Not this year. I'm pretty much broke, so the presents are a tad on the chintzy side. My poor son, for example, got a lousy bag of coffee. I immediately started drinking it when I visited him at Osceola Mills. His fiancee did just a little better. She got a chocolate labs calendar and some goofy thing you plug in a socket to make your house smell nice. Women dig that, but it's not exactly a pearl necklace.
I didn't get anything for blogging pal Mike Molovinsky. He's Jewish and, being the considerate person I am, I realize a gift might offend him. Otherwise, I'd probably get him a Rolex or something.
But I did get one half decent present for my grandson - a baseball bat. Now this isn't just any baseball bat. It's a DeMarini Vexxum, baby, a half and half bat with a huge sweet spot and a carbon reinforced handle and taper. Basically, the bat flexes when you swing it.
Naturally, we will perform all the rituals that always accompany a new bat, including a few human sacrifices. But we need to come up with a name, too. Every bat gets one. My grandson's current bats are called Stinger (a very light bat for fast pitchers) and Lil' Red (a gigantic Big Barrel for tourney play).
After looking at this magnificent blue work of art, can you come up with a name?