Taking my talents to this blog post

I'm officially taking my talents to ... this blog post.

I realize that's already a fairly played-out cliche, less than two months after LeBron James originated it. Now I hear variations of this line — from his announcement to sign with the NBA's Miami Heat — all the time. "I'm taking my talents to the living room, with a Dr. Pepper in hand." "I'm taking my cooking talents to the church potluck." "I'm taking my pick-up basketball talents to a junior-high 'B' team."

This isn't the first time a sports saying has taken the U.S. by storm. Here are some of the best:

—— "Bo Knows." Back when Bo Jackson was the absolute man — a hulking, blazing-fast running back/center fielder — he also was a white-hot pitchman. And his "Bo Knows (fill in the blank)" ad campaign was huge.

In the early '90s, I heard enough variations of this saying to last a lifetime. Luckily Bo doesn't seem to know fame in 2010.

—— "I'm a man! I'm 40!" Some think Oklahoma State head football coach Mike Gundy was admirably defending his player. Others say it was pure arrogance coming to the forefront.

But everyone agrees it was hilarious. The fact that Gundy raged on a reporter regarding a story about one of his quarterbacks isn't funny by itself. It's the way he said it that stands out — like a hungry man yelling at a particularly arrogant slab of steak that he can't afford.

Three years later, you can buy T-shirts, buttons and mugs making light of the rampage (http://shop.cafepress.com/i%27m-a-man-i%27m-40). And I'll buy one if I want to — because I'm a man! I'm 28!


—— "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." Muhammad Ali was part man, part quip machine. This saying in particular has developed a solid foothold in U.S. culture.

Even Niles from the TV show "Frasier" once uttered a version of this phrase — albeit far, far over my head. When this spindly twirp character pays you homage, you know you've hit it big. Well played, Ali.

—— "They ARE who we THOUGHT they were!!!!!" Arizona Cardinals head coach Dennis Green's tirade in 2006 is legendary. After outplaying the Chicago Bears in virtually every way, yet somehow losing, DG went nuts, understandably.

Then the nation went nuts with the line, uttering it in reference to everything from mothers-in-law to smug professors. It's a fun line nonetheless.

By the way, this blog is what you thought it was. I'm really sorry.

Fantasy Parenting League

Fantasy sports leagues — most notably of the football variety — are wildly popular as is, but I think there's room to broaden the scope.

For instance, a Fantasy Parenting League in which we draft and track the success of our children. It would take some doing, but it could be a great way to get apathetic adults more invested in children's progress as humans. Imagine how much more they'd be willing to look up from their magazine and actually engage in a kid's development if a $150 pot and a year's worth of bragging rights at the local Gymboree were on the line.

Now to the details.

First, it would have to be a straight-up, round-by-round "snake" draft. An auction setup wouldn't work; there's something about bidding on kids that seems inappropriate. Maybe it's just me.

The draft itself wouldn't be quite the raucous, sarcasm-engulfed get-together that you normally see in fantasy football leagues. Everyone would have their kids with them, plus you'd have to stay quiet because inevitably somebody's kid would have to be put to sleep early in the spare room.

The good news is that, unlike at pigskin drafts, you'd have the "players" front and center to review before and during. If you see a young punk hitting girls in the face and smoking cigarettes in the back corner, that's an obvious "stay away." You can't do that with Laurence Maroney, unfortunately.

The points system would be delicate. It could get tricky because, as opposed to sports, parenting doesn't involved a lot of statistics — at least, not easily tracked statistics. Here are a few ideas to get the process rolling:

• 4 points for every toy put away in the correct place. The only question is how to determine "the correct place." My Crazy Toddler would argue that the right spot is right behind the couch, right where I walk in the dark when CT wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. Perfecto.
• 2 points for a successful trip to the toilet. So obviously this puts a premium on post-toddlers.
• To offset the advantage older children have in the toilet category, I'd hand out 2 points for every time someone stops you in the grocery store to get a better look and say "Oh my gosh! A-dorable." SIDE NOTE: Each adult male receives 5 demerits (not in the league, just in life) if he says "A-dorable." Even if a newborn puppy is present. Leave your man card at the nearest exit. But the word adorable is all right, as long as you don't pause after the letter "A."
• 2 points for every hug, and 4 points for the ever-elusive kiss. Another wrinkle to this: If a young one can manage a kiss and it's been at least 10 hours since the last nap or sleep, that's 8 points. In fact, even if a child simply refrains from poking you in the eye with a sharp stick and it's been at least 10 years since the last nap or sleep, that's 4 points.

This is just a start, but you get the idea. Of course there would be kinks to work out.

For example, it would be awkward to root for your own child to act up all the time just because you didn't obtain the rights to he/she in the draft. "Jimmy, could you be a dear and throw that Go-Gurt against the wall? I need you to be worse than the Johnson kid this week, or else I won't make the playoffs."

Hey, every fantasy league has its drawbacks.

Parenting Thought of the Day:

Don't give a 2-year-old any sort of drink with a straw. It's like giving Pacman Jones a night of relaxation in Vegas. No good can come from it.

He left his legacy at Leavenworth

A lot of people wouldn't want to point to Eagles backup quarterback Michael Vick as an example for their kids. On the contrary, I wish my son were old enough to study and recognize the effect egregiously wrong actions can have on someone's life.

More specifically, I want him to realize what it means to waste an amazing, God-given talent — and a golden situation.

OK, so Vick isn't exactly destitute. After missing the 2007 and 2008 NFL football seasons during his 19-month prison stretch stemming from dogfighting crimes, he rebounded to haul in more than $1.5 million last year. This year he'll make at least that much.

Still, consider what he has lost:


— Millions upon millions of dollars. The man who once signed a 10-year, $130 million contract with the Atlanta Falcons filed for bankruptcy a year ago. He lost everything his blinding speed and rocket arm had gained him.


Also, what will he do upon retirement? Don't expect to see him on any jaunty TV commercials or as part of an ESPN panel of football experts. No, he'll have to find a completely new profession. I guess that elusive college degree would have come in handy after all.

— His status within the history of the game. As ridiculous it sounds, analysts used to talk about him as potentially one of the best players ever. He was the fastest quarterback anyone had seen, and he had an incredibly strong arm. And he was still in his prime.


I always thought he was overrated — his statistics were average to slightly above average — but now everyone is off the bandwagon. Vick is more likely to land a job as a hall monitor than  to enter the Hall of Fame.

— His physical domination. Once upon a time out, Vick was the kind of athlete who comes along once in a generation — a guy who could throw the ball farther than almost anyone. A guy built like a running back. Heck, he was faster than most running backs — not just straightaway speed, but breathtaking elusiveness in spades.

Turn on an Eagles game these days, and you quickly realize he's a sideshow. In his prime people excused his rampant inaccuracy because he made spectacular plays the likes of which few had ever seen. Now 30, Vick is a very nimble quarterback, but he's no threat to score a touchdown. Those precious years of premium athletic ability died deep in a Leavenworth prison cell.

This weekend Vick's line against the Cincinnatti Bengals read: 1 for 5 passing for 6 yards, 0 touchdowns and 2 interceptions. And you know what? No one was surprised. That says it all.

---- His free pass. Vick used to get away with whatever behavior he wanted to, based mostly on his status as a superstar. At this point he's done a 180-degree turn. He can't go anywhere or say anything without being second-guessed.

My son is 2 years old, so I really have no idea whether he possesses any spectacular talents. Maybe he'll be a math whiz. Or a phenomenal writer. Or the best dancer (gulp) this world has ever seen.

Whatever gifts my son has been blessed with, I'll make it my mission to help him utilize them. The Michael Vick story might just be one of my go-to tools.

Sports Notion of the Day

Sports Notion of the Day:
This afternoon I saw a store window that read, "Sandwiches and Turnovers." Sounds like a midday meal atRyan Leaf's house, if you ask me.

The last confusing birthday

Yesterday my Crazy Toddler (CT) "celebrated" his last confusing birthday.

I say that because while he probably didn't have any clue why we were trying to do fun things with him, it didn't stop his mother and I from treating Aug. 19 like a very special day.

Truth be told, I could have thrown a rag onto the floor and he would have been happy. Still, we did our best:

—— We gave him presents from his grandmother and aunt. I'm sure he has no idea why he was handed cool gifts including a kiddie drill set and a Buzz Lightyear backpack this afternoon, but he definitely enjoyed them. I liken it to opening up a workplace fridge and finding a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper — and not knowing how it got there.

Guzzle first, ask questions later.

—— CT posed for photos at Portrait Innovations. He was wearing his seersucker suit, so he had that extra swagger that can't necessarily be mustered by the henley onesie/pleated jeans ensemble. He was really working it with his jostled-hair look, big blue eyes and muscle-man poses (I made that last one up.).

—— We sang "Happy Birthday" several times at different junctures; I can only imagine what he must have been thinking: "Don't they know any other songs? What about some of Bowie's earlier work? This happy-go-lucky stuff was all right when I was 1, but I'm 2 now. Expand the songbook already."

—— We enjoyed dinner at Sonic. His watermelon slushie was supposed to be a special treat, but it proved to be nothing more than a strange-tasting impediment to what seemingly is his first love: Running into the street or busy parking lots without a care in the world.

I guess that's what you get when you eat outdoors. A padded cell may have been a better choice.

—— We went to the park. At this point I'm too old to remember thinking of the park as a fun treat, but CT likes it more than Keith Olbermann relishes being the lowest common denominator.

After about an hour of swinging; trying to climb up dangerous steps; and inching down every slide in his unique, scared way, we called it a day.

Actually, we called it a birthday — but something tells me he wasn't savvy.

Not even Margot Kidder

At 5 p.m. today, I became self-aware.


Self-aware, that is, of how little I wanted to spend any more time with my Crazy Toddler (CT). Not tonight.


Of course if felt bad writing that. But sometimes parenthood takes you to a dark place — a location where breakables live up their name, food and sippy cups become projectiles, and crying is the only form of communication.


At 5 p.m. today and thereafter, I wanted nothing to do with kids. Not just mine, but any kids. Not my own, not friends' kids and not neighborhood kids.


Not Kid Rock's "Bawitdaba." Certainly not any of Kid 'N' Play's "House Party" movies; in fact, write this rule down for the rest of the time, not just this evening. It's a pretty decent credo.


Tonight I want nothing to do with baby goats. Or Margot Kidder movies (she was awful as Lois Lane, don't you think?).


Ken Griffey Jr., also known as "The Kid," is one of my favorite athletes. But right now I'd push him into a ditch without a second thought.


Not even Nicole Kidman gets a second look from me on this day. Look what you did, CT; you made me   reject the explosive female lead from "Days of Thunder," which is easily one of the top 5 best stock-car racing movies of all time.


I hope you're proud of yourself.