OBAMA PUNCHES MCCAIN IN THE FACE, LEAVES AN UNSIGHTLY BUMP ON HIS LEFT JAW

I'm not gonna go into all sorts of details about last night's speech, since there's no shortage of triage on that all over the web. But . . . a few brief thoughts.

Overall, I thought Obama did an excellent job. He came across as very tough, very committed, very leader-like. He was quite grounded in the realities of what's going on, and he was very careful to point out, to the Republicans ostensibly, that he knows the criticisms, he knows the accusations against him.

"I get it," I believe he said.

He took numerous opportunities to hit McCain, and I think he landed a number of blows. More importantly, in going on the offensive he managed to contrast himself with his apparently doddering, dangerously out-of-touch opponent. In other words, the message was "McCain doesn't get it. But I do."

I loved it when he all-but challenged McCain on the foreign policy side of things, daring him to engage him in a comparison of their temperments, their abilities to be Commander-in-Chief. He didn't say "Bring It On," but he might as well have.

All-in-all, it wasn't so much the substance of what he said that impressed me, nor was it the extent of his (significant) rhetorical skill. No, it was more than that. What got me was the very un-Mondale, un-Dukakis, un-Gore, un-Kerry attitude of "You wanna be President, Mr. Republican? Well so do I. Let's rumble, bitch."

He may not win, he may not be any good if he does so. Hell, he may be a complete disaster, I don't know. But for the first time since the fall of 1992, when another center-leaning Dem I wasn't too crazy about faced off against another out-of-touch prick I couldn't stand, I feel that at least we may be in good hands if the donkey kicks the elephant's ass.

WARNING! A GANG FROM QUEENS N.Y. IS TRYING TO KILL ME

Best to keep your distance. Last night I tried to have a relaxing evening, sitting on the couch, watching the warm glow of cathode ray emissions. And then a wanton mob of white & latin gentlemen wearing blue, white, & orange pajamas came into my home and beat me senseless. Right in front of my wife.

And the worst part? They told me they'd return tonight, threatening to do the same thing one more time.

Much though I like the company of friends & neighbors, probably not a good idea to join me for a couple days. In fact, the situation is so disturbing, so hellish, so violative of norms of acceptable behavior, maybe you shouldn't even attempt to read about this gang from Queens.

Hey, it's your life. You've been warned.

BIDENESS AS USUAL

I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I ain't seeing it. DC insider, big mouth (which always opens at the wrong time), perennial presidential primary loser, rep of a small state that's not in play.

I don't suppose he'll really hurt much, but I don't see how he helps attract independents or GOPers thinking of jumping from the Good Ship Shit.

I'll go on record with what I've been suspecting for about a month now (and now think is way more likely than not): Gerbil Jaw McCain, the original Maverick Jackass will win in November and become the US's forty-whatever number we're up to now President.

I've never hoped more that I'm wrong, but that's what I think.

MMMMM, CROW

I often post to show the world (or maybe it's just my 6 regular readers) how correct I was with past predictions. That's the way I roll, man.

But once in a while, I sense the eyes of humanity staring deep into the core of my soul, and I'll feel that need to let on that sometimes I might have misfired. Might have. Let's see what we've got here. On June 24 of this very year, I declared the following to be an indisputable fact:

Carlos Delgado CANNOT be the starting first baseman for a major league team trying to play in October. He's 36 years-old (or at least he will be tomorrow). He's slow. He's an awful fielder. And . . . most importantly, since he plays first base, He Can't Hit!

His numbers through 75 games played are 234/307/405. Last season he hit 258/333/448. That's 1 1/2 seasons of sub-800 OPSing by a first baseman. A first baseman who can't run, nor can he field.

This has to stop. Play Easley against lefties, play Nixon at first against righties, play Nick Evans. But stop trundling this fucking corpse out there day-after-day. Enough.

"Trundling"! "Fucking corpse"! "Trot Nixon"! Them's some strong words there. Now you probably think I'm going to use this self-fisking post to offer contrition, admit how wrong I was, and conclude once and for all that my baseball analysis is for shit.

If you think so, then you, my friends, don't know your host very well at all.

Instead, I'll offer up the only explanation possible: Señor Delgado is a reader of Mike's Neighborhood. And how do I know this? Because in his second game after I wrote this damning screed -- after a half season of extraordinarily sucky-ass suckitude -- Big Carlos unloaded the famous 2 homer, 1 double, 9 RBI spectacular on the unsuspecting baseball world. Then he followed with his excellent July and after starting to scuttle again, he gave us last night's 5-for-5 performance, complete with seeing-eye grounders, atrocious Brave fielding miscues, and all that sort of thing. The man is back.

He clearly read my June 24 post & rose to the challenge. There. Is. No. Other. Explanation.

I accept all thanks for saving the Mets season. And I accept checks for large sums of money in lieu of thanks if you're not into that sort of thing.

CELEBRATING SIX-FOOT WOMEN IN SPANDEX

Random Thoughts on the Olympics:

1. This Phelps guy can swim, huh?

2. Usain Bolt. When you spend literally the final quarter of the race styling & celebrating, yet still shatter your own world-record, you are officially really fast.

(I think it's safe to say that Mr. Bolt is unequivocally the fastest man in world history. He's the fastest human being ever. Think about that.)

3. Polish Women's Volleyball Team. Let's just say I wish they weren't eliminated yesterday. Couldn't give a shit if they win or not, but I'd have tuned in for their next match. Alas.

4. How many days til Phelps is completely over-exposed and I begin to hate that snaggle-toothed smile. I like him right now, but I suspect that we're about two Letterman appearances and one Wheaties box from Mary Lou territory with this guy.

5. I never think -- at any time over a given 4 year period -- "Gee, I'd love to watch some 4-man skulls right now." Nor do I hanker for trap shooting, nor women's team handball, nor mixed-doubles badminton. Not even synchronized diving or the hammer toss.

I'm funny that way; baseball suits me just fine.

But I've gotta tell you, I love that once every leap year I get to tune into MSNBC and watch me hours of really well-trained athletes compete at the highest level in these obscure sports. As someone who just gets off watching competition -- I'd probably tune in for mixed-doubles checkers if ESPN II covered it -- this shit is just too much fun.

And when approximately 27% of those sports seem to involve women in spandex, bikinis, or sports bras, well that only helps.

ALMOST GOT A NEW JOB. ALMOST

So I got a call from Omar Minaya last night. He asked me if I'd sign with the Mets as a relief pitcher, but I had to say "no." Hell, my fastball hits 59 MPH on a warm day and I can easily throw strikes 38% of the time. And you know what he offered me? The minimum salary!

I told him to pound sand. Let 'im stick with Heilman, Feliciano, Smith, Schoeneweis & friends.

I already have a job.

I ATE, I DRANK, I SLEPT ON THE FLOOR

Actually, I "only" slept on the floor two nights, even though I ate just about every meal sitting on the floor. I also did a fourth thing: spent about 36 hours total on planes, waiting for planes, or driving to planes.

But otherwise, the title of this post about sums it all up. And since the net positive value of eating and drinking like a glutton all week outweighs the destruction of my back, my ass, and my legs from all that floor activity . . . well, the trip was good.

On other fronts, I was pleased to discover that while I'm no closer to fluency (or proficiency, or even basic competence) in Korean, I understood a lot more words than my last trip (6 years ago). So even if I couldn't really "understand" what everyone was saying I could following the basic gist of a lot of conversations.

Small victories, you know?

Meanwhile, most of my brothers- and sisters-in-law speak English well enough, and all the nephews and nieces speak it quite well. And, as you can guess, stuffing your face is universal in any language, so all-in-all . . .

Anyhow, I now have 2 1/2 days to recover before returning to work for what should be a very busy late summer and fall. Meanwhile, my body "thinks" it's midnight right now, so pardon me while I fight the urge to go to sleep.