Dallas Blog

Gonna trek out to Carrollton this morning for some Cowboys' minicamp, so I'll leave you with a feel-good story.

$13,000 my ass.

In the end, getting rid of the furry, friggin' squirrel tresspassers in my attic and walls cost a whopping $275. That's $70 for two giant mousetraps, $5 for sheet metal and $200 to repair the air-conditioner wires the little effers gnawed through.

After initially thinking I needed a loan to battle what a professional exterminator told me was "10 families", I wound up catching two of the monsters - including the arrogant, tail-wagging fatass who had tormented me and my dog since, oh, February.

A couple of whacks here, three holes covered up there and - voila! - a squirrel-free summer.

I'm sure the searing heat in my attic ran the bastards out. But I have a feeling this little gizmo  may have helped.

If you're scoring at home, that's Humans 2, Squirrels 0.

Was just over on Unfair Park reading Schutze's take on the latest missle fired into the hull of the Trinity River Toll Road Waste Of Time Project.

From the city that gave us the CueCat, plastic dividers on HOV lanes and P.C. Cobb Stadium downgraded into an InfoMart, this might be our dumbest idea ever. After 11 years, now we're saddled with another 20-month, $29 million delay. Brilliant!

Got me to thinking. And scrounging.

What are some of the other worst ideas in Dallas history? Particularly, ya know, pertaining to sports.

Lookie what I found ...

The Mavericks are gone. The Cowboys are in pre-pre-pre-training camp. The Rangers managed one measly hit against the Tigers.

What to do with all this new-found free time?

I know, let's read!

Given a hammock, a cold beverage and 3 expendable hours, which one would you crack open?

Screw the closet, I've got bigger issues today. In a word:

Mothereffin'squirrels!

First we hear scome scratch-scratch-scratching on the ceiling. Next some creepy scurrying in the walls. Then, while doing some spring shrubbing, I spot not one, but two holes in the corners of our roof.

Softball-sized, swear.

I go in the attic and see some Christmas decorations nibbled, boxes with corners gnawed off and insulation spread in places it shouldn't be. And, oh yeah, it's a squirrel pellet-a-palooza. No biggie. I put out poison. Set glue traps. Dispersed cotton balls dipped in fox urine. Sprayed some "Critter Ridder."

What do you know, it worked.

For about five days.

After pondering a call to Carl Spackler or pissing off the neighbors with this contraption, I decided to get professional help. Ouch.

Turns out we have "at least 10 families" calling our attic home. Females. Babies. We got it all! And here I was worried about Swine Flu.

Turns out my house is haunted all right. But not by spirits, by squirrels!

The experts' recommended plan: Raze the entire attic. New insulation. Block all entrances. Moves that will guarantee 100-percent eviction to all rodents and keep them from ever coming back.

Sounds great, but how much?

Take a guess. C'mon, I dare ya to get close ...

Sometimes you clean out your closet and find valuable sports memorabilia that makes you go "Oh yeah!"

But some unearthed crap, I dunno, makes you wonder if George Carlin wasn't right all along when he summed up life as just one big competition to see who could get the biggest storage shed to hold the most shit.

Today I present - no drum roll necessary - some stuff.

As always, the most accurate guess at the following items wins a year's free subscription to Sportatorium. The most clever guess wins two years. Anyone commenting that The Ticket rules and I suck?

Lifetime membership.

Economy's a bummer. Taxes almost due. Stars out of the playoffs. He/She/It busy with other things.

Times ... they are tough.

But I arrive today with great good marginally better news: It could be worse. Much worse.

When I cleaned out my hunks-o-junk closet I found not only some "Hey, I forgot about that"s, but also some "Ooooh, shit!"'s.

Remember ...

My career has its perks.

I've sipped Mai Tais on Waikiki Beach with Troy Aikman. Shaken hands with Wayne Gretzky moments after his final NHL game. Seen - first hand - Roger Federer win at Wimbledon, Michael Johnson triumph in Atlanta and Michael Jordan sink his last shot as a Chicago Bull.

And as I speak, I'm typing this from my home office in my boxers.

But when people ask me my coolest moment as a sportswriter, I always recall February 8, 1998.

Because ...

Was going over it the other day and wondering how different it would look today? Would Kobe Bryant bump someone off? Who'd get cut? Would Tim Duncan squeeze into the picture? Steve Nash? Our own Dirk Nowitzki?

Then I got to counting the number of guys who spent some of their careers in Dallas ...

Psst, hey buddy. Can I interest you in this Terrell Owens fake Cowboys' locker room name plate sticker affixed to my wall?

Merrily I don't need thee anymore.

What I will cling onto - perhaps forever - are artifacts I rescued from my closet from Cowboys who wouldn't look right in any colors but silver and blue. Like, for example ...

I did go 10 days without food and I'm committed to finishing this on December 13. But there was a time when I was a real, live thrill-seeker.

Found some evidence recently.

I wasn't insane in a Johnny Knoxville way or a one-on-one interview with Charles Haley sorta way, but as in "Hey, that looks fun. Think I'll try it."

Ah, youth (i.e. ignorance/naivete/immaturity). Ain't Wasn't it grand?

Jump to see me, well, jump ...