It was a hot and sticky summer evening about 20 years ago, when me and my best pal Erin "LOVEDOG" Cooley were sitting in my living room, sipping on a few iced teas and watching a few flicks.  When from out of nowhere, we both heard a chaotic fluttering and flickering sound coming from upstairs.  Being the more noble of the duo, I leaped from my seat and sprung half way up the stairs for a better listen.  I yelled down to Cooley, "It's coming from my bedroom!"  But what could it be?  Everyone was downstairs, and my bedroom was in the penthouse back then.  Ok, the attic.

Erin decided to join me, on the landing, for a better listen as well.  " Do you think it's the wind blowing the tree leaves up against your window?"  questioned Cooley.  Very good possibility, since the wind had been known to scare us at night brushing the branches up against the side of the house.  " I don't know ", I replied, " It sounds like it's coming from inside. "

We peered in for a closer look and listen.  My door was closed to the attic, so we cracked it open a little, being a bit cautious.  It really sounded like someone was breaking in, the closer we got to it.  It wouldn't have been difficult.  Some prowler could have climbed up my tree, and if flexible, could have made their way out on a limb to the window of my room.  So, at the bottom of the steps, I yelled up, " Who's up there?!" and the pitter pattering stopped for a brief moment.  The two of us looked at each other with a little sigh of relief, until I threw on the light switches.  Then it was even more of a trecherous sound of things falling onto the ground and the tapping and rapping of the window.  I threw off the light just as quick as I turned it on and slammed the door shut.  It was then, we both realized, I had a bat upstairs flying around aimlessly and hapharzardly.

Erin said, " To get a bad bat, we need a good bat. " Then he reached for my Louisville Slugger.  Right idea, wrong sport.  I told him, that we needed a screen or something so the bat's radar would go throught it, so I pulled out my tennis racquet. We needed to get rid of the bat and fast.  But we were both too paranoid about rabies, so we decided we needed our Ghostbusters outfit and equipment for total protection.  To best describe how we looked, you could say we dressed in toxic waste thick rubber suits, but really we found stuff around the house and we really resembled Dan Aykroyd and Chevy Chase from the 1985 movie SPIES LIKE US.

THE HEROES                                                     THE ENEMY

Ok, by the time Cooley and I suited up, my mother had called my grandfather and his sidekick  to come and save the day. My grandpap was so Ed Norton /Barney Rubble to his big buddy Ralph Cramden/Fred Flintstone. While those 2 comedians fumbled with their rat poison, fishing nets and their cans of Raid bug spray, the younger slapstickers pulled down their swimming goggles and each held a tennis racket and a towel in his hand.  We carefully approached the top of the stairs, and all was quiet and dark.. The streetlight from out front, partially lit the room's one corner.  The silouette of the big maple tree out front casted shadows of the leaves and branches all over the one part of my room, which didn't make spotting the varmit any easier.

I turned to Cooley and said, " This is it.  When I say 3, throw up the lights, the critter will fly at us, and I'll Bjorn Borg his furry ass right out the window."  Erin said, " I've seen your forehand and backhand, and they suck.  If it doesn't go out the window, and lands on the floor, I'll throw my towel on it. " I whispered yelled at him, " I'm gonna use my over hand serve, I never miss!" Of course, I forgot, the two of us were just shy of 6 feet tall and the height of the attic ceiling was 6'2, so it didn' t leave much stretching for an over hand serve.

Sure enough, I yelled 3, Erin brought up the lights, the little flying rat pounces towards me, I use my best Boris Becker top spin, damn thing lands on my bed, I freak out, Cooley throws towel onto the bed, covers the bed, misses the bat by a mile, reaches over and grabs a pair of my jeans, I curse outloud, he throws my jeans onto the knocked out critter, who is twitching and twittering on my friggin bed, jeans and bat fall to the ground and Cooley does the Irish Jig ontop of my denim bells, as the bat is smashed, crashed and trashed into smitherines.

We throw my jeans along with the dead bat into a Glad Hefty 3ply, and run down the steps singing the BATMAN TV theme song. As we make it to the trash can we hear my grandpap and his bumbling buddy trying to untangle the fishing net.  Yep, because of my brains and my braun, the little bat was toast.. Of course, my original plan did not entail killing one of God's little creatures. Just making him unconscious for a little bit while getting it out of the house were my only intentions.  But, Cooley panicked. And, for a guy who sprained his ankle at Dance Class in gym, he sure diplayed a great Irish Jig routine.