Imagine if you will a beautiful, well adorned dining room. The table is set with the finest crystal, dinnerware and silver forks, knives and spoons. Around the table sit the Bengal upper level including Mike and Katie, Marvin, Brat and Zim. Their plates are filled with prime rib, a steaming baked potato slavered with butter and sour cream. Goblets of iced water set beside a goblet of a fine burgundy. A hot apple pie sets on the serving table awaiting the server to add a scoop of french vanilla ice cream when they have finished the main course.

Imagine a dog wandering around the room after drinking the last of the stale water out of his dish and eating the last few crumbs of cheap dog food from his bowl. He wines a bit, drawing a look of ire from MB who is reluctant to get up, kick him and drag him out to the porch, as he doesn't want air his cruelty in front of his guests. The dog walks up to Marvin who cuts a bit of fat from his prime rib and gives it to the dog who swallows it happily and then goes over to Zim. Zim pats the dog on the head and slices a piece of lean meat from his plate and drops it into the dog mouth. Wagging his tail, he walks over to Brat who simply rubs his ear and offers nothing. The dog goes to stand between MB and Katie and looks up to them with sad eyes.. They look at each other and MB nods to Katie who drops a piece of crust from her bread that she wasn't going to eat anyway. The dog goes away - still hungry, but at least he got something, right?

Now imagine the same scene in Pittsburg. The dog is sleeping peacefully on a lambskin in front of the fireplace sleeping contentedly after eating his fill of the finest beef and lamp dog food, leaving the large bowl half full because he just couldn't eat that much. His water dish is full of clear cool water. He sleeps the sleep of contentment.

In case you havn't figured it out, in this little tale we fans are the dog and the last two wins are the table scraps that we are happy to get because - well we are so damn hungry. These small bites leave us ever hopeful that some day we will be able to sleep on the lambskin in front of the fire and eat the finest. Of course, that will probably never happen. MB knows it but he can't let us know it. He needs us to be the obedient pet who will roll over and play dead upon his command to keep the dream alive and well - eat his table scraps, like a good dog. I don't know about you, but I am getting tired of cheap food, luke warm water in a dirty bowl and table scraps served with a condescending pat on the head. The accommodations in Pittsburg, Baltimore, NE and Indy are getting more attractive all the time. But, I, like most good dogs, suffer from the affliction of loyaty, but one day I just might just have had enough abuse and strike back. 

Who am I kidding? We are all good dogs now, aren't we? Woof. Woof.