Tripe

The baseball playoffs swirl around, the Browns stumble, Palmiero's still whining, Pierzynski's still gloating, and Pittsburgh still sucks, but I'm not thinking about any of that. I'm heading out tonight with a few compadres to eat some tripe.

The stuff's only good if it's cooked at least 12 hours. So, even as we speak, a bunch of little old Italian ladies are stirring the very stuff that will feed a few hundred guys tonight.

Since I'll be busy for much of the night, I'll leave the sports analysis and usual nonsense to the Rhino. Now that his football team's winning, he's almost bearable.