DadCentric

For Winners Only (Losers Please Skip)

Seriously, this is for contest winners only.  There's nothing for you to see here.

It appears that no drawing was necessary.  This is obviously due to a lack of literate people in this world and is in no way a reflection on you, the actual winners.  We're all winners here, people. 

Apparently the losers don't like to read and therefore don't enter contests with books for prizes.  This is just cause for open mocking and blatant ridicule.  I can totally say that because a) if they don't read they won't be reading this, and b) I told them to skip this post which they would anyway (see A). 

With all apologies to Scott* here are the winners from our book contest.

Precious Babies

The Cold Equations

A story that starts off with an excuse is never a happy one, and it rarely has a happy ending. The excuse is an attempt to inject perspective, to force the listener or reader into feeling empathy or pity or something for you. The excuse adds a variable to A + B = C, and while you know that much of parenting is gray, gray itself is black and white, and there's plenty of that to go around. There are irrefutable truths in parenting, and this is one: your kids may grow up to fear you, and they may grow up to hate you. If you're a good parent you do your best to crunch the numbers so that when they're old enough to start doing that particularly cruel math, the resulting answer is not in the negative. You hope that the things that you did that scared them or hurt them or broke their hearts are the lesser of two sums. Today's excuse: you were having a teeth-grindingly crazy day, working on the site's redesign while dealing with a needy five-year-old. This is not a happy story.

In a Bar with Women Who Toss T-shirts for Paychecks: A DadCentric Exclusive

You see them at major sporting events: a mostly female group of wholesome, well-scrubbed 20-somethings outfitted in the home team's gear. They chuck T-shirts into the crowd, host trivia contests on the Jumbotron and fight off the drunken lechery of fans.

You ask: Who are these people?

How did they get these sweet gigs?

Is this a profession that's right for my child?

Secrets are revealed in this exclusive interview with a couple members of the "Party Patrol" that roams CitiField, the home of your New York Mets.

ABC News Reveals The Truth About Me: I'm Cheap

Ever hear of Push Presents? Yeah, me neither. Apparently there are husbands out there who go out and buy their wives presents after they've had a baby. (After the wives have had the baby. Not the husbands. Shit, if I pushed out the baby, the first thing I'd do, after my ass had healed enough for me to walk, is go out and buy me one of these:

Like I said, I'd never heard of Push Presents until I got an email from Emily Friedman, a writer for ABC News, asking if I'd like to be interviewed on the subject. 

Black Hockey DadCentric Reviews: The Silent Treatment

The silent treatment gets no fucking stars.

The silent treatment is a highly evolved feminine trick that is worse than that poison reptiles spit in your eye. Truthfully, when my wife is pissed, I would rather have her spit poison in my eye. It stings. You stomp around and curse. Then you wash your eye and apologize. But the silent treatment? The silent treatment is a subtle form of passive-aggressive torture that convinces you that the suffering at the heart of the human condition is your fault. That, had you never been born, the world would've remained some Eden where everyone is naked and all the fruit is free.

This Is A Video Of My Son Doing A Funny Dance

Go Lucas. Go Lucas. It's yo' birfday. It's yo' birfday.

We Got Big Balls

Well, I said I would pick a winner and I have. But first, I must subject you to my quick baseball story. I mentioned, somewhat elliptically, about getting hit in the boys by a baseball. Yes, of course I have and that is the centerpiece of my story, but this story also goes to show how competitive I am. My first Babe Ruth season was coming to end. I was the starting second baseman,a position I played my way into, and had put together a perfect fielding season thus far - no errors in 12 games. Well, I was in position, on my toes, ready to spring right or left to track down and grounder in my area. The pitch. The loud ping of the ball off the aluminum bat. I locked on. Glove to the ground. Ready to sweep it up and fire to first. And...what the fuck? Whack. The sound of the ball hitting the triangular piece of plastic that protected my future family. Whoof. The sound of the air being knocked out of me. Unh. The only other sound I could make.

Where's the ball? Oh my God, why does it hurt? Where's the ball. Oh my God, my balls. There's the ball. Pick it up. Throw to first. You're out! Yes, yes I am. In a crumpled heap. Look to the stands. Why is my dad laughing? Oh yeah, crotch shots are always funny.

Anyway, that's my story. So, I guess I need to pick a winner. Congrats to Simon, who made me chuckle with his story about his little hockey player and a season of baseball. Clincher for me? Right here:

So there he is out in right field. Rather than continue to pay attention to what's happening, he's staring at the ground kicking dirt. The poor bastard is bored out of his mind. His mom, trying to be encouraging while knowing full well how much he was suffering, yelled out that he needed to be "Baseball ready" (coach's phrase).Instead of getting into his stance, he turns to mom and flashes his middle finger. Most of the parents look shocked and awed, but mom almost falls off the bleacher laughing so hard.

And, congrats to Melissa because next to crotch shots, shots to the dome are just as funny.

Thanks to everyone that commented. We here at DadCentric really appreciate the visitors, your comments and your support. It's means a lot to us. To the winners, send you address to mrbigdubya at gmail dot com and I will get those out to you as soon as possible.

Disney + Dads: What the hell?

I don't know about the rest of you, but thanks to three kids under the age of seven - including 3 1/2 yo twin girls - I now spend an inordinate amount of time watching Disney videos. Insofar as that I was born with a penis, I'm now encountering many of these movies for the first time ever... and, perhaps not surprisingly, I'm paying extra attention to the father figures. Why? Because it's all about me.

A brief recap of my findings:

DadCentric Gets A Facelift

Dear Readers: over the next couple of weeks, the good people at Sweet Blog are going to be working their magic and giving this site a much-needed overhaul. So if things look weird/wonky, don't panic and don't email us; it's all part of the Master Plan. Like the one the Cylons had. Only ours is going to make sense and have a resolution that unlike Battlestar: Galactica's will be awesome and not completely suck. (FUCK I am still angry about that last episode. Need to let it go. But can't.)

And speaking of magic, please welcome our newest contributor, the eye and brain behind Pacing The Panic Room, Ryan Marshall. He'll be posting his words and pictures, and will add some class to the joint. And because we are a classy operation, here is a video reminding soccer dads and moms that soccer is really an incredibly dangerous sport which should require a helmet.