The perils of television...
Just before putting the boys down, I turned on the Angels-Mariners game. It was the top of the ninth inning, and the Mariners trailed by one with a man on first. Luke asked who our team was.
"The blue team is from Seattle. They're the Mariners, and I'm rooting for them. The red team is from Los Angeles or Anaheim -- it's kind of confusing -- and Uncle Mark roots for them."
Max agreed to root for the Seattle team. Luke was rooting for the team that was going to win. The batter, who had already hit two homers that day, smacked a long ball to deep center. The Angels' centerfielder jumped high and made a great catch, robbing the Mariners of the go-ahead home run and ending the game.
When I explained that the Angels won, Luke declared his affection for the Angels. I explained to him the moral perils of jumping on the bandwagon, but he would have none of it. For tonight, he's an Angels fan.
That night, we went through our usual ritual of saying good night.
Sleep tight. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite. Don't let the bedda bugs bite. Sleep with angels. Sleep with angels.
"No, sleep with Mariners!" said Max.
Wendy was folding laundry and watching a strange cooking show in which a chef went to Hong Kong and re-enacted a martial arts scene in which he fought bad guys. He was doing all that Hidden Tiger stuff like floating through the air. One of the bad guys brought out a sword and was whipping it around.
"I'm the guy with the sword," said Max.
"I'm the guy with the gun who dies everybody," said Luke.
"Me too," said Max.