From the "I'm not sure fighting cocks understand that, actually" Department:

"Like fighting cocks, we understand what it means to give your word."

- Pedro Martinez, on how he knew he had a cosmic kind of connection with his new GM, Omar Minaya

Yesterday, for the first time, I felt the Sprout kick. Leah has been reporting kicking for a couple of weeks but, since the kid is only 7 inches long, it does not have very big feet. Hard to detect very tiny kicking.

The kicking is very exciting, as you might imagine. I like to imagine that the Sprout has become annoyed about something - perhaps something related to the dinner it had just been vicariously served - and decided to make its feelings known. While this behavior will not be accepted in my house once the Sprout emerges and gets a real name, for now it seems like a very good sign.

Perhaps all of us ought to be kicking each other more.

Other than the Giants' getting killed, little of note happened last Sunday. Oh, except that I had to make restitution for losing a bet on who would win the Presidency. For coming in second in this contest, I had to spend the day as a Red-Stater. The football game helped - not a big DC crowd in the $500 seats (we got them free) - and the access to Fedex Field's exclusive club area, complete with the finest in Red State dining, sealed the deal. What did I learn from my day as a jackass? That Republicans are people, too. People with terrible taste in presidents, shirts, and chicken-like fried strips with some kind of sauce. I did not actually consume any food at Hooters. Not part of the bet.

Here I am at the Giants-Redskins game. Actually, it was less a football game than pick-on-Eli-Manning Day at Fedex Field. Here you can see young Eli about to throw an incompletion. Also note that, from the second row, the kid who puts up the net that keeps field goals from going into the stands is kind of in the way. It is impossible to watch football from this angle.