The Soapbox Derby

Rohe has a blast playing with this toy. (Photo by Mike Hensdill/The Gazette)

You run into some interesting situations on the police beat.

On Thursday, The Gazette had an exceptionally cool story about a bomb detection dog nearing his retirement from the Sheriff’s Office. Rohe (pronounced ro-hee) reminded me of another Belgian Malinois I once met – Nero, a professional sniffer for the Gaston County Police Department. Back when I was still a reporter, I tagged along with Nero and his handler as they took part in a weekend boat patrol on Lake Wylie. Nero’s official duty was to detect illegal drugs. His unofficial duty was to make female boaters say, “Awwwwwww …”

But first, Nero would introduce himself to me at the dock. Nero’s handler seemed a bit chagrined that his expensive, highly trained animal had experienced a goofball puppy moment. “He’s not supposed to do that,” he said sheepishly.

I didn’t mind. Just another chapter in the story of my life: good with animals, not so good with people.

Anyway, I hope Nero enjoyed the rest of his career and took it easy after hanging up his nose. Same goes for Rohe and all the other animals who do amazing things. (That includes Dennis, my diabolically clever old tabby, and Slinky, the world’s nicest rehabilitated feral.)

Hey, kids ... don't forget to punch the clock!

* Is it too late for me to opt out of Daylight-Saving Time this winter? I’ll just leave my clocks unchanged the next time we spring forward and call it even.

* Attention, jerkweed coaches undeservingly hailed as geniuses: Mr. Charles Barkley is supplying commentary on college basketball this season, and you might find the change from the accustomed brand of sycophantic ramblings a bit jarring.

* Those “Mean People Suck” bumper stickers … in a passive-aggressive kind of way, guilty of meanness themselves.

* In one week, it will be the holiday season. Time to embrace the horror.

* To elected officials who abuse their power and act offended by the ensuing criticism: Cheer up! Someday they might name a law after you!

My sister once asked me about the parallels between baseball and fantasy baseball. I told her that it’s sort of like the parallels between talk and talk radio — there are indeed similarities, but one should never be mistaken for the other.

Which might help explain how the beleaguered, banged-up squad of misfits known as The Vermin managed to stumble into the top tier in the closing days of the regular season.

The 2010 campaign marked my eighth year in a 10-team keeper league comprised mostly of current and former colleagues. I finished second in my inaugural season, then quickly transitioned from idiot savant to just plain idiot.

My fantasy team got an unexpected lift from a guy whose mouth has greater velocity than his fastball.

Two years ago, however, The Vermin captured the league title. But in 2009, my comeuppance came in the form of a computer malfunction during the online draft that enabled the auto-pick robot to stock my roster with has-beens and never-gonna-bes. So this season, I did my homework (and upgraded my software) in the hopes of proving that the championship year wasn’t just a fluke.

Like baseball itself, such things often prove to be more challenging than they seem.

Pain and Suffering
Cliff Lee, Jose Reyes and Houston Street started the season on the Disabled List. The first two came back strong; the other one would labor through the peaks and valleys of the Rockies. Justin Morneau essentially missed the second half after suffering a concussion, and several other Vermin would spend time on the DL. In many ways, this season felt like watching “M*A*S*H*” without the laugh track.

Kings of the Hill
A position player can strike out five times in a game and the only damage your team suffers will be a tiny dip in batting average. On the other hand, a single bad outing from a pitcher can seriously bring the pain in earned run average and walks/hits ratio. My long-term strategy for developing a strong core of pitching paid off this season: Lee, CC Sabathia, Mariano Rivera and Dan Haren (even though Danny Boy had an off-year by his standards.) Also, draftee Billy Wagner had a terrific campaign in what looks to be his final season. At least he can retire as a Vermin.

My Little One-Trick Pony
Aaron Hill left the yard 26 times, but apparently misplaced his batting average while he was out there (.205 for the season). Carlos Pena managed two more dingers than Hill while amassing a .196 average. Amassing? More like a-minoring. Hill also proved to be less of a threat on the basepaths (2 steals) than the comparatively fleet-footed Pena (5 steals) and the cheetah-like Mike Napoli (4 steals).

Diamond Mine
Waiver-wire scrounging produced a few pleasant surprises, including Casey McGehee, Luke Scott, Trevor Cahill and Chris Perez. Kerry Wood came on in relief, then quickly exited in comic relief. Dallas Braden? The perfect game provided a real lift, while the Alex Rodriguez feud and the steady stream of snarky sound-bites had great entertainment value. Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Irrelevant Never Forgets
My final draft pick, Brett Gardner, proved to be much more than an afterthought (47 steals and 97 runs scored). He did strike out 101 times, but I’ve decided to make peace with the whiff since it seems to have become a Vermin trademark.

Fantasy vs. Reality
In the end, I managed to finish fourth despite the injuries, the busted draft picks and having several players from subpar MLB clubs manning key positions. These included three Orioles, an Indian, a National not named Strasburg and a Mariner not named Hernandez.

But that’s fantasy baseball – a collection of individual performers who exist as teammates only in the metaphysical sense. Sometimes they add up to more than the sum of their parts, sometimes less.

And sometimes they add up to Vermin.

And so endeth the 2010 season. Until next time, my fellow diamond dweebs, remember to hit ‘em where they ain’t.

The e-mail’s subject line read STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. I knew then it had to be legit, since putting words in all caps is reserved only for matters of the utmost importance.

It turns out that I share the surname of a wealthy contractor in the Republic of Benin (a country in western Africa, not to be confused with the Republic of Benneton). This contractor and his immediate family tragically passed away after an auto accident on the Midonbo Expressway. They had $7.5 million in the bank, and attempts to contact extended relatives have proven futile. So when John Hill, Esquire, e-mailed me with an offer to share this unclaimed money, my immediate reaction was: “You bet I will!”

But wait; there’s more! The very same day, I also received an e-mail from Mr. Frank Eves, audit committee chairman of the Lloyds Banking Group in London — London, England. Mr. Eves (who sometimes spells his first name “Frarnk” instead of “Frank”; he must be the whimsical type) has located a dormant bank account whose owner is presumed dead. Gee, I hope he wasn’t driving on the Midonbo Expressway.

Anyway, the account holds 15 million pounds sterling, which in real American money instead of that ridiculous tablespoon system the Brits use comes out to $23 million. Now get this: Frarnk has offered me a 60/40 split, leaving me with $9.2 million. And that’s on top of however much of the 7 and a half mil I’m going to clear in the John Hill, Esquire, deal!

Without hesitation, I banged out a reply telling Frarnk (I see no need to stand on formality, since we’re going to be business partners and all) that I was all over this offer. How do you say “cha-ching” in English?

Now all I have to do is keep those scoundrels at the IRS from taxing my nouveau riche pants off. Fortunately, the answer showed up in my in-box later that same day. A very sweet lady from Zimbabwe wants my help investing the $14 million bequeathed to her by her late husband. Looks like Mrs. Olds-Martin-Ndebele and I can set up a nice portfolio far away from the prying eyes of the taxman. Take that, you dadgum revenuers!

So in a few days’ time, I will be wealthy beyond my avaricious dreams. And all it took was the daring to seize an opportunity, plus a little faith in my fellow man. Oh, yeah — and an e-mail account.

God, I love this country. It’s the greatest nation on earth, followed closely by the Republic of Benneton.

You know what’s wrong with the news business today? We’re just not giving away enough Turtle Wax. Consequently, I’m developing a news quiz that will test your knowledge of current events while testing your patience.

Will we offer big prizes? Well, let’s put it this way. You might describe these prizes with a four-letter word that starts with an H, followed by a U, then a G … but enough of gracelessly pushing your avarice buttons. It’s time to play!

Question 1: Dr. Laura Schlessinger recently left her long-running radio radio show. The decision came about because:
A. Ratings had been in decline
B. Dr. Laura wanted to spend more time with her family
C. Michael Richards and Mel Gibson were unable to respond in time to talk her career off the ledge

Question 2: Crews spent more than a week removing mold from classrooms and furniture at a local high school. Officials told the press:
A. “The problem ended up being our HVAC system to a certain extent.”
B. “Right now, it doesn’t pose any problems.”
C. “The first person who makes a cafeteria joke gets one upside the head.”

Question 3. Police used Tasers to subdue a man who was found at a Lincoln County church wearing no clothes but wielding a handgun. According to officers, the suspect blurted out:
A. “But this is my Sunday best.”
B. “You mean this isn’t the Church of the Pistol-Packing Lady Godiva? Stupid Mapquest!”
C. “Don’t Tase me, brethren!”

Submit your answers to this here blog to see if you qualify for our big, big prize. It’s big, I tell you. Four letters, starts with an H, followed by a U, then a G …

Dang. Maybe we should’ve gone with the Turtle Wax after all.

Cool. Just keep your eyes on this paved trail, please.

BUMPER STICKER

That’s not a typo, nor an inside joke, nor the earlier-than-expected onset of me getting soft in the head. It simply said, “Bumper Sticker.” I presume it was one of them ironical hipster statements, since the car on which it appeared was also festooned with stickers for unknown and possibly unlistenable bands that got their names by randomly combining nouns and verbs (example: Appetizer Smudge).

Irony aside, the economically humorous Bumper Sticker bumper sticker begins this installment of Bumper Crop, wherein we examine the stuff that people are sporting on their chrome. Like this one, spotted on I-85:

I’D RATHER BE HIKING.

And based on their driving habits, there are many people on the roads whom I would rather see hiking as well.

The final sticker is one that I saw about five times a week for the past several years, in the parking lot at work. It belonged to our late colleague Toby Eddings. Like Toby himself, it has a certain wisdom hiding behind the humor:

HANG UP AND DRIVE

If you see a good bumper sticker, wait until you have arrived at your destination and exited the vehicle, then use the nearest computer or handheld electronic device to e-mail the text or a photo to: bbridges@gastongazette.com

Tell ‘em Toby sent you.

After hobbling around for five days like my grandparents’ arthritic shih tzu, I relented and made an appointment with a chiropractor.

To fully grasp the significance of this move, you first have to understand how the men in my family feel about the medical practice. As a rule, we avoid doctors like … well, like the plague. (We do, however, enjoy irony).

Part of it involves being descended from the thrifty sons of Scotland; the rest is, as we say here in the Piedmont, being generally “contrary.” Legend has it that one of my ancestors, wounded by Redcoat artillery in the Battle of Greasy Creek, applied rocksalt to his stove-in tailbone and muttered, “It’ll be healed by the next full moon, I reckon.”

But that’s a made-up story for another day. What we’re talking about right now is pain. The kind of pain that can make a man perform a manual override on his hard-wired stubbornness and seek medical help like any normal sane person.

Long story short, I was examined, X-rayed, adjusted, iced, and stimulated. Turns out the old backbone has been listing to port. (Apparently that sort of thing just happens.) I went home feeling a lot better, and the prognosis seems good.

Now all I have to worry about is a midnight visit from the ghost of my great-great-great-great-grandpappy, who will probably express his deep disappointment and offer me some rocksalt.

The editorial cartoon is a surprisingly frequent source of reader discombobulation. Another is the editorial page editor’s penchant for making up words like “discombobulation.”

At any rate, here’s a link to my recent column on the subject in case you missed it: http://www.gastongazette.com/articles/republicans-48368-days-heady.html

This here column aims to illuminate the process by which editorial cartoons are selected/rejected. A couple of hints: It’s neither scientific nor conspiratorial. And most importantly, it never involves the intentional infliction of … you know, that word I just made up.

Anyway … read, discuss and share if you must.

For people who want to express themselves in good, bad or weird ways, there’s no place like chrome.

At least that’s what I’ve come to believe while maintaining a chronicle of bumper stickers on this here blog the past few years. The bumper sticker is a very democratic phenomenon, because the variety of choices out there today means that virtually anybody can find one that fits. We’re talking Protestants, Catholics, Wiccans … liberals, conservatives … bikers, bankers … librarians, libertarians, Rotarians and vegetarians.

Here’s one I spotted in Asheville, a place not exactly known for ascetics:

This one was spotted on Gaston Day School Road, with more than a little trepidation:

And remember, you can get in on the funnery by posting on this here blog or e-mailing a JPEG image to bbridges@gastongazette.com.

Now you can join the fun and follow me on Twitter. And if you doubt the funnery, don’t take my word for it. Just ask Cassie the attractive Webcam lady from the Czech Republic.

Actually, I don’t know why Cassie has aligned herself with my Twitter legions. She started following me several months ago, when my Tweets were limited to Mobster World updates and the occasional snarky outburst. (I have a disorder called snarkolepsy that causes me to mouth off uncontrollably at random times, usually when it would behoove me to keep it zipped. OK, it’s a self-diagnosed disorder, but it’s my understanding that the ADA parameters are rather fungible.)

Anyway, I’ll be Tweeting work-related stuff more often now. So far I’ve sent out a few teasers for things on the Debate page. If you’d like to see more of that, less of that, or something else entirely, let me know. You can reach me via this here blog or sign up at http://twitter.com/bridgeoutahead.

Until next time, that’s one small step for man, one giant Tweet for mankind …

Cassie thinks bridgeoutahead is fan-Tweet-stic