Fourth of July Warning: Shoots Flaming Balls

My eight-year-old stepson, perhaps like most kids his age, has a total boner when it comes to fireworks. I hear about it all freaking year, and it's understandably worse than usual as July 4th nears.

"I hope I can blow up some fireworks."
"Are we gonna go see fireworks?"
"Can we go buy some fireworks?"

Shut the fuck up about fireworks.

I love my country, but I hate the Fourth of July. It's almost always dreadfully hot and humid (although this year was an amazing exception in my part of the country), and all most people care about is blowing shit up and watching shit get blown up. My stepson, again, like many others, couldn't even tell me why the Fourth of July is a holiday; yet he was the recipient of more than $100 worth of fireworks this weekend, much of which disturbingly contained the disclaimer that's listed as the title of this blog entry: 'Warning: Shoots Flaming Balls'

A few other nuggets of holiday cheer, which may or may not come as any surprise:

• It sprinked on a couple of occasions here Saturday, and I was actually hoping it would rain more. I would have had a great appreciation for all of the disappointment surrounding the planned fireworks displays.
  
  
• I rooted like crazy for Andy Roddick to win the mens' Wimbledon final Sunday, but I couldn't bring myself to watch the Williams sisters battle for the ladies' title on the morning of the Fourth. There's no way this is going to come off right, but they just seem a little socially challenged. I know their father sheltered them as much as he could while they were being raised, and maybe that's what shows. I'm not even going to try to explain it any further.
  
  
• I lost a bet with myself this weekend. My wife felt the need to line our driveway on each side with little American flags. I was sure someone would run over one with a vehicle, and I was fairly certain it was going to be her. Congratulations, sweetheart, I was wrong. Let's go blow some shit up to celebrate.

Where the Fuck Is Wimbledon?

Today's Wimbledon semifinal is the biggest match in Andy Murray's career, as one of Great Britain's own finds himself one step away from playing for the title. It's certainly one of the biggest matches of Andy Roddick's career too, as he's trying to prove he's still one of the game's elite.

So where the fuck is it?

With Roddick up 5-2 in the third, the match is nowhere to be found. ESPN's morning coverage just ended with a replay of the end of last year's Federer-Nadal final, no doubt the best match I've ever seen. But why in the fucking world is that being aired while live tennis -- a much-hyped semifinal at that-- is going uncovered? NBC's shitty coverage doesn't start for another hour, at which point it will surely be tape-delayed. By then, the match might actually be over.

This is bull shit. On an otherwise pleasant and rainy day off from work, I'm stuck following the match online while I air my grievances here. I understand that tennis is not a high priority for many people, but this is a huge match in the most prestigious event of the year.

I can't be the only one who's pissed off about this. I'm just enough of an asshole to share my feelings with the broadcast networks. Perhaps I will.