Pick Me a Winner, Raffy. Then Sleepy and Grumpy.

Well, he's the best in the business. Nobody comes close. He makes $10 million a year to do this. The camera panned in on him too, as if to say, well, Champ, let's see what you've got. And Rafael Furcal did not let them down.

He had his glove on his left hand, so he had to use his right index finger to pick his nose. And this was no casual, minor-league, rookie-unused-to-the-limelight nose pick, this was a prime-time, nightly news, hefty bag, wriggle it on up there, pause at the eyebrow and then keep digging nose pick. If he had had a fish hook on his finger it would have come out his ear.

Then, he walked over to coach Larry Bowa and gave him a hug, first wiping his hand on Bowa's shoulder. You can see how much Bowa enjoyed this exchange.

OK, the sharing part is a lie. But not the TV coverage of Furcal's expedition into his nasal mine. Somebody should have had a heart -- but the camera just lingered and lingered. Plotnik can hear the director in the truck laughing his ass off and saying "Camera B, don't move, don't move....oh God oh God, did you see that? No for Chrissake don't you dare move..."

This pretty much sums up last night at the ol' ball park. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was watching the Phoolies run around the bases. That's the image of the Plotzer season we will have to carry with us into Spring Training in '09.

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Meanwhile, the, uh, debates. Two of the Seven Dwarves showed up, Sleepy and Grumpy. What a colossal bore. Obama was barely conscious. McCain had Sarah Palin trying to burst out of the left side of his face. Both candidates answered every question with stock answers that didn't make any sense six months ago and are just criminally simplistic now.

Plotnik changes channels. Back to the game. Furcal is picking his nose. Back to the debate. McCain wears the Dr. Kumquat Evil Smirk. Back to the game. Furcal tosses one into the stands. (A baseball, that is, not...you know.) Back to the debate. Obama has a chance to say something truthful about Sarah Palin but remembers God told him not to pronounce her name out loud.

Back to the game. The Phoolies are doing the macarena on the Plotzers' face. Back to the debate. McCain says the Two Deadly Words: "President Bush." The CNN Rate-o-meter plummets through the bottom of the TV set and blasts a three foot hole in the floor. Dick Chaney crawls out of the crater. His heart is beating wildly but the bastard just won't die.

Back to the game. OH GOD it's Craig Sager in a crushed maroon velvet suit! This guy dresses so gay he couldn't possibly BE gay. Back to the debate. It's over. We see Obama's teeth, all 493 of them. There is Cindy McCain. That is one angry dame. Or maybe her back really hurts.

More game? More debate? No más, please. No más.

At least we don't have to listen to any more stories about Joe Plumber. Now one of these guys gets to lose and go home, while the other poor bastard has to try to stay in his seat while congress drives his truck over the cliff.

January 2009: New president. Good luck.

February 2009: Spring Training!