candidate I know best, of course, is McGriff. I saw him play nearly every day during the twilight of his career with the Devil Rays. I saw his last home run, No. 493, lifted high down the right-field line at Petco Park and into the little group of seats that juts out into short right, the homer that tied him for 26th all-time with Lou Gehrig. The Crime Dog and the Iron Horse have the most home runs of anyone short of the formerly magic 500 plateau.

Fred McGriff hit exactly the same number of major-league home runs as Lou Gehrig. That's a powerful sentence. A powerful argument.

Of course, home runs are not the only measuring stick. I'll take it all into account: fielding, hitting, character, sportsmanship, etc.

I'll take a gander at the high-brow statistics concocted by the high-brow, smarter-than-me guys who worship at the Church of Bill James.

I'll also listen to anyone who cares to weigh in. So, this is your chance to participate in one of the most hallowed responsibilities a sportswriter can earn. Let me know what you think.