I never believed baby!

Cardinals DE Bertrand Berry holds up the NFC Championship trophy.

Deirdre Hamill/The Arizona Republic

The Arizona freakin' Cardinals have done it. After half a century of futility, the Red Birds have shocked the world and captured the NFC championship. In two weeks they'll be knocking helmets with the vaunted Pittsburgh Steelers in the Super Bowl. It's a story for the ages.

I have emerged from my bomb shelter this morning to relay one final message before the pending apocalypse finally materializes. I just want the world to know that as a true anti-fan of the Arizona Cardinals, I never believed in them during this entire improbable run!

That's right. Unlike all of those bandwagon anit-fans, I was steadfast in my disbelief. No wishy-washy hate you today, love you tomorrow for me! No matter how well they played. No matter how inspiring their story became. I refused to waver in my disbelief.

When the Cardinals reached the playoffs for the first time in a decade, I didn't believe they would actually win a game. When they were losing to the Atlanta Falcons at halftime of the playoff opener, I thought to myself, "Well, it's been a great ride. Maybe they can build on this next year." When they traveled to Carolina the following week, I thought the score would be something like 33-13. But NEVER for the Cardinals! Get real here.

And yesterday I watched the Cardinals blow a big lead in the second half and threaten to choke away a chance at immortality. "That's more like the Cardinals I know and love," I thought to myself. Wearing my disbelief on my sleeves.

Well the Cards followed with a gutsy fourth-quarter comeback against the Eagles that didn't resemble anything the team I've watched over the years has ever done. It severely tried my disbelief. Tested the magnitude of my anti-faith.

But don't worry. I'm riding this wagon of disbelief all the way to Tampa baby! Do I think my beloved Cards have any shot against the Steelers in two weeks? Heck no! The Steelers have five Lombardi Trophies. They're an NFL icon. A symbol of championship lore dating back to Mean Joe Greene, Terry Bradshaw and the Steel Curtain. The Cardinals shouldn't even show up!

So for all of those bandwagon fans out there loving on the Cardinals this morning, just remember - You can't stop disbelieving in your team after one historically-wonderful, tear-inducing, life-altering, thrill-ride for the ages! You have to remain true in your anti-fandom! Right?

Go Cards!

Are you ready for some football kiddies?

- Dave

Animal House

My wife is an animal lover. Not an animal liker. Lover. As in - She loves animals so much that we can't be without them for any reason whatsoever.

Before we were married I would find new animals at her house nearly every month. There was a rabbit, a ferret, a guinea pig, several cats (both in the house and out on the porch), and of course her childhood dog and cat at her parents' home.

During our time living together (Both married and unmarried. Yes we lived in sin. Don't tell any one.) we've had birds, cats, fish and dogs. I like the little critters. I really do. It's just that sometimes they become a wee-bit overwhelming.

Take these past two weeks. April brought home a beautiful Yorkshire Terrier puppy and we named him Jordan. He was 10-weeks old, bright eyed and ready to attack the world. Literally. I loved him at first sight. How could you not? Just look at the photo in my blog posting singing his praises. He was the cutest little puppy with a lively personality, and he was absolutely wonderful around Michael. And here's the clincher - The fur on the top of his head is gray. It matches my gray hair perfectly. It's like we're soul mates (or at least a couple of really good lookin' studs!).

I loved having him around. I just didn't realize the chain reaction Jordan's presence would have on the tender animal ecosystem in our home. For starters, our cat Meiko was absolutely distraught. She spent nearly a week glaring at us and devised an absolutely evil scheme to gain her revenge. Our lovable kitty Meiko resorted to chemical warfare against us. That's right - She dropped poopy bombs all over the house. She deployed an attack in little Michael's room and in the kitchen.

After wiping baby bottom for the past four years, I'm pretty immune to the effects of poopy. But something about wiping up kitty poo off the floor sent me into a rage that nearly led to a 911 call. Lets just say I didn't handle the situation very well.

Then a few days ago Jordan severely scratched Kiki's nose during their morning brawl session. The scratch left poor Kiki bleeding and swollen. We took her to the vet and they immediately wanted to send a sample of the scratch in for cancer tests. Apparently it's not normal to have a scratch the size of a walnut on a dog's nose. Fortunately the tests came back negative, so we're in the clear there. But we can't seem to keep the two dogs from brawling, so Jordan keeps reopening the wound.

The absolute apex came last night. Jordan decided to wake up at approximately 3:30 a.m. That's right, kiddies, that's 3:30 in the a.m.! April let him out to pee, expecting him to go back to sleep. No such luck. The little guy thought he was in college, and wanted to par-tay till the sun came up. He whined and barked inside his kennel for nearly an hour before April finally put him in a small play-pen in the family room. Well you can guess how that ended up. He barked and howled for nearly two more hours while I tried to pretend like I was sleeping. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't riot in front of our house with pitch forks. I would have!

I'm an easy-going guy. I just have one rule in life - I NEED MY SLEEP!! Losing sleep when Michael was a baby was so traumatic for me that my mind chooses not to remember it. I have no intention of repeating this. Now or any time in the future. So if little Jordan doesn't start sleeping, we're going to have some real issues.

So basically I've spent the past two weeks cleaning up puppy poo and kitty poo, tending to my older dog's swollen and bleeding nose, and listening to the wonderful songs of barking and howling through the dead of night.

It's a good thing April is beautiful, smart, funny, my best friend and the love of my life. She's going to need all of those brownie points if this continues.

Stay sane kiddies!

- Dave

Fear the Birds

Don't be alarmed, but the end of the world is upon us. I believe it is written in the Book of Revelation that birds of fire shall rise out of the desert ashes and usher forth the apocalypse and the end of days. There is more in there about frogs raining from the sky and swarms of locusts, but you get the picture.

I'm sitting here this morning trying to wrap my mind around the fact that we live in a world where the Arizona Cardinals are hosting the NFC championship game. THE ARIZONA CARDINALS!! That is the most idiotic, asinine, ludicrous statement one could ever think of uttering .... yet it's true!! How could this be? If there are three truths in the world they are death, taxes and the Cardinals will always suck. And I mean always suck. As in, before this winter they had not hosted a playoff game since Harry Truman was president. Look it up! They are usually so bad that their most ardent fans enter each Sunday with the same thought ... "Boy I hope we don't get our @#$# kicked today."

Back in my former life I spent countless Sunday afternoons sitting in the press box high atop Sun Devil Stadium in Tempe. Looming below me were seemingly miles of empty metal bleachers. The Cardinals would take the field armed with smoke machines and about 12 family members delivering half-hearted applause while sweltering in 110-degree heat. They played in a college stadium, dressed in a make-shift locker room about the size of a walk-in closet, and they were awful.

I have to admit, I didn't attend those games to watch the Cardinals. I went for the chance to interview the visiting players after the game. To sit in on interviews with Tom Brady, Brett Favre, Mike Shanahan and Bill Parcells. A funny thing happened, however, after watching these atrociously-bad Cardinals week after week. I actually started rooting for them. Yes, it was a lost cause. But they just tried so dang hard. They had a hootin' and hollarin' coach straight out of Texas in Dave McGinnis. He would pace around the locker room like a madman and deliver a "Let's go get em' boys!!" in a thick cowboy drawl. You couldn't help but love him. He was passion personified. Unfortunately he was a horrible head coach personified as well. The Cardinals and their fans loved their beloved coach, but that didn't stop the freak show on the field.

I actually got excited when they hired Dennis Green. They proceeded to draft players like Larry Fitzgerald, and Karlos Dansby, while bringing in free agents like Bertrand Berry. A couple of years ago you looked up and down the roster and you realized, "Holy monkey, we actually have some talent!!"

But alas, these were the Cardinals. The 4-12 seasons continued to mount. This past fall I finally cut ties with my lovable losers. I simply gave up on them. So naturally they pulled off the biggest upset special since Mr. Truman himself. (If your wondering why I keep referencing "The Buck Stops Here" president, I happened to watch a wonderful documentary on him last week on PBS. So there you go.)

They somehow shook off an all-too-familiar shellacking at New England during the final month of the season to not only reach the playoffs, but actually win a game at home against the Atlanta Falcons in the opening round. Like all Cardinals fans, I tuned in last Saturday night to watch the inevitable butt-whooping in Carolina.

It was a butt-whooping all right. But not the kind we're used to. I sat in stunned silence as the Cardinals proceeded to make Jake Delhomme look like a redshirt freshman making his first start against Florida. The Cardinals laid down the hammer like they've never done in the history of their franchise. It was indescribable.

And now they're hosting the Philadelphia Eagles in the NFC championship game. The winner will play in the Super Bowl. The honest-to-god Super Bowl! I've got to go now. My bomb shelter awaits.

I can't figure it out either, kiddies!

- Dave

Fly Like A Yorkie

I've got big news this morning. It's time to introduce a new member of our family. He's tiny. He's cute. He's Yorkieriffic!

His name is Jordan, and he's a 10-week-old Yorkshire Terrier with an attitude. He spends his days chewing anything that moves (or doesn't move), sleeping and going potty. Basically the same stuff the rest of our family does. He fits right in! He arrived on New Years Day, and he's stolen our hearts with his big brown eyes.

Our older husky dog Kiki is absolutely thrilled. She's slid right back into "Mommy" mode and spends her days playing with her new little buddy. Our cat, Meiko, well not so much. She's decided to forgive us for bringing such a vile thing into our home, but it took the better part of a week to earn back her good graces.

I asked Michael to help Mommy name him, and the little guy didn't disappoint. After several suggestions of "Puppy," and "Doggy," (I explained to Michael that we didn't name him "Baby," and that his little doggy deserved his own name) he finally emerged with a gem. How cool is Jordan for a puppy name? Michael's favorite movie is Space Jam and his new hero happens to be Michael Jordan. Not because he's the greatest basketball player of all time, but because he's the guy who hangs out with Bugs Bunny in the movies.

So let me say welcome little Jordan! Welcome to our humble family. I'm sure you'll have us trained in no time.

Wag your tails kiddies!

- Dave

P.S. I wrote this with Michael sitting on my lap repeating, "Are you going to put a picture of Jordan on your blog Daddy? Are you going to put a picture of Jordan on your blog?!" So here you go Michael - Little Jordan. And he does believe he can fly!

I like your Snuggie. It's real big

I've spent the past week pouring over ways to kick off my blog with a bang now that the new year has arrived. I've been so busy suffering nervous breakdowns at Stewardship and Board meetings these past few months that I've completely neglected my little on-line confessional. And let me tell you, my reader is not happy about it! (Sorry Mom).

I considered opening with a stirring reflection on this past year. How I've grown in so many ways, blossomed in areas I never thought possible. How I went from a depressed stay-at-home Dad with nothing on his calendar besides NCAA football conquests on the Playstation, to conducting speeches in front of hundreds of people, serving on a Board of Directors and earning the respect of college professors, congressmen and even a state supreme court justice. Who knew? It really would have been something. A real tear-jerker requiring a few boxes of kleenex. Pulitzer worthy, I'm sure.

Oh well. That was before I discovered possibly the greatest invention in the history of mankind! An innovation so profound, so unbelievably life-altering, that I simply thrust everything aside to sing its praises.

Ask yourself - Do you ever get curled up with a blanket on the couch, and then have to get up and go to the bathroom? What happens? Why, you have to take the blanket off and get cold and stuff. It sucks.

How about this - Do you ever go to the ole' ballgame and think, "Boy, I wish I had a blanket that fit over me like a jacket and made me look like a cross between a Jedi Knight and a Monk?"

Well stop dreaming Pedro voters. Your wildest dreams are coming true. The Snuggie is here!! And, yes Napolean Dynamite, it is flippin' sweet! It looks awesome. It's, it's incredible!

I heard Jim Rome cracking jokes about the Snuggie during his radio show last week, but it wasn't until I actually saw the commercial for this bad boy myself that I realized the sheer magnitude of its awesomeness! It's a blanket. No, it's a jacket. No, it's both. I'm getting that special feeling just thinking about it. It's 1982 all over again!

I haven't been this excited since I heard about the delicious plastic bass that sings "Don't worry, be happy," while hanging on your wall. Or the time I spent the summer hunting wolverines with my uncle in Alaska, using a frickin' 12-gauge, what do you think! Move over pet rock. Step aside juicer machine. Make room knives that will amputate your arm with just a flick of the wrist. There is a new sheriff in town and it's more badass than a lyger. Or Uncle Rico's video.

Just check out this blurb from the website -- "Blankets are okay, but they slip and slide." Gosh!
"Plus your hands are trapped inside." Idiot!

Thank the good lord that we now live in a world where slip-slidy blankets are no more, and our hands will never be trapped inside again. We can finally "enjoy a snack while staying snuggly warm," and we'll always be "cozy and warm at sporting events." These assurances were made by an inconspicuous lady's voice while I was checking out the website. And it wasn't creepy at all.

Thank you Snuggie. I can die in peace. Now ... give a pull on this gen-u-wine tupperware. Go ahead, give it a pull.

There is more where that came from, kiddies, if you go to the dance with me.

- Dave

P.S. Above is a photo of Michael looking flippin' sweet in his penguin snuggie thingy. It's not the actual Snuggie, but it's still awesome.