Superstitions. I think deep down we all got some even though we know it's silly and irrational. I have my lucky socks. All "big" gigs MUST be done with these socks on. Any plane rides MUST be done with these socks on. I will not board the capsule of death without them. How did they become so lucky? They didn't. They just feel good on my feet. Remember the most important thing (according to infantry men in 'Nam) are your feet; keep'em clean and dry. The socks were a Secret Santa gift from a dude named Rob Thomas (no, not the Matchbox 20 guy). I liked them from the get go so I made'em lucky. I know they do absolutely nothing but feel good. Maybe that's enough. Who knows? It's all psycological anyway, right? I had the pleasure to share some beers with Hall of Famer Wade Boggs. Talk about superstions, his plaque at Cooperstown even mentions it. Infield practice at 3:16 for night games, must eat chicken everyday, will not drink any other beer than Miller Lite. I asked him about it. He smiled and said, "yeah, it's silly... but it got me into the Hall of Fame, didn't it?" Indeed it did, Boggsy, indeed it did. And so this weekend when we play for someone of some importance at an international showcase in Jacksonville, my feet will be sporting the Sox of Luck. Let the psycology of superstion run wild: Boggs' helped him to BASEBALL's ultimate achievement (he entered the Hall as a RedSOX player), the last "2" BASEBALL champions were the RedSOX and the WhiteSOX, and so I wear "2" SOX on my feet (one on each foot, of course). It all makes soooo much sense. Take care. Later, Butch