He he he!

Krishni can tell you this:  I giggle a lot.  Maybe it's my obsession with Disney World but I try to keep a little whimsy in my life.  Krishni and I had a good guffaw when I watched Enchanted for the 1st time; I pointed out to her that that she was clearly the Patrick Dempsey character in the movie and I was clearly the Amy Adams character.

That's me on the left

To be fair:  of the two of us, I am far, far more likely to tell a cancer joke; but I do have a much more whimsical view of the world than she does.  And if that means that I get so excited about certain activities that I showcase a mile-wide smile and giggle uncontrollably, so be it. 

There are 5 scheduled days in each calendar year that require giggling:

1)  Opening Day
2)  Thanksgiving
3)  My fantasy baseball draft (I'm cool)
4)  My Brithday
5)  The NBA Draft

Opening day needs no explanation:  Brad and I start drinking beer at dawn, we eat fatty foods and watch baseball in the cold.  Te-hee!

Thanksgiving is hands-down the best-est of all holidays.  Thanksgiving is all about stuffing a turkey, stuffing me and hanging with the family by the fire.  What could be better?

My fantasy baseball draft involves pizza, wine and poor decisions around the 23rd round.  Krishni enjoys this day on a much different level than I do...she still thinks it's cute.  However, this day, sometime far in the future, will also be known as "The day Mike's wife finally realizes what a loser Mike is and packs a bag and slips out forever without her husband noticing because he's staring at his computer screen and deciding whether its a good idea to draft a closer in the 12th round or wait until the 18th.  While giggling."

It will be a very sad day. 

My birthday kicks ass because I've never had a problem planning my own birthday party.  Why not plan a day celebrating me where my friends buy me drinks?  The better question is:  why don't all of you do this?

Which brings me to the NBA Draft. 

For those not in the know, every year most of the best college basketball players leave school and enter into the NBA draft.  Each June, these players are selected by each NBA franchise in an order roughly determined by the previous years record; typically, the worst teams get the higher picks (meaning 1, 2, 3, etc) and best teams get the lower picks (28, 29, 30, etc).  There are two rounds worth of players picked over the span of about 5 hours. 

The draft is tonight. 

Honestly, I'm not sure what draws me to the NBA Draft.  On the "Mike Jacklich Personal Sports Hierarchy", the Bulls come in 4th behind the Sox (1), Notre Dame Football (2) and The Benet Academy Boys Varsity Basketball Team (3). 

While I love baseball and college football more than I love NBA basketball, I've always, always love the NBA offseason more than any other league's offseason.  Last years was epic:  the free-agent frenzy that centered around LeBron that directly and indirectly affected about half the league when it came to off-season moves and contender statuses will never, ever be topped.  It was so much fun to follow.

This year, we have equal drama:  a potential lock-out and the cancellation of a chunk of the regular season.  Truth be told, I love lock-outs.  I think they are absurd.  Millionaires arguing with billionares over a bigger slice of the pie...it's fun on the oddest of levels.

Back in college, there was a lockout that I followed closely.  It was pretty funny.  The owners quickly learned that most players actually lived paycheck-to-paycheck just like many of us do.  The only difference, of course, is that while I'm trying to decide how to best payoff my two credit card balances that don't total more than $2,000, NBA players were dealing with an entourage, house payments on 3 different properties, 6 car payments, servants, chefs, wives, girlfriends, 1 to 10 kids, family members begging for money, gambling debts, lawsuits, VIP rooms, strip clubs and hookers.  It was a lifestyle that was killing the players.

At some point in the middle of the lockout, the players floated the idea of having a "charity" game for some of the guys that needed cash or for players that were "only" making the league minimum which, at the time, was about $270,000...Patrick Ewing, the Hall of Fame center for the Knicks, was famously quoted as saying--in a tremendously poor attempt to gain public sympathy--"Sure NBA players make a lot of money, but we spend a lot too."  Boo-freakin'-hoo, Pat. 

The Draft tonight is just the 1st part of what I like to call the NBA's silly season.  Why do I love the draft?  Well, it's a bit different this year:  we have a pretty weak draft as far as the quality of the players being drafted.  Because of that and since there is no real consensus on who is going to go where, there should be a ton a trades and GMs across the NBA are going to be trying to unload salary before the lockout.  Chaos is always fun. 

Also, back in college we played what was, in retrospect, a horribly racist drinking game during the broadcast.  Rules included "Drink for players with cornrows" and "Drink 5 if the player hugs a Mom but there is no Dad present" and "Drink 5 when a white guy gets drafted in the top 20, finish your beer if he's picked 1st overall."  It got worse than that, too.  But hey, Bonzer T's Homeskillet is PG-13, remember?

So, tonight I'm going to sit down with some booze, my home-made NBA Draft t-shirt, some fatty foods and a ridiculous smile on my face while I watch the NBA landscape change.

There will be giggling.

It's time for a new poll!

One of the continually entertaining aspects of my gorgeous wife is her insistence on "exactification".  For instance, she might claim that I totally made that word up.  Of course I did, but that is besides the point.

She would have made an excellent lawyer.  She has a near-photographic memory when pinot grigio is not involved, had a wonderful grasp on language only occasionally punctuated with a sentence ending in a preposition and she remembers every damn word I say.  It's a really, really good thing that I am not a liar.

She also has trouble detecting my levity when I attempt to pass off a 100% ridiculous statement as fact.  "Really?  Benjamin Franklin played the theromin?" she once said in a story I just totally made up.  Because of this, I call her "Literal Sally".  It's one of the more endearing nicknames I've given her, and, likely the only nickname that won't result in my murder if published on Bonzer T's Home Skillet.

The other night, we were laying on our bed watching something on the DVR and the playoffs were about to begin.  I told her as much, she sighed and said, "Ok, you can watch your sports".

Now, Krishni considers herself a bit of a sports widow.  It's no secret that I have some silly passions:  pie, cartoons on Fox, Christmas, Disney World, The Gilmore Girls, porn, etc.  And yes, sports is one of those passions.  For her benefit, I do have a schedule worked out:

April-October:  White Sox Baseball
October to December:  Notre Dame football
January:  The good college football teams
January to June:  The Bulls
One day in the middle of February (TBD):  Krishni

Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration.  For instance, in the 183 calender days between April and September, the White Sox only have 162 games.  Plus the playoffs.  Sometimes. 

Back to the other night.  As I was leaving our bedroom, she said "Enjoy your boys playing with balls".  Before you think this was a sophomoric, "Mike Jacklich-style" joke, I assure you it was not.  This one was pure Literal Sally.  She was genuinely referring--not to nut-sacks--but to the physical act of grown gentlemen on the worlds stage, locked in athletic battle, in HD, taking a spherical object and thrusting it through a circular object. 

It is only fair that she called my television program "Boys Playing with Balls" as I have nicknamed her favorite shows that are on constantly:  "Bones", I like to call "Pretty People Solve Crimes" and "Grey's Anatomy" I like to refer to as "Pretty People Perform Surgery."  Lately she's been watching "Ally McBeal", or, as I like to call it, "Freakishly Skinny People Having Sex With Each Other And Occasionally Take Some Time To Argue In Court.  And Dancing.  They Like to Dance."

It was really only a matter of time before she named one of my shows.  When she told me to go watch my boys playing with balls, I paused and had a "Literal Sally" moment of my own:  "They only play with one ball.  Wouldn't 'Boys playing with ball' be the more appropriate name?"  "No", she countered, "there are many balls on the court for warm-ups."  This makes sense; if a ball deflates, the whole crowd doesn't just go home...they just get another ball from a rack.  "But wait a minute," I said, "there is only one ball in play at any given time.  As the clock ticks, there is only one ball that matters."  "You're stupid" she said.*

We argued about this probably longer than we should have before I went off to watch the Bulls hang on for a game 5 victory.

So, I put it to you, dear readers of the Home Skillet: which is it?  "Boys with Balls" or "Boys with Ball"?  Take the poll in the upper-right hand corner at let us know your thoughts on the worlds dumbest argument.   

*No she didn't

Wheeeee! Opening Day!

I was going to write a hilarious moment-by-moment account of my Opening Day experience with Brad but the truth is, it would have looked something like this:

8:37 am:  Open 1st beer.  Take shower with said beer in hand.
10:01 am:  Arrive at Brad's.  Brad and I play 'Thunderstruck' by AC/DC for 90 minutes while consuming many beers.
12:15pm:  Arrive at Comiskey Park.  Consume many beers

***scene missing***

5am:  Awake in Brad's bed with no pants on.

I know that somewhere in the middle, I ate a kosher dog, tried the new 'Ball Park DiGiorno' pizza stand, left the game early since we sorely underestimated the weather and were freaking freezing by the 7th inning, went to The Rail on Damen Ave to eat and kill 2 hours (drinking) before the Bulls game, drank 17-20 beers between the two of us before, during and after the Bulls kicked the living shit out of the Celtics, smashed in some more pizza and arrived back at Brads.

For the record, that was 15 hours of drinking for the two of us.  It's been a while since I tied one on like that.  Our bartender at The Rail even bought us a totally superfluous shot of Jameson.  She really, really didn't need to do that.

Oh, and the White Sox won.  So, except for the part where I woke up on Brad's couch, went to his bathroom and instead of returning to the couch, I just crawled into his bed with him, it was a pretty good day.  He might beg to differ.