Tonight bellyscratcher and I join up to discuss the finer points of game four of the World Series that might just see the Chicago White Sox sweep the Houston Astros.

We saw the Astros play all season, so it shouldn't be too much of a surprise to learn that they're not the best team in the land, but swept? In the World Series? I mean, when was the last time that happened?

She kicked her shoes off onto the floor
She said, “Drive fast, speed turns me on”
She put her hand on my knee, I put my foot on the gas
We almost got whiplash, I took off so fast

I almost had a heart attack that day
Come to find out the girl was a twelve-year-old runaway

By-and-large, I think that Will Smith's contribution to society is underrated.

Not a whole lot of Reds news to catch up on this week. Quick props to Felipe Lopez and Ken Griffey, Jr for being honored by Sporting News, of course, but we already knew they were awesome.

I did finally get around to watching the episode of Don Fransisco Presenta featuring an interview with Sammy Sosa.

I had seen the previews for this interview on Univision while I was on the elliptical machine at the gym, and I could have sworn that they were implying that it was going to be a tearful, heart-wrenching affair. Maybe some secret sins would be revealed? I guess that did, at first, seem unlikely from Don Fransisco of Sabado Gigante fame, but you never know. Maybe Wink Martindale would be Barbara Walters under the right conditions.

Well, that was *not* what the interview was like. It was a downright Sammy Love Fest. It began with a long soliloquy by Don Fransisco talking about Sosa's humble beginnings in the Dominican Republic. About how he was the fifth of sixth children, how his father died when he was only 7, how he had to sell orange juice and shine shoes and work in a car wash to help support his mother and siblings. About how, of the first $3,500 he made, he sent $3,300 to his mother and used the other $200 to buy himself a bike just so he could get around. About how he had overcome all that to achieve the American Dream.

Sosa responded with a minor soliloquy of his own about how the most important influence in his life is his belief in God, and that he thinks is mother is just great. When asked what he would say to the people back home in the Dominican Republic, he told them that he is like them and that they can have whatever they want in life because God will give them the opportunity. They just have to forget the negative in their life and go forward.

Don Fransisco didn't make even the remotest reference to any discussion of steroids, but apparently enough time had passed since the corked bat incident to bring it up. Sosa explained that he is human and made a mistake, and that he needed a second chance. Don Fransisco mentioned that the rest of the bats had been inspected and were normal, to which Sosa replied, “I have natural strength. I don't need any substances or anything negative to be myself.” (Translation mine and undoubtedly poor.) And the crowd went wild.

The interview continued as Sosa tutored Don Fransisco on his batting stance. Meaningful stuff.

They briefly discussed Sosa's wife of 14 years (sort of; I guess 12 of those were civil marriage). I didn't follow the story very well, but I guess Sosa met her in a gymnasium and promised to make her a queen if she would marry him. And now he describes her as “more than a queen.”

Gloria Trevi, a Mexican pop star from the 80s with a rather checkered past, was also a guest on the program that night. Ms. Trevi is apparently friends with Sosa, having attended his wedding, and she thanked him for not discriminating against her family. I didn't really follow that part of the interview very well. My crack research department has been looking up stuff about Trevi this evening, in part because the story of her checkered past is fairly interesting, but mostly, I suspect, because there are many nude photos of her available around the Web.

There were a couple commercials on the program that were highly entertaining, including what I believe was a service to buy love poems on your cell phone and send them to people and another for a book on tape about how to make love all night. The tag line was “La mejor manera de perder al sueño” (“The best way to lose sleep”). Ooh la la.

Unfortunately, I'm not coming away from the program with the top-secret scoop, but it was a good time anyway, and I would certainly recommend any future beísbol-related interviews on Don Fransisco Presenta. Don't try to watch them with your parents, though; they just wouldn't understand.

I've learned a valuable lesson tonight: before you agree to answer vaguely provocative questions posed to you by complete strangers, first make sure that those complete strangers aren't all still in high school.

You can now read my answers to questions from the kiddie pool of Strike 3 Forums.

I hope I didn't scar them for life.

P.S.
Go Astros! I guess!

They say that when a person really bugs you, it's because they have some quality that you don't like about yourself. So, like, if your mom drives you nuts because she's always butting into other people's business, you can probably take a hard look at yourself and see that you, in fact, are the big buttinski. Or if a guy at work makes you crazy by honking his nose at full volume when the office is otherwise quiet, you might want to take a look at the noises you yourself are making in the relative still of the cubicle farm.

David Eckstein bugs me. When I watch his twitchy little stance in the batter's box, I just wish someone in the crowd would throw something at him. When he strikes out and mutters at the ump as he walks back to the dugout, I pray that he'll trip on something. When he's awarded a base on balls and sprints to first, I just want to kick him in the shins.

Clearly, I have an issue here, and if what they say is to be believed, it's with myself.

But what horrible quality could Eckstein and I possibly share? I'm not particularly short, I don't look like a troll doll, I don't have transparent hair, and I'm not atypically scrappy. I might have the discipline and concentration to come through with the base hit to start the rally when the Astros were one strike from clinching the World Series appearance, but I sure as hell wouldn't be doing it for the Cards. I'd be doing it for the Reds.

Wait, no I wouldn't. The Reds wouldn't let me play. I guess Eckstein and I have something loathsome in common after all: we don't play for the Reds.

But do I hate him for that? Yeah, maybe.

Or maybe it's because he's a little wiener.

If you haven't been out to Bellyitcher see this photo of Jimmy Edmonds, I recommend that you go right now. But be warned: it's oddly hypnotizing.

And if that image hasn't completely destroyed your retinas, you might stop by Strike 3 Forums where, until Wednesday, you can ask me some wholly inappropriate questions as I take my turn in the Hot Seat. I'll link to my wholly inappropriate answers when they're ready.