This week our guest blogger is Dr. Denis Leary, author of the bestselling book, “Why We Suck, A Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid”. In his previous career, Dr. Leary was a star both on the big screen (“The Ref”, “Ice Age”, “The Thomas Crown Affair) and on TV (“Rescue Me”, “The Job”). He is a product of the prodigious Boston stand-up comedy scene in the 70’s (which also produced greats like Steven Wright and Bobcat Goldthwaite) and a big sports fan. Take it away, Dr. Leary:

OK, I know the first thing you`re asking yourself is Denis Leary is a doctor? I can assure you that everything I’m going to tell you has been thoroughly researched and if you wanna find out if what I say is true, just Google it. That’s what I did. And the things I didn’t bother to Google? Well, as Robert Mitchum whispered into Nick Nolte’s ear at the Oscars, “Remember kid, it’s all bullshit!”

The first thing I noticed on your web site is that the ladies have their own cute little name for their Tuesday league, “Swinging Skirts”. Isn’t that precious? Of course, you men don’t have any name for your league, do you? Of course not…you’re men, for crissakes! But if you did, it’d probably be “Swingin’ Dicks” or something tasteful like that, right? Men don’t need names for everything like women do. When I was in college, I knew it was time to break up with my girlfriend when she decided to name my dick, “Mr. Happy”. Sorry, babe, but that’s where men draw the line. Can you imagine if we started giving cute little names for their genitalia? That’s right…you’re sleeping on the couch for the weekend!

Come to think of it, women would love nothing better than to think they can “change” us.  The Feminist Movement raised the expectation of almost every chick forty-some odd years ago and over the last few decades, women have convinced themselves that men CAN and somehow HAVE changed and WERE willing to be different and more emotionally available and eager to work side by side with them and get paid the exact same amount of money.

Uh, no.

We’re not changing or becoming more emotionally available and we’re more than willing to work with you and get paid the same IF you can do the job. Do you think Indy Car drivers are the least bit worried about Danica Patrick’s success leading to a flock of ladies in flame-retardant jumpsuits taking over their sport? Of course not. For one thing, women have no idea how to merge in traffic and let’s face it: if merging at 30 or 40 miles an hour freaks you out, merging at 225 miles an hour ain’t gonna fly! Anyways, once they find out that talking while driving in a race car is limited to tire updates, fuel tank leaks and loud angry screaming, they’ll go back to forty-five in the fast lane while discussing bikini wax jobs and shoes.

Speaking of shoes, why is it that everything a woman brings home was “on sale”? “It was supposed to cost eighteen hundred but I got it on sale for a thousand!” That’s how she describes a lamp. Men are just the opposite. Nothing worth having is worth having unless it was the most expensive one ever made. “Look at this plasma TV Bob – forty seven thousand, six hundred and ninety-nine bucks! Biggest one they make!”

By the way guys – here’s a few quick and easy steps to follow when you’re having an argument with the wife. I found these to be very, very helpful:

1. It’s your fault
2. Really. The fault is yours.
3. Still your fault.

Write those down on some five-by-eight index cards and flash memorize them. Better yet – stick ‘em in the glove compartment for safekeeping. You’ll live a fuller and happier life.

Sorry for the rant. It’s just that I get asked by women all the time about what’s wrong with us, meaning men. It’s simply that we don’t talk as much as you do. We just don’t. You can take all the quarter-assed studies done around the world that say men speak just as many words a day as women do and put them in a massive blender and make a giant crap shake. I’m here to tell you that they’re not true. Go to the gym and watch and listen. Guys squat and grimace and grunt while they work out. They either listen to their headphones or stare up at the TV between sets. OK, now watch and listen to the women in the gym. Paired off on adjacent treadmills or elliptical trainers – yakkety yick yak yic, yic yickety yawbeddy jawbeddy – jic jak yick, blah, blah, blah. And when women ask me if I have research to back up my claims, I say, “You bet your ovaries I do – fifty years surrounded by sisters and Irish aunts and female cousins PLUS half those years living in the same domicile with my wife."

She talks on the phone to her sister or her mother while she’s making dinner and I sit there starving and steaming. She steams vegetables while talking on the phone ABOUT her mother WITH her sister while my temperature is getting higher than the broccoli’s. She talks to her BFF on the phone WHILE she’s e-mailing her OTHER BFF about a third BFF who’s just now calling on the other line.

We don’t. We don’t talk when we’re hungry except to say “I’m hungry – let’s eat!” Once we have the food – no talking- just chewing. I could go on and on. But you get the point. When chicks ain’t around, we scratch our asses and fart and spit and urinate in the bushes. We couldn’t care less about Sex and the City and we’d rather stare at a six-color double-page Road and Track shot of the engine inside a new Ferrari than we would at actresses we don’t know in red carpet dresses from People magazine. We like to bang things with hammers but if we hadn’t invented hammers, we’d be just as happy to use rocks. We like to drive fast and hit long drives. We don’t do extreme makeovers. Wanna know what an extreme makeover for a straight man is? He comes home, changes into torn jeans and a Bud Lite t-shirt and complements it with a pair of boxers he bought during the first Clinton administration. He turns on Sportscenter and contemplates whether or not he should shave. Decides to wait a couple of days. That’s it. We don’t sit around talking about our wives or food or breaking out acoustic guitars to sing Cat Stevens songs. (He was the reason we couldn’t get laid in the 70’s and he definitely won’t get us laid now.) So there. I’ve just spent 1500 words proving that we don’t talk much. Oh crap.

OK, you’d better take over.

Let’s move on. The first week of Men’s Night is in the books and Team 1, led by rookie captain Trent Harrison, has jumped into the lead. He and his hand-picked foot soldiers, Stan Kudlats, John Whitham, Russ Snyder, Vito Bommarito, Mark Lahaie and Jack Loft contributed to a team score of 259, three shots better than Gary Tuff’s Team 9. Each player on Team 1 earned $30 in pro shop credits while Tuffy's guys all win $25 each for second. In third place, Glenn Graham’s Team 5 and David Narduzzi’s Team 7 tied at 263, earning each man $10 in pro shop credits. The Closest-to-the-Hole prizes went to Ross Murray on #4 and Paul Jauhal on #7. Ross will enjoy a pitcher of Sleeman’s for his wind-assisted drive and Paul’s foursome will feast on a plate of wings and a pitcher at East Side Mario’s in Dundas. Congrats guys. Good luck to everyone next week!