So, against the laws of You’re Raising Two Kids and are Not Permitted to Have a Life, I’m getting away this week. I can’t say where we’re going, because the spouse and I have this tradition (well, this is the second year) of surprising one another with a you-don’t-know-where-we’re-going-until-we-arrive-at-the-airport vacation. Last year, Catherine surprised me with Guatemala (fantastic, I must say). This year, I’m taking her to … oh, wait. I can’t say. Dangâ€”that was close.
Anyhow, I’m not taking a laptop, or work, or much beyond my iPod and a novel. So while I’m gone, I’m leaving this blog in the good hands of Michael Lewis, author of Moneyball and several other excellent … oh, wait.
I am leaving this blog in the hands of Michael Lewis, but not that Michael Lewis. Truth be told (and I’m not just saying this), I’ll take my Mike Lewis any day. He’s an excellent sports writer for the Daytona Beach News-Journal, and his tennis blog can be read here. I first met Lew 15 years ago, when he was a University of Delaware freshman and I hired him to work at The Review, our student newspaper. We’ve been pals ever sinceâ€”even after he spent a week farting up my apartment during an internship at The Tennessean. Lew has worked and written for a slew of places, from Slam to the Glens Falls Post-Star. He’ll be happy to tell you why Sterling Sharpe is a jerk, Don Mattingly a king and and how the ’09 Jets are sure-shot Super Bowl victors.
Lew, here are the keys. Be back by midnight …
PS: Mike says I shouldn’t post his Bar Mitzvah picture. But, really, how can’t I?