A few years ago, I was contacted by a fellow Minnesota Vikings fan who thought he had discovered a team relic as precious as the Kensington Runestones.

The gentleman’s name was Ed from North Branch, Minnesota. He contacted me via email on the old Vikingstailgate.com website to let me know about a really cool story he uncovered after he acquired a purple Ford-150 from a junkyard.

At the time I was contacted in October of 2007, Ed and his wife had just purchased the truck, and were looking for clues as that would help determine it’s value.

“This is a cool story,” he wrote, ” Read more…

The Sports Daddy loves shopping with kids

Last week, The Sports Mom was in New York for work. I learned quickly that being a single working parent is one of the most underrated, toughest jobs in the World. Read more…

A fun video of a future NFL diehard fan and daughter of Mookie the Sportsdaddy, who likes picking BIG upsets!

Okay, the truth, she was home sick on Friday Oct 15, and to have fun we picked the weeks games using NFL mini-helmets. It’s a game we call “match-up” and both she and her brother love playing it.

She might be a budding NFL sideline reporter?

It’s mommy’s night out, and I  though the kids understood that meant business as usual. This assumption is about as bogus as a journeyman pitcher who throws 4 innings of perfect baseball and assumes the rest of the game will be a breeze.  It’s only a matter of time before that first hit. Then, before you can say, “bedtime” the shut out is gone and your team is trailing by 3 runs.

Case in point, my evening with the kids tonight.  It started out okay, with the kids both pleased with Daddy’s choic for dinner; Easter leftovers:  ham, cheesy potatoes, applesauce and crackers.  No issues there. Like that starting pitcher, I was cruisin through the early innings.

We colored up some books and furniture (incidental contact) read some Dr. Seuss books, and even had time to break in a Tea Party set from Auntie T.  Still perfect.  A 10 minute break for daddy was allowed when I got to sit on the couch and watch some Red Sox Yankees game on free MLB Preview. While the kids ransacked the Mite hockey bag, and took turns trying out the equipment, I almost felt guilty for having such a stellar night on the mound.  That feeling didn’t last long though.

It was just before bedtime, when the little toddler walked over stinking like a Dakota Pig barn, chattering,

“Pot- dee, Pot- dee, ” the universal kid language, for “Oops, I crapped my pants and I need to go sit on the toilet to make myself feel good.”

We went to the bathroom, to take off the diaper and set up the lil trainee on toilet. That’s when the first error of the night occurred as I managed to  drop that pamper,  spilling “doo”  all over the bathroom floor.  The phone rang. It was mommy!  Call it a trip to the mound, so I do my best to pretend that my arm is fine and I am in complete control. The no-no is still intact,  even though the 5 year old starts begging for me to let him apply one of those cute little easter egg tattoos on his hand at the same time I am on the phone.

It’s obvious to my wife by now, that chaos is king in the house, but I persist that it’s all good. She hangs up, knowing that I am literally full of “shit” and again she is right, but I approve of her proposal to extend the night with her friend to engage in some hard core shopping.

After we hang up, the kids do there best to chase me from the mound, but I hang tough. It was time to put toddler girl to bed,

“Jammy time,” I propose to the kids, who reluctantly take on the evening ritual of getting ready for bed.  I propose to my pre K 5 year old boy, that if he can brush his teeth while I am upstairs tucking in the toddler, he can hang out with me and watch some baseball. Apparently, that struck a nerve. I still don’t know why. Can you say meltdown?

He bashes me with a tirade of hurtful words, and goes straight for the heart, venting,

“I HATE BASEBALL!!! I DO NOT LIKE YOU. I WILL NOT EVER EVER LISTEN TO YOU! I DON’T WANT TO PLAY T-BALL, I WISH YOU NEVER SIGNED ME UP. I DON’T WANT TO GET HIT IN THE FACE WITH A BALL!!!”

The rant goes on, but that’s the gist of it. I calmly tell him that he has until I get back downstairs to brush his teeth, or he will be coming up to bed early. I walk up the stairs with the toddler, and place her in her crib with Funny Bunny (her stuffed animal comfort). I rub her back, and she falls asleep.

I am back downstairs and talking to the 5 year old. He has brushed his teeth, and is now calm.  I remind that he has no chance  of ever getting his way when he rants, and he needs to try to control his outbursts.  He agreed so we went to the basement to watch TV and play.

Suddenly we were interrupted with a  toddler “freak out” on the baby monitor.

“Tea, Tea… DADA, DADA, TEaaaaaaaaaaa!” she cried repeatedly, begging with tears for attention

Clearly the tea party we played earlier in the night is more desirable then trying to sleep.  The pleas for Daddy continue, so I tell the 5 Year old that I am going upstairs to calm her down.  Folks, that is where I completely lost the no-no.  The visit upstairs was a mistake. It confused her, and for the next half-hour she pines from the crib for mommy, daddy, and tea party and whatever else she can think of.

Finally, she goes back to  sleeping, my no-no is gone, and I am still in the game to finish what I started. The next task is to get the older kid to bed before mommy comes home.  That didn’t happen. With the baby crying, and the boy still wide awake in his room, my wife returned to unneeded chaos. I was pulled from the game, feeling that I had somehow let the team down.  Frustrating.

I might have taken a no-decision for this game, but my arm still feels good, and I will definetely get more starts down the road. Hey, we can’t win every game, but  we just have to keep plugging away.

Baseball Fever… CATCH IT!

I know, what does that headline mean? To save a marriage, you have to barbecue.

The Sports Daddy recently decided that I wanted to start helping more in the kitchen of our house. After 12 years of covering my meal night obligations with fast food pick ups, frozen pizzas, or reheating leftovers from my wife’s elaborately prepared recipes, I was kind of getting the impression that I was “taking shortcuts.”

If I was an NFL player, this is a sure fire way of getting “cut” or placed on waivers, so I had to do something to show that I still wanted to improve my game. I signed up for a Community College Cooking class, but it was cancelled. Turns out I was the only the one to sign up?

But low and behold, wonders of the intranet, I was contacted by Todd M. , from JKSCommunications, the publicist for a new book titled “Cheater BBQ- Barbecue Anytime, Anywhere, in Any Weather”

The premise of the book was perfect for my cook slacking at home, and also ideal for possible improvement of our lot menu in the Vikingstailgate.com parking lot.

The Experiment:
Normally for book reviews, I read the entire book, and write my opinion, but for this one, I was going to try something completely different. This time, I was going to test a few random recipes, and then serve them to my harshest cooking critics; my wife, and my two kids.

The Preparation:

I chose the recipe Hobo Crock Turkey Breast (page 99) with the Cheater Basic Rub (page 44). It looked healthy, tempting and most importantly it looked like something I could do with ease. All I needed was crock pot, and the ingredients.

I went to Cub Foods in here Minnesota, and bought everything on the list. With a little coaching from my wife on my way out door, I was told I could find all the good spices somewhere between the Vegetables and meat.

I had only one problem finding one of the items; the LIQUID, aka BOTTLED SMOKE. With my son at my side, we walked up and down every aisle, scouring for this needle in the hay stack. Finally, against every fiber of instinct in my being, I stopped and asked for directions.

I was told that I could find this precious ingredient in the same aisle as the ketchup, mustard and BBQ sauces. “It will be in a clear bottle, and it will look like smokey.”

With that sage advice, I went to aisle. With a whiny, tired kid at my side, and sore feet to boot, I grabbed a bottled that looked like it fit the bill. We went home with our turkey breast and fixins’, but I had an uneasy feeling that I had picked the wrong item.