I am nothing if not a people pleaser so when a commenter requested that we do a story about the Brewers being more open to running next year and "what the Brewers are running from?" I had to oblige and present you THE RUNNING SERIES.
To goddamn Toys R Us where else. My stupid wife thinks we have to have the "best Christmas ever" this year while our kids are still young. Does that mean spending a lot of time together? No. Going Christmas Caroling? No. (Don't laugh, I do a mean "fah la la la" part in "Deck the Halls".) Watching classic movies together? No. Going to see lights? No. According to my wife the "best Christmas ever" involves me spending thousands of dollars on gifts for the kids. Is this really Christmas? Spoiling your kids so bad that they open one present and just move on to opening the next without taking time to appreciate the first gift? I say no, but it's not like anyone hears what I have to say in this family anyways. (Which doesn't even make any sense. How many Home Run Derbies has Chanel won? How many single season Brewers records does she own? Yeah, that's what I thought. Marriage sucks.)
You know, when I was a kid there was only one thing I ever wanted for Christmas: my dad's love. Did I ever get it? Hell no, but do you see me complaining? One year on Christmas Eve we spent the WHOLE DAY shooting a stupid McDonalds commercial and you know what I got for Christmas that year? A single cheeseburger, cold. That's it. Not a double, not a triple that was only $1.69. A SINGLE. Really, dad? Really? You couldn't have gotten me some fries with that? LOOK AT ME! I WAS A FAT KID! That was worse than the Christmas he took me to the race track and told me that if #4 doesn't win then Santa isn't coming.
(By the way you see in the commercial when the son of a bitch tries to go to McDonald's without me and I had to run to catch him? THAT WASN'T IN THE SCRIPT! THAT WAS AS REAL AS IT GETS.)
Last year my wife thought it would be a good idea to send my dad a Christmas card without telling me. Next thing you know it's December 26th and he's calling me to borrow money, he didn't even ask about his grandchildren. I told him that I hope his bookie breaks his legs and to have a Merry Christmas. Asshole.
I try to put that stuff out of my mind and concentrate on my family and making them happy at this time of year. I mean, sure my kids are spoiled rotten but at least I'm there you know? In the end that's all that really matters is that they know their dad loves them. They're lucky too because their dad loves them enough to throw out the box of Remetee shirts Uncle Ryan sent them.