'Chill Out, Take It Slow, Then You Rock Out The Show' (Yes, I Know The Lyrics)

I had a dream last night that Billy Ray Cyrus showed up on the latest "Hannah Montana" episode back in full-fludged mullet mode.

And somehow it all seemed to make sense, or at least made sense that you'd see why he thought he could get away with a ridiculous mullet like that again.

He had been reduced to a punchline. Bu like a well-manicured phoenix he has risen again.

A daughter he raised through that period of marginalizaton and ridicule has become a well-loved celebrity among children -- and in such a way that hasn't left adults wanting to throw up in our mouths quite the same way as when we were forced to watch that mullet tickle Billy Ray's flexed guns during a performance of "Achey Brakey Heart."

On today's popular kids show -- which I have watched more than I would have thought I would in a house of two boys -- Cyrus as both ficitional and real-life father gets to enjoy what must be a sublime experiene: having his beautiful, affable, 14-year-old daughter who obviously thinks the world of him looking at him lovingly as she sings the songs he writes for her.

And the songs today are exactly what they need to be. Songs for children. Which is what Billy Ray should have been doing all along if you think back to what level he was aiming for in the early 90s.

So, in my dream he shaves off the soul patch and transforms his surfer-manboy floppy hair of today and triumphantly re-appears with a magnificently producted Alpha-Male power 'doo.

And he's just looking at me like, "What?"

And I really don't know what to say.

"I Meant To Say, 'You're On Fire'''

I really get into being the coach of my son's co-ed basketball team.

I feel a deep sense of fulfillment when a second-grader or third-grader learns something new because he or she is hungry to be something. Just watching somebody care, at such a young age, makes me want to be a better person myself. And I can make them better than anything I could hope to actually become myself.

I well up with pride for children who aren't mine -- except for that one hour of practice when they kind of are mine, in a way.

But sometimes I think I let my enthusiasm usurp me:

Great job!

Exactly like I told you!

Jumping when you shoot! Your legs are as important as your arms!

Perfect!

And then this pearl of coaching wisdom ...

You've got a ring of Jesus fire surrounding you!

Somehow, I'm not sure the little girl has ever watched or would have ever been allowed to watch "Three Kings." Nor does she probably who Ice Cube is.

But it is a church league, so maybe the parents will give me a pass if the girl asks them what a "ring of Jesus fire" means and why her coach told her she had one.

Still, I wouldn't blame them if they kept a lookout for when I might bring in the live snakes to exorcise a shooting slump.