Bat-chuckers, moles and knowing the enemy

Moles are the Yankees of suburban lawn pests.

My community college newspaper adviser once suggested that I had a problem recognizing gray areas.

He said I quickly decided that someone was either good or bad. And once a person was deemed one or the other I was either fiercely loyal or an enemy until death.

He was correct. And he was quickly dispatched to the “bad” side of the ledger, where he remains until death.

Truth be told, it’s important to identify the enemy and move on. And this summer there are two.

1) Moles

No matter what you’ve heard, I’m not one of those suburban lawn maniacs who obsess about the quality of their grass.

I like to keep it tidy and trimmed to be a good neighbor, but I’m not out there every day dumping expensive chemicals and manicuring the spots around the flowerbeds.

And I tend not to care about what’s living under the lawn as long as it doesn’t upset what’s on top.

But for each of the last three days I’ve pulled out of the driveway and discovered massive dirt piles, evidence of the most vile lawn vandals there are – moles.

We have some small mole battles every year. I caught one alive several years ago and set him free on the soccer field next door. At least I assume he landed safely.

This year the buggers seem to have declared war. And the one in the front yard seems intent on destruction.

It is SO on!

I consulted a co-worker who prides himself on mole slaying. He recommends two types of traps. The first one is called a “strangler” where Lawnwrecker T. Mole climbs on through then hits a paddle that releases spring-loaded device that squeezes him toward the bright lights.

The other is more gruesome, with the paddle releasing spikes of death from above, leaving little time for his miserable life to flash before his eyes.

The thing looks like one of the elaborate machines used by the celebrity villains on the Batman television show.


You know, the ones where they’d knock out the Dynamic Duo, place them in the device then leave before seeing if the thing actually worked. Except that they’d never remove the utility belts with the convenient Bat-tools that allowed the Caped Crusaders to wiggle free – every week.

Note to celebrity villains: Use a gun.

I tried the strangler for the couple years and the only things that got caught were my fingers and one hapless vole, sort of a skinnier, less destructive cousin of a mole.

Note to voles: Don’t crawl into traps set for other animals.

As for the other trap, I figured if I had that much trouble setting up the strangler, anything with spikes of death would only be more difficult and too embarrassing to explain at the inevitable visit to the convenience clinic for stitches.

And don’t think every mole in the yard would not be laughing his furry ass off as I get that tetanus shot.

So this year I’ve opted for some less mechanical methods, poking holes in their trails and inserting poison pellets that are supposed to be as irresistible as Ring Dings. We’ll see.

2) Roger Clemens

OK, Bat-Chucker rolled over to the “bad” list around the time he forced the Blue Jays to trade him to the Yankees so he could pocket an elusive championship ring.

His subsequent beaning and near bat-pelting of Mike Piazza pretty much bought him legendary status on the all-time punk list.

But I must admit that I softened my stance on Clemens over the past several seasons.

I was surprised that he turned his back on the vile Yanks to come out of retirement to play for the hometown Astros.

I bought into the whole story that he wanted to play close to home to spend time with his family, and loved the whole yarn about joyfully playing in the same organization as his son.

And it was nice when he led the team to its only World Series appearance.

I dismissed all the talk this spring about whether he would return to the Astros or play for the Red Sox or Yankees. The whole point about coming out of retirement was to be near home, and the Bronx is pretty far from Houston according to most maps.

There is no forgiving Clemens for trying to impale Piazza, even if his post-game excuse – “I thought it was the ball” – was good for a chuckle.

But maybe, just maybe, there is good in him after all. Maybe the world is a little more complicated than my black-and-white vision allows.

Perhaps the college adviser was correct, and that there is a gray area where a person can exist with both flaws and strengths, and that we can tolerate the bad while hoping the good can rise to the top.

But I was watching SportsCenter Sunday night when they showed the Yankees stopping their game in the seventh inning so Clemens could announce his return from Steinbrenner’s private box.

So the bat-chucking bastard wants to remain home near his family unless the Evil Empire wants to lay out a check or $20 million to bail out their rotation of the living dead for two-thirds of a season.

There is no gray area! He is bad!

He’s probably sharpening broken bats as we speak so he can hurl them at Jose Reyes during the inter-league games next month.

All the same, Clemens being exposed for the punk we knew he was is somewhat comforting. I was right all along.

And there will be no apology sent to former college advisers 20 years later.