A Mighty Fall

I can't believe it's still technically autumn and we've already had well over a foot of snow. The temperature hovers in the twenties and thirties. It's dark more than it's light. Maybe spring will come early too.

I kind of wish I could leave for spring training right now. Yes, it's always too long and boring and repetitive. About three weeks of practice leads to a month of games that don't count and then six months of games that do and then, if you're lucky, a month of games that count more than any others you've ever played before. I love it when reporters asked me in championship seasons which post-season was my favorite. That's like asking which heartbeat is my favorite. Pretty much the most recent one. And I'm always glad to get to the next one as well.

Why this longing for sunny Florida now, a week before Christmas? Well, there's no ice in Florida, at least the kind that settles on your driveway overnight. Plus the press coverage isn't as intense as it is here. Although I remember 2004 and how the allegations of gambling hovered over us from Valentine's Day to opening day. You'd have thought we were the Beatles the way the press was EVERYWHERE. I'd go to the bathroom in the house we rented, look out the window, and see cameras aiming right back at us. It's a good thing I rarely snack in the nude.

Back to the ice. Ever since the toilet papering our house has gotten (three so far), I've begun turning on our outside lights before going out for my early morning run. I don't want to be surprised at sunup that I've been awake for almost two hours and just now noticed. I don't know about you, but running makes me have to go to the bathroom. I had a friend once who took toilet paper with her on every jog because she inevitably had to pee about two miles in.

No toilet paper today. A good sign.

I was fully stretched, so I began my run on the walkway. Made it to the driveway, took two strides and AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! One long sheet of ice. I literally slid about fifty yards, thanks to its slight downhill slope. To cap it off, once my trajectory was complete, my paperboy in his 1996 Caravan did his drive-by and whipped three papers my way. He's such a loser. He only struck me twice.

I sat up, collected myself and surveyed the damage. No bones protruding from flesh. No trail of blood. A sore hip and some wrist pain. Yes, my throwing wrist. Even though I haven't thrown yet. But still, it's the thought that counts.

No ankle pain. That was the best sign. I've sprained ankles before. They heal so slowly. Do it in April and you're not the same until the playoffs, even though by then you're watching somebody else play because you sucked for the last six months because of your crummy ankle that wouldn't heal.

How did this happen? We had the driveway plowed on Sunday. Three times. There was both sand and salt spread out too. The temp never got above freezing yesterday, but there was blacktop there. I could swear it. No chance for there to be ice on the driveway, especially since there was no melting runoff.

Before I stood, somehow my view made its way up to my trees. I thought there had been no toilet paper. But I was wrong. There was just less than before. A lot less. One long strand of toilet paper, generic brand, hung from a low hanging limb, probably about six feet. I don't know how I missed it earlier. I got up and slid over to it. There were check marks on it. Black Magic Marker. Each sheet - and we know a "sheet" of toilet paper is about four inches long and can satisfy (maybe) a mouse's ass - had a hand-written check mark on it. I turned back and took another look at the driveway. The ice was perfect. One solid sheet spreading from the road all the way up to my walkway. Like a stream had frozen right on top of my driveway.

I left the toilet paper there and limped back inside. My hip was starting to shoot a little pain up my back. And my wrist began to ache too much for me to think it was nothing.

I woke up Vanessa and we called the police. They took the toilet paper in for testing. I don't know how they can test toilet paper. Maybe they have some cool technique a local cop developed in his free time while not patrolling the beat and catching killers, of which Madison has none. So he's got a lot of free time I guess.

The one thing that bothered me was the bucket. They found a large bucket, the ones you put a mop in. And water. It was under a pachysandra bush. I'd never seen it before. Neither had Vanessa or the girls. Evidence! Maybe whoever hung their check mark toilet paper left their bucket too. Vanessa told me the bucket was probably used to spread water on the driveway. That made sense. The perfect plan.

But why? Who's playing these little pranks on us? I upset a bunch of divorced ladies yesterday, but they wouldn't come to my house and do something like this. They're too busy trying to turn the media against me.

Grace has seemed to take this the hardest. She's spending more time in her bedroom than ever before. I tell her not to be afraid. These are just harmless pranks that, well, today caused a little harm. My right wrist is sprained. No baseball activity for three weeks. That's unfortunate. I'll work on my legs and core and see if I can find myself a bionic wrist to temporarily replace the throbbing one. It's not awful. I've had worse. I can still type this, although I've needed to rest it five times so far and employ my nose when using the Enter key.

Still, I'd like to know what's going on. We're installing security cameras around the property today and Vanessa is organizing a neighborhood watch program. We'll find the bad boys who've done this. And then I will exact my revenge!

Or I'll just beg them to stop.