Marlinshome.com | Florida Marlins News, marlins Scores, Game Recaps & Commentary - <div>In the summer of 1996, I got a dog, a Jack Russell terrier I named Devo. I named him Devo partly because I've always been a fan of the new-wave band of that name and partly because of a Baseball player named Devon White. The week that I got the dog, I attended a Florida Marlins game at Dolphin Stadium. At the time, Dolphin Stadium was still called Joe Rob bie Stadium and had not yet been given the name of a company that made jockstraps. It still isn't named Dolphins Stadium, b ut it should be. </div>During the game, as they had most of that season, the Marlins fielded a player named Devon White. You probab ly don't remember him. Few people do. The Marlins surely don't. Sometime late in the game, Devon White hit a grand slam over the left-field scoreboard. It was the first grand slam I'd seen anyone hit in a Major League Baseball game. It was exciting. As White rounded first base, the crowd began chanting his nickname: "Dee-vo! Dee-vo! Dee-vo!" Devo. I thought that would make a good name for my new dog. I think it has been a good name for my dog. At least, he doesn't seem to mind it. As his owner, I've tried to give Devo a comfortable, worry-free life. I have not always succeeded at this. Devo is now 12 years old, and the calamities that have befallen him during his lifetime would make even Job go, "Damn!" (God, I fear, is a cat person.) He has, in chronological order, had a pit bull fall on him and break his leg; nearly drowned after slipping off a bass boat during a thunderstorm; been stung in the face by bees; broken his own back while chasing a nursery of raccoons; developed arthritis; contracted an irritating skin allergy; suffered an enlarged stomach after someone slipped him fast-food chicken; endured a series of small seizures his vet describes as "neurological incidents"; lost a b loody battle to a bea gle; and, just last month, nearly hung himself with his own leash after falling off a staircase. The dog is seemingly indestructible. If I hadn't seen him countless times in the daylight, I would suspect he were a vampire. A canine vampire. Save the moments he was experiencing them, Devo does not seem all that disturbed by his various misfortunes. In fact, he appears to be a rather happy dog. Because of his spinal injury, his rear legs are much weaker than they should be and he weighs 23 pounds when he should weigh 15. He also, it should be noted, walks like a scoliotic C. Yet he doesn't seem to notice any of this. He sleeps. He eats. He barks at closed doors. He runs, if crookedly. He doesn't know that he's been tried more times than O.J. Simpson. He doesn't know that he's cost me thousands of dollars in medical fees. He doesn't know that his barking drives me nuts. He doesn't know what a year is, though if he did, I suspect he'd say the year he broke his own back was a very bad year. He doesn't know what kind of year 2008 was. Here are some other things he doesn't know: He doesn't know that Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house. He doesn't know that Lindsay Lohan is dating Samantha Ronson. He doesn't know that Guns N' Roses finally released Chinese Democracy. He doesn't know that Jennifer Aniston thinks Angelina Jolie is uncool. He doesn't know that Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson are reproducing. He doesn't know that The Dark Knight is a bad movie. He doesn't know that the economy is failing. He doesn't know what Twitter is. He doesn't know that they tried to remake Beverly Hills, 90210. He doesn't know how to pronounce Rod Bla gojevich. He doesn't know what happened in Mumbai. He doesn't know that Oprah is fat a gain. He doesn't know these things because he's lucky. To him, time is not a concept. Time isn't even time. I suspect that in his mind, everything that has ever happened is happening right now, all at once, and then over and over a gain. So despite the bees, the broken back, the c lumsy pit b ull and his inability to digest KFC, Devo is doing all right. I wish I could say the same for the rest of us. Many of us aren't doing all right. We all know what happened in 2008. We all know that, in many respects, it wasn't a good year. That awareness, of course, means that we, too, are lucky, even if we may be slow to realize it or don't want to accept it. And this is all right. This is the way it's going to be. At least for a while. We don't know anything about 2009. We don't know when this glass-j awed economy is going to rise to its feet and start swinging a gain. We don't know if Barack Obama is going to be as good a president as we hope he will be. We don't know when the troops will come home. We don't know if Lindsay and Sam are going to make it. We don't know if Oprah will ever lose that weight a gain. We don't know anything. Happy New Year. Jake Cline Editor {ZONE} CITY

In the summer of 1996, I got a dog, a Jack Russell terrier I named Devo. I named him Devo partly because I've always been a fan of the new-wave band of that name and partly because of a Baseball player named Devon White. The week that I got the dog, I attended a Florida Marlins game at Dolphin Stadium. At the time, Dolphin Stadium was still called Joe Rob bie Stadium and had not yet been given the name of a company that made jockstraps. It still isn't named Dolphins Stadium, b ut it should be.

During the game, as they had most of that season, the Marlins fielded a player named Devon White. You probab ly don't remember him. Few people do. The Marlins surely don't.

Sometime late in the game, Devon White hit a grand slam over the left-field scoreboard. It was the first grand slam I'd seen anyone hit in a Major League Baseball game. It was exciting. As White rounded first base, the crowd began chanting his nickname: "Dee-vo! Dee-vo! Dee-vo!"

Devo. I thought that would make a good name for my new dog. I think it has been a good name for my dog. At least, he doesn't seem to mind it.

As his owner, I've tried to give Devo a comfortable, worry-free life. I have not always succeeded at this. Devo is now 12 years old, and the calamities that have befallen him during his lifetime would make even Job go, "Damn!" (God, I fear, is a cat person.) He has, in chronological order, had a pit bull fall on him and break his leg; nearly drowned after slipping off a bass boat during a thunderstorm; been stung in the face by bees; broken his own back while chasing a nursery of raccoons; developed arthritis; contracted an irritating skin allergy; suffered an enlarged stomach after someone slipped him fast-food chicken; endured a series of small seizures his vet describes as "neurological incidents"; lost a b loody battle to a bea gle; and, just last month, nearly hung himself with his own leash after falling off a staircase.

The dog is seemingly indestructible. If I hadn't seen him countless times in the daylight, I would suspect he were a vampire. A canine vampire.

Save the moments he was experiencing them, Devo does not seem all that disturbed by his various misfortunes. In fact, he appears to be a rather happy dog. Because of his spinal injury, his rear legs are much weaker than they should be and he weighs 23 pounds when he should weigh 15. He also, it should be noted, walks like a scoliotic C. Yet he doesn't seem to notice any of this. He sleeps. He eats. He barks at closed doors. He runs, if crookedly. He doesn't know that he's been tried more times than O.J. Simpson. He doesn't know that he's cost me thousands of dollars in medical fees. He doesn't know that his barking drives me nuts.

He doesn't know what a year is, though if he did, I suspect he'd say the year he broke his own back was a very bad year. He doesn't know what kind of year 2008 was.

Here are some other things he doesn't know:

He doesn't know that Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house.

He doesn't know that Lindsay Lohan is dating Samantha Ronson.

He doesn't know that Guns N' Roses finally released Chinese Democracy.

He doesn't know that Jennifer Aniston thinks Angelina Jolie is uncool.

He doesn't know that Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson are reproducing.

He doesn't know that The Dark Knight is a bad movie.

He doesn't know that the economy is failing.

He doesn't know what Twitter is.

He doesn't know that they tried to remake Beverly Hills, 90210.

He doesn't know how to pronounce Rod Bla gojevich.

He doesn't know what happened in Mumbai.

He doesn't know that Oprah is fat a gain.

He doesn't know these things because he's lucky. To him, time is not a concept. Time isn't even time. I suspect that in his mind, everything that has ever happened is happening right now, all at once, and then over and over a gain. So despite the bees, the broken back, the c lumsy pit b ull and his inability to digest KFC, Devo is doing all right.

I wish I could say the same for the rest of us. Many of us aren't doing all right. We all know what happened in 2008. We all know that, in many respects, it wasn't a good year. That awareness, of course, means that we, too, are lucky, even if we may be slow to realize it or don't want to accept it. And this is all right. This is the way it's going to be. At least for a while.

We don't know anything about 2009. We don't know when this glass-j awed economy is going to rise to its feet and start swinging a gain. We don't know if Barack Obama is going to be as good a president as we hope he will be. We don't know when the troops will come home. We don't know if Lindsay and Sam are going to make it. We don't know if Oprah will ever lose that weight a gain.

We don't know anything. Happy New Year.

Jake Cline

Editor {ZONE} CITY