Well, there’s no turning back now.

My dad and I are about to get on the train to go to the starting line of the 30th Marine Corps Marathon. I got a pretty good night of sleep last night. My stomach is only a little nervous. It’s fairly cold outside.

The best news is that we’re not going to have to run up Capitol Hill this year. The course has changed a little and Capitol Hill is (thankfully) not on it. I am so pleased. That part was the bane of my run in years past.

Mrs. Dog is worried, I think. She’ll be at the race on the course.

Well, if you’re reading this between 8:30 am and 1 pm est, wish me luck and perseverance. I’ll tell you all about it when it’s over.

Fixer’s Kind of Soldier

No soldier left behind. Even small furry soldiers.

Laurel lawyer John E. Smathers, a captain in the Army Reserve, returned from a year in Iraq with a broken arm, a wrecked knee and a chest full of medals.

During his tour, Smathers helped thwart a bank robbery and assisted in recovering stolen Iraqi artwork. He survived an ambush and a high-speed auto crash.

But when he got back in March 2004, he was determined to complete a final mission: to rescue Scout, a dog he and other soldiers had adopted, from the increasingly bloody streets of Baghdad and bring him to his Howard County home. Scout was resolute, loyal. So was Smathers.

This is a GREAT story.

Was kind of out of pocket today… did I miss anything?

Just kidding. We listened to Fitzgerald’s press conference live. As for the 10th Inning show on NPR: It’s odd to me how many people who have whiffed with every prediction they have made about this investigation persist in the desire to keep making predictions. (If you’ve missed every pitch you’ve swung at in this game, the pitcher may just be out of your league, slugger. Keep the bat on your shoulder and hope the next pitch is Fitzgerald’s metaphorical bean ball. You’ll get a black eye, but at least you’ll get to take your base.)

I don’t honestly have any idea what the Fitzgerald crew has stewing in their kitchen. They could be preparing to pack up and go home. I heard rumors on the radio, though, that Luskin was visiting Fitzgerald’s building all morning today, which may be part of the reason there was no Rove indictment, which means it ain’t over.

Fitzgerald’s refusal to speculate about the future is not a sign that Rove isn’t necessarily going to be indicted. It’s a sign that Fitzgerald’s M.O. doesn’t change. He didn’t tell us anything about what he was going to do before, either.

I think that there might be some pressure on Libby to talk about the conspiracy now that he’s facing a trial. I don’t think this is done. I don’t think Libby will ever be put on trial, either. 30 years in prison is a life sentence for a guy approaching 60. Libby is going to be wetting himself to find some way to help Fitzgerald now. I am thinking plea bargaining and aiding the “interest of the people” (I love it LOVE IT when Fitzgerald says that. It’s so Eliot Ness!) by giving evidence to support the indictment of Rove on conspiracy charges. That’s my Fitzmas wish…

whaddyou think?

::UPDATE::
Well, I went straight from posting this to firedoglake and Jane, Kevin Drum and Andrew Sullivan(?) and I all agree.

I feel like I am in strong company here. Then again, blind hog/acorn/etc/….

Well, don’t just sit there… COMMENT!

Travel day

Not much is going to happen in the blog world today, anyway, right?

I’ll be driving to DC… listening to the radio.

heh.

Y’know, I am gonna be up there for the marathon, anyway. Maybe we’ll ride the Metro into town to see the frog march in person.

Consideration of the upshot

With Miers’ withdrawal comes a different set of issues. Agent PapaNeuva, despite lack of experience and comparative youth, has some thoughtful comments on the issue:

wasn’t I saying that this might be the plan to begin with? Trot Miers
out there, let her get beat up a little bit, then pull her in favor of
an extremely well qualified but scary-right (or scalia-y-right)
nominee?

The script is a little different than planned, however, because it’s
the fundies and Federalist Society types who have been attacking her.
I’m hopeful that democrats were collectively quiet enough that they
still have arrows in their collective quivers.

Finally, it’s interesting to see Bush’s famous stubborness/resolve
crack. I guess he’s not as resolute when it’s the GOP going after him.
Perhaps he realized he’s going to need a few friends in the coming
months?

If Rove hadn’t been down with kidney stones and facing probable indictment, I would have called this a Very Good Rope-a-dope.

Now, I realize that I am no scholar of all things Judicial Branch, but I kinda get the feeling that the Preznit is just too thin-skinned right now to hang someone out there to be his St. Sebastian. (Or some combination of Ali and the Perforated Saint.)

My point is that the President seems to me right now to be in Siege Mode. I think he’s half expecting for plague-ridden rats to be thrown over the walls at any minute. (Unfortunately, they’re the ones coming to his defense.)

Bush appears to me to be a man on tenterhooks waiting for some indication of just how deep the shit is going to get before it stops rising.

On the other hand, since the Miers nomination was revealed to the world on October 3rd, they may not have known how deadly this month would be for Bush’s numbers and how much play Fitzgerald would get as we approach Karmageddon.

You may be a lot more right than I am, APN, but it goes against my perception of the Preznit as a thin-skinned SOB right now.

Frank finally got his ring

If you’re not reading Thomas Boswell and you love baseball, you’re missing out. I have been a huge Thomas Boswell fan since I first read “Cracking the Show.” Here he is talking about the long-awaited White Sox Series Championship.

In the last 365 days, baseball has squared some of its longest standing debts. Last Oct. 27, the Red Sox won their first World Series in 86 years. On April 14 this spring, the first baseball game was played in Washington after 33 vacant seasons. Last Wednesday, the Houston Astros won their first pennant in 44 years of existence. And on Wednesday night in Minute Maid Park, one day shy of the anniversary of the Red Sox’ championship, the Chicago White Sox beat the Astros, 1-0, to win their first World Series in 88 years, storming through October with 11 wins in 12 postseason games.

Frank Thomas was there, even though he was out of post-season play with a broken ankle. That had to rankle the guy, after all these years of being the lynchpin of the Sox lineup. I went to high school with Frank. He used to knock my best fastball into the computer classroom on the third floor of Columbus High School. They finally stopped replacing the glass and put in plywood until Frank moved on to college. I think it probably took several years off of Ms. Henry’s life, having a baseball come crashing into her window three or four times a week.

I would love to tell you the story about how my skinny, gangly, completely un-ahtletic brother robbed Frank of a triple, once.

We were all in PE class together our freshman year of High School. Frank was already an athletic powerhouse. He was on the JV football team, played baseball and lifted weights. He was one of those kids who is marked from early childhood to be a great athlete. He could have parlayed that into the kind of PE class fiefdom of the usual “I punch you, you cry….” variety, but Frank was a surprisingly diffident and thoughtful kid, even at 15.

But he was a complete monster at the plate.

My brother, on the other hand, was the kind of kid who handled a football like it was a ticking bomb. He hated sports, hated being outside in shorts, and he hated being around kids who made fun of the way he ran, the way he threw the ball, the way he caught the ball, etc., etc.

So, naturally, he got stuck in right field.

One October day, at something like 9:00 am, we were all out on the ballfield and Frank came to the plate. There were two outs, two men on (1st and 3rd), and Frank’s team was down by one run. I was in left field, and my poor brother was in right. Frank was batting left handed, and we all backed way, way up, though the limits of geography and architecture kept us from backing up into the building behind us.

Frank scorched the first pitch into right field, everyone saw my brother standing there and the defense grimly sighed. Third out, the runners all ran. David stuck his glove up while managing to cringe with the entire rest of his body, closed his eyes, and THWAP!

The ball thudded hard into the pocket of the glove. The impact just about carried David’s arm in a complete windmill’s arc around behind him. Frank’s base run petered out between first and second, as we all, my brother included, stared, stunned, at the strange object in his glove.

“Out three!” shouted Coach Camp.

Game over. Frank jumped up in the air and came down with both feet, shouted “DAMN!” and then quickly recomposed himself, and we all ran into the locker room to change before the bell rang.

David’s satisfied glow turned to dread as he wondered, I am sure, what fresh hell awaited him in the locker room since he had robbed Frank of his victory.

We all piled into the shack where everyone changed back into their street clothes before going back to class. David was the last one inside, and Frank shouted “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE!! Hey man, today’s your day!! You’re the man today!” and that was that.

PE wasn’t quite that terrible for my brother after that, I don’t think.

Today’s gonna be a shitty day at the White House

It’s already started.

President Bush on Thursday accepted the withdrawal of Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, according to a statement from the White House.

In her letter to the president, Miers said she was “concerned that the confirmation process presents a burden for the White House and its staff and it is not in the best interest of the country.”

I should think that indictments are the next step. 39 months to go for the Boy King.

That’s a really giant shit sandwich.