Wait ...... Tinker's son????? ...... which son?? Are you the son of our Tinker, she of the clan of the mother hen who keeps the rest of us layabouts on the straight and narrow? She who must not be challenged or a painful death will occur? She of the bawdy damn blues song (you didn't hear that from me, son.) The camera master, the black belt in documenting every song, skit, joke, and bodily function, at major Mudgatherings?

Son, ....... your place in Heaven is assured.

But, and remember that ole Uncle Mick tried to be gentle ...... the Yankees are going to get a down home, going to Jesus, no two ways about it, buttwhuppin'. Got it, son? Now, go get yourself a Coke, sit in the corner, and smile when Boston fans speak to you. There you go.

Uncle Mick