I'm spending this weekend visiting my cousins Ben and Terry in Coldwater, Michigan. I had initially had hopes of trying to catch the Reds games while I was up here, but when we arrived we discovered that the only baseball that we were going to have immediate access to was on Fox Sports Michigan. Probably all for the better; watching the Reds isn't exactly conducive to weekend fun these days.

When we turned on Fox Sports Michigan, they were showing the weekly wrap for the Detroit Tigers (quick aside -- why doesn't Fox Sports Ohio do a weekly wrap of the Reds? I see the commercials for the Indians version all the time, but no Reds) which featured prominently Dmitri Young. They'd miked him so we got to hear his ritual teammate greetings, conversations on first, and absolutely bitchin' Macho Man Randy Savage impression.

I had always been inordinately fond of Dmitri and everything he brought to the game. That's when it occurred to me what the Reds have been missing these last few years: the goofy handshakes. If the Reds can find someone to bring on who can incorporate complicated moves into their pre-game salutations (“OK, first you put your right hand in, then you put your right hand out…) then I'm sure we'll see things turn around in short order.

You think it will take more than that? Well, you may have a point. But it couldn't hurt. Unlike some teams I could mention, the Tigers won last night.

I think that's an apt phrase if, by “titanic,” you're referring not to something extrememly large but to a sunken ship.

I appreciate the fact that the Reds are still far from being mathematically eliminated, but the winning percentage they'd have to pull together for the rest of the season in order to have any post-season hopes is quickly becoming titanic itself.

So much so, in fact, that I'm afraid that any changes at this point would just be throwing good money after bad:

• They could get rid of Miley, but why bother? You'd just have to pay someone else to accompany the team through the remainder of this sports craptacular, which would just give them all the longer to lose the respect of these already disillusioned players.
• They could fire O'Brien, but again, they'd just have to replace him, and really, could his replacement make any significant impact at this late hour?
• They could tar'n'feather Milton (which would at least be a better show than one of his starts), but that would be both an utter failure as a huge surprise shake-up for the pitching staff as well as an enormous waste of money, especially when he really is starting to show signs of salvagability for some point during the span of his contract.

Something is not right about this mix of personelle. Individually, there is so much to get excited about, but together, they are less than the sum of their parts. Maybe it'll be good for everyone when they're split six ways to Sunday in a month.

Did I really just type that? Someone, please, please tell me I'm wrong.

How about instead of thinking about 2006 (or even July 2005), we take a moment to think about next week. The Cardinals are coming to town! And with them comes the fun of harassing Bellyscratcher about her easy and utterly non-character-building ride through the fandom of 2005.

I've been thinking about this series for something like six weeks, gathering material. So far, my planned razzes include such gems as:

What's up with your guys only playing two games against Chicago before the All-Star break? Afraid to give it up to a cursed team? Again?

Yo outfield so old I told them to act their age and they died!

and You call that a lead? I've seen better leads on stories in the Cincinnati Enquirer!

It's going to be awesome. Hell, I figure if you've gotta go down with the ship, you might as well laugh as you do it.

Early this morning Reds and Blues gave Reds fans everywhere an unprecedented look into the bosom buddydom of two of Cincinnati's most eligible bachelors when they printed a letter from Adam Dunn, playing an away game in Boston, to Austin Kearns, cooling his heels in Louisville.

Here at RHM, we also got an inside scoop when Kearns' response letter found its way to our desk.

Hey Dawg,
Man, Boston sounds awful. I sure don't miss those pictures of his kids Casey's always making everyone look at. But it sounds like you're having a pretty good time without me. You and Griff got new chairs, that's what you wanted. And some time on the PlayStation with Rich, good. You both suck at it, so you deserve each other. And took the Roxbury suit out without me. That's really great. Really, really great.

Take care of yourself, pal.
Austin

We missed most of the Reds game tonight in favor of our first softball practice of the season. Didn't look like we missed much, just the third big loss in a row (that can't spell good things for Miley) and Wily Mo making us wonder whether Kearnsy is even going to put in a single at-bat at Louisville before he's back in Cincy.

Things on the softball field were much more optimistic. Our team is the Stars, the mid-level Special Olympics unified team. On a unified team, half of the players have disabilities (“athletes”) and half do not (“partners”), and they're divided evenly in the infield and the outfield. Usually teams have partners at pitcher, first, and short and the two middle outfields; at least that's how we have it set up.

Jon, my husband, anchors us over at shortstop. Abe, my youngest brother, plays first. Matt, who is my oldest brother and also autistic, plays second base. And I am the emergency back-up pitcher who has pitched a lot more than I ever intended to.

It's really quite humiliating to pitch slow-pitch in Special O. Pretty much everyone who does it stinks at it (though Bobbi, our regular pitcher, is actually quite good). The athletes will often not even swing at good pitches, so there's no getting them to chase bad stuff and end your misery. And even though it's slow-pitch, you're pretty likely to hit someone. Tonight, for example, I hit a batter in the leg, and though I'm confident it really didn't hurt him, he absolutely refused to come back within four feet of the plate.

Despite my bean-balling ways, our team is looking pretty good this season. Everyone's skills are improving, we've upgraded our third-baseman, and rumor has it that next week we may be getting a real-life baseball player from Ball State on our team.

This may finally be the year that we win a game. Go Stars!

BOSTON, MA -- A man in a furry green suit calling himself The Green Tickle Monster appeared in the Reds' locker room after tonight's game.

For a team that has seen family deaths, separated friends, and a season-long failure to meet lofty expectations, smiles are hard to come by. But tonight, hysterical laughter could be heard far outside the visitors' locker room.

Just moments after Ken Griffey Jr struck out to end the Reds' on-field misery, the locker room door slammed open with a bang that brought conversation to a sudden halt. Through the door rushed a six-and-a-half foot tall furry green creature announcing “I'm The Green Tickle Monster, and I'm going to get you!”

The man in the monster suit (still unidentified, though Adam Dunn was conspicuously missing) then took off after one player after another, pinning them down and tickling them until they cried uncle. The room stood in stunned silence as the monster pushed down Sean Casey and tickled his ribs, saying “Turn that frown upside-down, Señor Grumpy Face!”

Some were cheering and laughing along as he pulled off Rich Aurilia's shoes and tickled his feet, announcing, “You got your playing time; let's see you enjoy it!”

The Tickle Monster was beginning to chase after Ramón Ortiz, shouting “You're supposed to be Mr. Happy!” when the door slammed open again. The room again fell silent as Manager Dave Miley walked in to see what all the ruckus was.

The monster tackled Miley and tickled his collarbone, which at first elicited only rapid, nervous blinks that eventually yielded to titters and finally turned to guffaws.

For the third time in the evening, the door slammed open as Dunn stormed in and pulled the costumed man off of Miley. The unidentified man escaped before anyone had the presence of mind to stop him.

The Green Tickle Monster is still at large in the greater Boston metropolitan area. He is unarmed and presumed to be trying to make someone wet their pants. Please call 1-555-CRIMINAL if you have any information regarding the identity of this perpetrator.