Back On Earth

Monday, August 13, 2007

Vick is sacked -- for good

The game is over for Michael Vick, and I ain’t talking about football.

Vick’s two remaining co-defendants have scheduled hearings this week to enter plea agreements.

In plain English, that means that these two, uh, gentlemen also have blindsided the Falcons QB.

They are about to plead guilty and start singing like canaries. The other co-defendant copped a plea before the ink was dry on the indictment.

This leaves little ol’ No. 7 standing out there all by himself, still pretending that the charges about an interstate dog fighting ring are a big misunderstanding.

Unless you believe in the Tooth Fairy, or think that Barry Bonds didn’t take steroids, you have to know what this means.

Michael Vick is going to prison.

His chances of beating this rap have just gone from slim to almost none.

Even if he keeps fighting -- and spending money on lawyers -- he will go to trial with ALL THREE of his co-defendants taking the stand to say, yes, everything the prosecutor says is true.

Unless Vick can get a jury made up of his relatives or teammates, he’s done.

In fact, he is so done that his only recourse is to plead guilty too.

If he’s lucky, he’ll get a year or 18 months. And he might play football again in the NFL.

If he wants to roll the dice and hope for acquittal, he’s dreaming.

He faces up to six years right now — and this is the federal system, with no parole. Oh, did I mention that state charges could follow?

It’s time to punt, Michael.

Look on the bright side: You have just made yourself a lot more marketable for the third version of that prison-football flick “The Longest Yard.”

Friday, August 10, 2007

Nagin strikes again

To: New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin

From: Me

Re: That sensitivity thing

Your honor, I think we have a slight problem — again.

Yesterday you were quoted as saying that the city’s continuing problems with crime and murders were “not good for us, but it also keeps the New Orleans brand out there. … ”

Then, apparently channeling the spirit of the Charles Bronson character in “Death Wish,” you said about some of the murder victims, “Some of these guys are so violent that it is hard for witnesses to come forward. … So it is unfortunate that they had to die, but it did kind of end the cycle that we were struggling with.”

Uh, Mr. Mayor — may I call you Ray? — I’m not sure you’re aiding the rebirth of the Crescent City as much as you could.

In fact, by my rough tally, you’re hurtin’ about as much as you are helpin’.

And seeing as you will be in office until 2010 — Lord, that seems like a long time away — you might want to try a different strategy.

Like shutting up. And doing something constructive for a change.

Just a thought.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Thank God for small favors, No. 3,748

A judge in Los Angeles has issued a temporary restraining order to prevent a Texas doctor from selling a 1994 videotape that shows the breast enlargement surgery of Anna Nicole Smith.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Packing it in

Adam “Pacman” Jones has found something to do while he is suspended from the NFL.

As you may recall, the talented but troubled cornerback for the Tennessee Titans has been arrested five times and been involved in 11 police investigations since he was drafted in April 2005.

That is a record for any NFL player who isn’t a Cincinnati Bengal. The latest incident, and it is hard to keep track of them, involves felony charges following a shooting at a Las Vegas strip club that left a bouncer paralyzed.

Anyhow, back to Pacman’s latest passion. He wants to become a professional wrestler, with Total Nonstop Action.

Reluctant as we all are to questions a guy’s career choice, this one seems shaky.

Pro wrestlers are big, beefy guys who slam each other around the ring. Sometimes out of it.

Pacman is listed at 5’10” and 187 pounds. That’s not small by average standards. By wrestling standards, it is.

If you’re a football player who needs to stay healthy, pro wrestling seems like a good way to become a former football player.

If Pacman goes ahead and climbs into the ring with these hulks, he is going to need a new nickname. Some thoughts:

1) Squished-Flat Man.

2) Smacked Man.

3) Piñata Man.

4) What Were You Thinking, Man?

5) The Guy Who Used To Be An NFL Cornerback But Blew It Because He Is Incredibly Stupid and Self-Destructive.

Friday, August 03, 2007

17 is enough; actually, it's too much

A big family is one thing. A small town is another. I think Jim Bob and Michelle Duggars in Arkansas should retire from the baby business.

You see, they just had their 17th child.

Mom said, “We’d love to have more. We love the ruffles and lace.” Why not? the couple has “only” seven girls as compared to 10 boys. They range in age from 19 to 2, not counting the newest infant.

“We are just so grateful to God for another gift from Him,” said Daddy Duggar. That’s nice, Jim Bob. Why don’t you start counting (and enjoying) those blessings — and stop creating more of them?

By the way, don’t you just love that name, Jim Bob? And the name of the little burg they live in, Tontitown?

Their Web site proudly quotes Psalm 127:3, “Children are a heritage of the Lord.”

They are indeed, Jim Bob. You’ve had your share, and then some.

There are some warning signs to let you know when you have too many children. I think No. 17 is, “You are your own zip code.”

Thursday, August 02, 2007

7 on 7

Michael Vick is still maintaining his innocence regarding the dogfighting charges filed against him in federal court.

No problem. One of the great things about our country is that a defendant is presumed innocent until a judge or jury says otherwise.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, one of Vick’s three co-defendants has taken a different approach to the charges hanging over him.

He has pleaded guilty and agreed to cooperate with prosecutors.

This development in the case makes seven things more likely for No. 7:

1) His chances of going to prison have increased about seven-fold.

2) The odds against him playing again in the NFL have jumped to 7-1.

3) Seven doesn’t seem like a lucky number anymore.

4) If another co-defendant also flips for prosecutors, his chances of going to prison will increase about seventy-fold.

5) His legal bills are likely to end up in seven figures.

6) The number of people with IQs larger than their shoe size who sincerely believe this whole thing is a giant mix-up has dwindled to seven.

7) Instead of being known as No. 7, he is more likely to be known as No. 73186.

Good luck, Michael. You are going to need it.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Tom Snyder

I don’t watch much TV these days unless it involves a bunch of overpaid men and a football or baseball. But long ago, I watched a ton of Tom Snyder.

Not many people will admit that. First, it shows how old you are. Second, Snyder was thought of as kind of a goofball.

Not funny goofball like David Letterman or Stephen Colbert. More like a goofball who doesn’t get it.

And he didn’t, to some extent. But that was part of his appeal.

Still, for its time, “The Tomorrow Show” could be entertaining. It was one of the first talk shows that appealed to night owls. His guests ranged from rock stars to politicians — and weren’t the kind of usual suspects you see on a lot of shows today.

And of course there was Tom. He smoked. He had a big hunk of hair combed sideways. He waved his long fingers in front of his face. He said stuff to guys off-camera. He had that booming laugh and verbal tics that identified him like his fingerprints.

As such, he was easy for comics like Dan Aykroyd to mimic, But then, so was the great Johnny Carson.

“The Tomorrow Show” lasted for nine years, from ’73 to ’82. That’s actually a long time in TV terms.

In the late ’90s, he came back for three years with “The Late Late Show.” It was OK, but it didn’t have the magic of “The Tomorrow Show” in its heyday.

Snyder’s death this week unleashed a surprising flood of nostalgia. But the more you think about him and his show, he deserved better.

He was fun and funny. If he was angry or emotional, he didn’t try to hide it. He was more of an average guy than a star, and that was endearing.

He was the kind of host who made his guests comfortable and let them talk. And that is the goal of a talk show, to let folks like us listen to an author or an astronaut as if we were in a living room with him.

Sleep well, Tom. You sent a lot of people to snoozeland after your shows. Now it’s your turn.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Name game

As expected, Bernard Hopkins outpointed Ronald Wright in their light-heavyweight bout last weekend in Las Vegas. Even though Hopkins was 42 and — like most older fighters — had come out of retirement, he had Wright on the defensive the whole 10 rounds.

I wasn’t surprised. You see, Wright’s nickname is “Winky.” A boxer with a nickname like that is never going to go far. Especially against a pugilist nicknamed "The Executioner."

In fact, that’s a problem these days — lousy nicknames for boxers. Need I mention Eric “Butterbean” Esch. What’s he supposed to do, smother you in gravy?

Back in the day, it wasn’t like this. Fighters had fearsome names, and you thought twice about climbing into the ring with them.

I’m talking Larry “The Easton Assassin” Holmes, James “Bonecrusher” Smith and John "The Beast” Mugabi.

Then there’s the greatest boxing nickname of all time, Carl “The Truth” Williams.

I just hope Osama bin Laden isn’t sitting in a cave somewhere in north Pakistan thumbing through the sports pages and saying, “Look, Abdul, the Americans have a fighter named ‘Jerry “Wimpy” Halstead.’ Let’s launch another attack on these weakling infidels.”

Just once, I like to see Osama get leveled by Mitch “Blood” Green. Then he’d know we weren’t a country to be trifled with.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Good commish, bad commish

You can call this the tale of the two sports commissioners. One made a good call, one dropped the ball.

Commissioner A, otherwise known the NFL’s Roger Goodell, has reacted well since the words “Michael Vick” and “dogfighting” started appearing in the same sentence.

On Monday Goodell told Vick to stay away from the Atlanta Falcons’ training camp, at least for the time being. Goodell correctly noted that while the judicial system will judge Vick’s guilt or innocence, the NFL has different standards.

Goodell wants to determine if Vick’s conduct, even if it wasn’t criminal, violated the league’s personal conduct policies. Vick will keep drawing his salary, which is fair too.

Right on, Roger. I think Vick should be allowed to play this season — unless he pleads out, which might become more likely as this case approaches trial. If Vick is guilty, he needs to face up to that reality and cut the best deal he can get to resume his career and life ASAP.

For now, however, a little sit-down from the NFL is in order. Goodell’s action also prevents the Falcons from suspending Vick for four games, which was the team’s intentions. That would be rash, given that Vick hasn’t even been arraigned yet. (That happens Thursday.)

Goodell’s counterpart in Major League Baseball hasn’t been so smart this week.

Bud Selig surprised — and disappointed — a lot of people by announcing that he will tag along until Barry Bonds breaks Henry Aaron’s home run record.

“Out of respect for the tradition of this game, the magnitude of the record, and the fact that all citizens in this country are innocent until proven guilty, I will attend Barry Bonds’ next games to observe his potential tying and breaking of the home run record, subject to my commitments to the Hall of Fame this weekend,” Selig said in a statement today.

Uh, Bud, if you really want to respect the tradition of the game, you’d tell BALCO Barry to buzz off. As commissioner, you don’t have to follow that innocent-until-proven-guilty line off a cliff. You still have discretion and common sense — or at least I thought you did.

If so, you would have released the following statement:

“Even though Barry Bonds has not been convicted of using performance-enhancing drugs, there is a mountain of circumstantial and anecdotal evidence that indicates he did. It is impossible to ignore this evidence and pretend that this is just another record-breaking event. As long as this suspicion hangs over Bonds, I will neither support him or criticize him in public — or appear in the same stadium with him.”

Hank Aaron is making sure that he will be elsewhere when No. 756 clears the wall. Selig should have sided with his old friend from the Milwaukee Braves days on this one.

Friday, July 20, 2007

You go, goddess

Normally, I’m a by-the-book guy. But every now and then, you have to cut somebody some slack. That’s why I’m applauding the Nepalese authorities who have agreed to review their decision to strip a 10-year-old girl of her title of “living goddess” by breaking tradition and traveling overseas.

As you’ve heard a thousand times by now, Sajani Shakya journeyed to the United States last month to promote a documentary about, well, the centuries-old tradition of Nepal’s living goddesses.

What the heck did you think she would promote, the benefits of throwing a curve ball in the dirt when you’re ahead in the count? For gosh sakes, she’s a living goddess in Nepal, and she’s only 10!

Anyhow, that’s a no-no in Nepal. If you’re a living goddess, you can’t leave the country — even though I personally would think that a living goddess could do anything she darned well pleased. Hey, what part of “living goddess” don’t you get?

Fortunately, cooler heads may prevail in the mile-high kingdom scrinched between India and China.

Jaiprasad Regmi, chief of the government trust that oversees the living goddesses, was quoted by the Associated Press as saying, “We are consulting with elders, priests and culture experts on whether it was appropriate for the living goddess to break tradition and leave on a trip.”

Right on, Mr. Regmi!

I’m sure that being a living goddess is fun and all that, but sometimes you want a break from the same old same old. And as you well know, being a living goddess is not a piece of cake.

Again I refer you to the Associated Press:

“Living goddesses are worshipped by both Hindus and Buddhists. The girls are selected between the ages of 2 and 4 after going through several tests.

“They are required to have perfect skin, hair, eyes and teeth, and should not be afraid of the dark. They wear red, pin up their hair in topknots and have a ‘third eye’ painted on their forehead.

“Devotees touch the girls’ feet with their foreheads, the highest sign of respect among Hindus in Nepal.”

I don’t know about you, but after being worshipped endlessly, I think I’d want a change of scenery.

Apparently, the head honchos in Nepal are thinking of restoring Sajani’s title because thousands of her followers were cheesed off. Who says you can’t fight City Hall anymore?

Why can't we just pretend the whole thing never happened?

Look, living goddesses have to relinquish their titles anyway when they reach puberty. It’s tough being told you’re over the hill when you’re 12.

Let’s not give the girl any more grief.

… Now if you want to pass around a petition asking Queen Elizabeth to step down, count me in.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Mike's mess

To: Michael Vick

From: Me

Subject: That unfortunate federal indictment for dogfighting that just landed on you like a 300-pound lineman who slipped a block.

Message: Mike, you’d better hope that this is one biiiggg misunderstanding. If it’s not, you have just done one of the dumbest things by a professional athlete since Ricky Williams walked away from the Dolphins.

On paper, you’re innocent until proven guilty and all that, but I gotta tell you, this one looks bad.

I read the recent Sports Illustrated cover story on the dogfighting operation in Virginia that you just happened to own. Then I read the news stories on the indictment handed down to you and three other guys. If I were you, I think I’d have trouble drifting off to sleep at night.

The indictment goes into great deal about the alleged dogfighting scheme — how you supposedly bought the property in 2001, set up a kennel for pit bulls and then went about acquiring all the odds and ends needed to train fighting dogs and prepare the property for nighttime events.

The indictment even lists the names of some of your dogs — “Seal,” “Maniac” and “Zebro.” (I guess a fella wouldn’t name a crazed fighting beast something like “Rover” or “Spot.”)

With all that detail, it sounds to me like somebody on the inside rolled over and is about to testify against you, but maybe I’ve been watching too many episodes of “Law and Order.” (By the way, whatever happened to that Fred Thompson guy who used to play the D.A. on that show?)

The Web site for two of your companies, Mike Vick K-9 Kennels and MV7 Inc. (your initials and jersey number) described the dogs as “family pets.”

“We do not promote, support or raise dogs for fighting, “ the Web site said before being mysteriously taken down, “and will not knowingly sell, give or trade any dog that may be used for fighting.”

Let’s hope so, Mike. Meanwhile, I have five words of advice for you:

Get a good defense lawyer.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Paper chase

One of the many important functions of this blog (insert your own joke here) is to point out that some things are not a good idea even though lots of really smart people are telling you it is a good idea.

Exhibit A this time would be an automatic toilet-paper dispenser.

According to the Associated Press, “A year in the works, the electronic tissue dispenser is being rolled out to the masses by Kimberly-Clark Professional as it seeks to capture more of the $1 billion away-from-home toilet paper market. The company believes most people will be satisfied with five sheets — and use 20 percent less toilet paper.”

Several thoughts immediately come to mind:

1) What on earth is the “away-from-home toilet paper market”?

2) Why does Kimberly-Clark believe that “most people will be satisfied with five sheets”? On second thought, I don’t want to know.

3) And, from a factoid later in the article, why do “Americans typically use twice as much toilet paper as Europeans”?

I don’t know about you, but I am not flushed with excitement over this news.

It is slightly encouraging to know that this fancy electronic toilet paper dispenser has some fallbacks.

It has an emergency feed button. It also has a manual feed roller. Some models will even have a “rescue roll” on one side of the machine.

That, I believe, is the way God intended us to use toilet paper. Simple, non-electronic and effective.

The prospect of being trapped in a toilet stall and frantically waving your hands under the motion sensor trying to get a few lousy sheets of paper is not something I am looking forward to.

I’m sure that back in the good ol’ days, some codger grumbled that the upshift from corncobs to the Sears catalogue in the outhouse was an questionable interface for the new platform.

All I know is that if you combine Murphy’s Law with Montezuma’s Revenge, you are in what the first President Bush used to call deep doo-doo.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Bye-bye, Barry

Finally, it is over — and I’ve never said that before about a baseball all-star game, even when the contests weren’t that riveting. (And they usually aren’t.)

This year’s was tough to take because it turned into a Barryfest. First the jerk makes the starting lineup with a last-minute surge of votes. Huh? The guy is booed like Osama bin Laden in every visiting park he plays. The Bay area must be more populous than I thought.

And of course it was in San Fran, and Barry totally piggybacked on the location this year. If you’re talkin’ baseball in San Francisco, it was Willie Mays back then and Balco Barry now. He gets to slide into the spotlight and act like he belongs there.

If the all-star game had been in Cincinnati or Seattle, all that nonsense about Barry being worshipped as “the game’s greatest hitter” would have been squelched. Instead, fans would be talking about what they should be talking about:

Will he be indicted for perjury and/or tax evasion. … Will Bud Selig summon up the gumption to be somewhere else when No. 756 is hit? … Wouldn’t you love to see him drilled in the ribs by a fastball just on general principles?

Whatever. It’s over, and thank God he didn’t hit one into McCovey Cove. He went 0-2. The only thing that would have been better was if he had made an error or struck out swinging wildly.

But I won’t be greedy. It’s enough that he wasn’t the “hero” of this game. It’s done, and now he is headed to another third-place finish on a team that can’t win precisely because it has this highly paid slugger who drives off other talent (like Jeff Kent) with his ego and his insults.

On the other hand, it’s back to the dreaded countdown to 756. Wake me when it’s over. Meanwhile, I’m cheering for the grand jury in San Francisco.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

No guts, no glory

Like Joltin’ Joe’s 56-game hitting streak, you knew it had to come to an end eventually.

In the pit of your stomach, you knew that Takeru Kobayashi would choke — literally or figuratively. For six long years, he had outeaten anyone or anything at the annual Fourth of July Nathan’s hot dog competition on Coney Island.

Finally, he met his master. Joey Chestnut, an up-and-coming challenger on the professional eating circuit, downed 66 dogs ’n’ buns in 12 minutes. It wasn’t pretty — really, it wasn’t — but it was efficient.

Poor Kobayashi set a personal record of 63 — 9½ over his previous max — but it was three dogs shy of a championship load. He actually put away a few more, but he had what is tactfully referred to as a “reversal.” That unfortunate upchuck ratcheted his final total back to a mere 63.

But, oh the humanity … and the heartburn. The carnivorous competitors were actually tied with 60 dogs with one minute to go. Yet true champions emerge in the fourth quarter or the ninth inning, and Chestnut was determined to prove that he deserved a table in the Food Hall of Fame.

He just kept funneling franks into his gigantic gullet, and soon Kobayashi was kaput.

This year, it would be the 23-year-old Californian who proudly strapped on the mustard yellow belt that is the Stanley Cup of chowhounds.

If that spectacle didn’t bring a tear to your eye (or a rumble to your tummy) you’re made of sterner stuff than me. It was a food fight for the ages, a gut-check moment that will never be forgotten.

… Until next year, when the rematch is set, and it’s time to either belly up to the bar or let the butterflies in your stomach take over.

Does Chesnut — and his mid-section — have what it takes? Has Kobayashi cratered, or will he gobble more glory?

We’ll all know in 365 days. Until then, I’ll take mustard on mine, not catsup. And one is OK. I can put away 60 of ’em too … but it will take me a couple of months.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Freedom, here and there

On our country’s 231st Fourth of July, as we celebrate liberty, a shout-out of praise goes to … Fumio Kyuma.

Kyuma is, or was, of all things, the Japanese defense minister. He still would be if he had not said last week that the U.S. atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War II were … gulp … inevitable.

This is, of course, the truth. And it is even more true that the bombings were, ironically, the most humane way to end the war in the Pacific.

If the United States had been forced to mount a conventional D-Day style invasion of Japan, the number of Japanese (and Americans) casualties would have been much, much higher.

No serious military historian — or anyone with common sense — will dispute this.

That point of view isn’t popular in Japan, however, and that’s understandable. Their country is the only one on earth to have suffered an atomic bombing — twice. Even if it was the least-bad alternative, it is going to be a sore subject.

To make matters worse — from a Japanese perspective — Kyuma was a native of … Nagasaki.

Still, it’s about time that more government officials in Japan — like their counterparts in Germany — acknowledged the evil done by their country in World War II.

Many in Japan are still trying to deny the horrible saga of the “comfort women,” the 200,000 women (and girls) forced into military brothels.

Others are trying to say that the “Rape of Nanking” in 1937 wasn’t so ghastly — that only 30,000 innocent people were slaughtered, not 10 times that number. … Yeah, I’m sure that makes the survivors feel a lot better.

After the latest flap, Nagasaki Mayor Tomihisa Taue dredged up the old myth that the atomic bombings were the “indiscriminate massacre of ordinary citizens.” Two words, pal: Pearl Harbor.

The end of World War II was the best thing to happen to modern Japan. It got rid of a wicked dictatorship that brought massive death and destruction to the homeland. It allowed Japan to become one of the world’s most advanced societies.

We celebrate the birth of our freedom on July 4. Over the years, we’ve brought liberty to a bunch of other nations, from Korea to Kuwait. Japan is on the list, too — in large part because of what happened to Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August of 1945.

Happy Fourth of July to freedom lovers in this land and across the globe!

Friday, June 29, 2007

Craig, yes. Barry, no.

Thank God for Craig Biggio. And Frank Thomas. And Tom Glavine. And Pedro Martinez.

Each one of these baseball players either reached a major milestone this year or will soon.

For Biggio, it was hit No. 3,000.

For The Big Hurt (I always wondered how he got that nickname, though it fits him) it was home run No. 500. (Hammered, ironically, the same day Biggio broke his barrier.)

Glavine is three wins shy of 300. (He probably will be the last Major Leaguer to reach that plateau now that pitchers start every fifth day instead of every fourth.)

Pedro needs two K’s to get 3,000 strikeouts. (I wish he’d stayed with the Red Sox. But it’s hard to be satisfied with big bucks when you can get bigger bucks.)

So why am I thankful for these guys?

It’s simple: In a small way, they take the sting out of the coming nightmare — Barry Bonds’ 756th home run.

Barry is everything that pro sports — heck, life in general — doesn’t need.

He is surly and crude. He is filthy rich and tries to portray himself as a victim. And of course he is a steroid-swallowin’ juice-shootin’ cheater.

Worst of all, he will go down in history as the greatest home run hitter ever.

That stinks.

At least this year saw other milestones in baseball — by good guys like the ones mentioned above.

They are four different ballplayers. Yet each is the anti-Barry, and I’m grateful they got a share of the spotlight this year.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Border control, Florida-style

The sheriff in Bay County, Fla., has found a simple but effective way to capture illegal aliens.

Five or six patrol cars quickly pull up to a construction site … and wait.

Invariably, several illegal aliens run away. The deputies then chase down the runners, arresting them if they do things like trespass or drive away recklessly. Aliens who are in this country illegally are then referred to immigration authorities.

“It’s not wrong for them to run, but it’s not wrong for us to chase them either,” said Sheriff Frank McKeithen.

In Florida, as in most places, it is illegal to knowingly hire illegal immigrants. In Florida, as in most places, illegal immigrants are often knowingly hired.

Sheriff McKeithen’s Panhandle county is undergoing a building boom. Developers are tearing down cheap spring-break motels and replacing them with fancy condos.

Lots of illegals are doing the work. Or were doing the work.

One illegal immigrant, Jose Madrid, told the Associated Press, “We immigrants, we are leaving Panama City. … The companies don’t want to hire illegal people. Now they’re only hiring those with papers.”

Uh, isn’t that the idea?

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Occupational hazard

I really don’t have Charles Bronson/Death Wish fantasies about capping bad guys.

Bad guys shouldn’t be executed for "routine crimes" like stealing cars. They should go to prison for a bunch of years and learn a trade and straighten up.

If they kill someone, however, in your basic first-degree-premeditated manner, they should indeed take the Big Sleep — and not 15 years later.

Which brings us to the brief we had on page 7A today about a Port Arthur stickup -- make that attempted stickup. The lead graph says it all: “A robbery suspect was in critical condition … after a convenience store employee shot the man numerous times. … ”

Folks, the part about “shot the man numerous times” got my attention.

I would hate to be a convenience store clerk. I think your odds of getting robbed and/or killed during that robbery are uncomfortably high.

It ought to be the other way around. Punks who go around robbing people should fear for their health.

To be blunt about it, if more of them were “shot numerous times” while trying to pull armed robberies, we’d probably wouldn't have so many armed robberies.

Again, I’m no Charles Bronson-wannabe. I don’t want that robbery suspect to die. I want him to recover, serve a bunch of years (if convicted, of course), repent, live a long and joyous life, and tell lots of people that robbing convenience stores is not a good thing to do.

Because you might get “shot numerous times.”

Thursday, June 21, 2007

2DUM4WORDS

Pat and Sheena Wheaton should move from New Zealand to the United States. Then these morons could name their soon-to-be-born son “4real.” In this country, where freedom of expression expands every year, I’m pretty sure you can name your kid anything.

Of course, sticking a label like “4real” on your child would be incredibly stupid and cruel, subjecting the lad to an endless stream of taunts and questions, but that’s beside the point.

Airheads like Pat and Sheena Wheaton want to feel good about themselves, enjoy the moment, blaze new trails, blah-blah-blah, so nothing else matters — certainly not something as trivial as the dignity of a vulnerable child.

New Zealand authorities have nixed “4real,” saying that numerals cannot be part of a name. Maybe the fun couple will propose something else like “Forreal,” but I don’t think they’re that clever.

By the way, the Wheatons want to stick that tag on their boy after they had an ultrasound and were dumbfounded (literally) by the, like, totally cool and awesome thing that was about to, like, happen.

Sheeesh. I feel sorry for the kid already. Since the Wheatons are feeling so creative, they should change their first names too.

How about something catchy that rhymes, like “Brain Dead” and “Bone Head”?

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Kobe's crisis

Poor Kobe Bryant. He keeps throwing temper tantrums and acting like a world-class jerk, but the Los Angeles Lakers refuse to trade him.

If the Lakers won’t set him free, he will have to stay in that lousy town with that lousy team for four more years. In exchange for all that misery, all he gets is $88.6 million.

Is there no justice?

Seems that Kobe is chapped that the Lakers don’t surround him with top-notch talent so he — I mean, the team — can win a world championship.

Apparently the Kobatollah has forgotten that he was matched up with none other than the great Shaquille O’Neal for several years in L.A., and the Lakers did quite well.

But Kobe’s giant ego couldn’t stand anyone edging into his spotlight, so Shaq was shipped to South Florida.

Now Kobe wants another superstar sidekick — but a dull one so he can still be The Guy.

Poor Kobe. He pouts and postures, and coaches and owners keep stroking him and asking him to please, please play nice, but the drama drags on.

I think lots of ordinary fans, who make in a year or two what Kobe makes in a day, could tell Kobe where he should go.

But he probably wouldn’t like to hear their suggestion, and it would probably make him even more upset, so they probably shouldn’t do that.

Poor, poor Kobe.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Flight of fancy

I have no problem with capitalism or rich people. All things being equal, I wouldn’t mind being rich some day.

But there are limits, and some extremely wealthy person just reached them. He or she would be the still-anonymous tycoon who has ordered the mother of all private jets — an Airbus A380, the world’s largest airliner.

That’s right, folks. An A380, a double-decker super-jumbo jet capable of carrying a staggering total of 840 passengers.

Airbus has confirmed that it has taken an order for an A380 that will be modified for the customer’s personal use. The plane itself costs $300 million, and the customization is expected to add another $50 million to $100 million.

I don’t know how much it costs to keep a flight crew, ground crew and other support staff on hand for this toy, but I’m guessing it’s not cheap. However, if you’re dropping up to $400 mil just for the plane, a pilot’s salary is just spare change.

An Airbus official said that the owner is not from Europe or the United States, which I suspect means the mogul in question lives in the Middle East or Asia. The plane will be tricked up for the customer’s “personal use and his entourage.”

This sets a new definition of wretched excess. But it’s almost to be expected, since aviation experts say there are already about 20 Boeing 747s being used as private jets.

Who wants another 747 when you can fly in something almost twice as big? And when you are mega-rich, apparently size does matter.

I hate to sound like a Commie, but can you image how many starving people could be fed with all the money being tossed around here? Yikes … and yuck.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Fatherhood

George Bush and Barack Obama don’t have a lot in common. One is a conservative Republican, the other a liberal Democrat.

But they agree on one thing: Fatherhood is important.

One of these men said this week:

“Fathers instill in their children an understanding of right and wrong and help them to grow in confidence and character. These dedicated men strive to give their sons and daughters the necessary foundation to make good choices and lead lives of purpose.”

The other said:

“Let’s admit to ourselves that there are a lot of men out there that need to stop acting like boys; who need to realize that responsibility does not end at conception; who need to know that what makes you a man is not the ability to have a child but the courage to raise a child.”

Does it matter which man uttered which quote?

No it does not. What is important is the sentiments that both expressed.

I have four kids. After my faith, the most important thing in my life is to be a good father to them and a good husband to my wife.

Some kids don’t have fathers in their lives. That’s a shame. Kids don’t have to have an active father to grow up strong and smart, but it helps -- immensely.

If you’re a man with kids, don’t ever shortchange them. If your dad still with you, cherish him. One day, sooner than you think, he will be gone.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Say it ain't so, Robert

I shouldn’t feel sorry for Robert Joseph, but I do.

A week ago, the graduate of Memorial High School in Port Arthur seemed to have it all. He was on one of the best college football teams in the nation — the mighty UT Longhorns.

He played seven games last year before being sidelined with a shoulder injury for the final six. But he had healed and was expected to compete for a starting job this fall.

Not bad for a 19-year-old kid. Until he blew it with a really boneheaded move.

On June 9 he was arrested in Austin for car burglary. A security guard found him in a vehicle he didn’t own at a downtown Austin hotel.

First he was suspended from the team. Two days later, he announced that he would transfer from UT and look for another place to “get a fresh start.”

"We appreciate everything that Robert contributed to our football program," head coach Mack Brown said in The Houston Chronicle. "We wish him the very best in football and in life."

Nice thoughts, Mack. You were too polite to say what everybody else was thinking: “Uh, Robert, how could you be so dumb?”

The disciplinarian in me says Joseph deserves what he gets. The humanitarian in me remembers what it was like to be 19.

I don’t know about you, but when I was a teenager, what I knew about life could be summed up in two words: not much.

A bunch of years later, I know this: Life is a series of choices … and chances. You might get only one chance for that special job or soul-mate or trip overseas. If you bungle it, you might spend the rest of your life wondering. “What if … ?”

I really hope that Joseph can rebound from this, play some good DB again and get into the NFL, his dream. But this mess sure doesn’t make that goal any easier.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Taking the Paris Challenge

The celebrity world was rocked by Paris Hilton’s declaration this week that she would no longer “act dumb.”

From Hollywood to Times Square and back, the rich and famous hadn’t been this surprised since the success of “Shrek 3.” In fact, many of the Beautiful People were motivated to make their own inspiring and surprising pledges:

Barbara Walters: “I am no longer going to act as if I liked Rosie O’Donnell. Let’s face it folks, when it came to being obnoxious, she was large and in charge.”

Barry Bonds: “I am no longer going to pretend that I didn’t do steroids. For the past five years, I’ve been juiced like an orange grove in Florida!”

Nancy Grace: “I am no longer going to treat every little tragedy in some Godforsaken small town seem like a national crisis, complete with hourly updates on the missing person and somber accounts from their friends/families about what he/she was like. From now on, I’m going to be a responsible journalist!”

Kobe Bryant: “I am no longer going to force myself to say that I care about any other player or coach with the Lakers. Your suspicions were right, fans: It IS all about me.”

Geraldo Rivera: “I am no longer going to masquerade as a serious reporter. I’m the king of fluff and scandal, and I love it! Next up: Inside the secret relationship between Beth Holloway and John Ramsey.”

EDITOR’S NOTE: Soon after these statements were issued, the publicists for each of the celebs released the following “clarification,” which read in its entirety: “Naaaah, just kidding!”

Friday, June 08, 2007

Get the lead out

So how much longer will Bullet Brain be allowed to game the system?

I refer of course to Joshua Adams of Groves, who is carrying around a slug in his forehead.

Bush claims, with a straight face, presumably, that the lead got there when a friend accidentally shot him. No, he won’t name this mythical friend.

Port Arthur police believe, with some justification, that the bullet arrived in Bush’s skull when it was fired by a man trying to break up the burglary of his car lot last year. They want a ballistics test to prove the point.

Adams doesn’t want the slugectomy. I think I know why. I think there’s a real strong possibility that the ballistics test will prove that the bullet came from the gun fired by the car lot owner. Then Bush could be charged with that crime.

The first attempt to pull the projectile was stopped because bone had started growing around it. Then a hospital backed out of another plan to bag the bullet because it was afraid of — this is really irritating — getting sued.

Then Bush started laying out all kinds of conditions before he would agree to the surgery — hoping, one suspects, that police would give up. After a deal was finally struck, Bush backed out anyway.

Gee, I wonder why?

In the end, none of this may matter. Bush faces so many other charges, including a new one for threatening a witness with a gun, that he may wind up behind bars for a long time anyway.

All of this would be funny if it weren’t so serious.

People accused of crimes should not get to call the shots like this. Yes, the Fourth Amendment does prohibit unfair searches and seizures, and that protection is important.

But does that mean that a kidnapper can refuse to let the cops enter his house because they will find the victim?

Of course not. And neither should Bullet Brain be able to manipulate a system that is trying to determine if he is a dangerous felon.

Let the doctors do their thing, and then let prosecutors do theirs.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Bloomberg's blowoff

I don’t know about you, but I was a little nervous over the report last week that domestic terrorists were planning to blow up JFK airport in New York and anyone in or around it.

Hey, this came less than a month after a similar plot to attack soldiers in Fort Dix, N.J., was uncovered.

The scary part about both plots is that the jihadis were home-grown. We’re talking immigrants who have lived and worked among us for years. Instead of seeing us as jes’ plain folks, they saw us as Great Satans who needed to be sent to the next world, ready or not.

Thank God they were caught in time. And thank God both groups of plotters were a little stupid.

The Fort Dix Six were uncovered when they brought a VHS tape of their threats to a Circuit City store and wanted it converted to a DVD.

One of the JFK plotters thought that their newest member “had been sent by Allah to be the one” to pull off the attack. Actually, doofuss, the chosen one was an informant.

Anyhow, you might think that the mayor of New York would be a little concerned about the plot too. After all, the first World Trade Center bombings and 9-11 horrors occurred in the Big Apple. To New Yorkers, there is nothing abstract about terrorism.

To my surprise, Mayor Michael Bloomberg said the latest plot … was no big deal.

"There are lots of threats to you in the world,” he told WCBSTV. “ …You can’t sit there and worry about everything. Get a life. … You have a much greater danger of being hit by lightning than being struck by a terrorist."

Gee whiz, Mr. Mayor! I suppose the lightning/terrorist things is mathematically valid, but these guys weren’t planning a college prank.

Authorities say they were scheming to bomb a fuel pipeline feeding the airport and set off an inferno. One of the plotters worked at JFK in the cargo section and knew the layout. The group also made several surveillance trips around the airport — each recorded on audio and video.

You don’t have to watch too many episodes of “24” to be worried about something like that. Yet the very mayor of New York reacts like a bored cabbie hearing that the Yankees lost and shrugs, “Fugedaboudit.” Wow!

I hope our luck holds. I also hope the mayor of the next city that is targeted isn’t so naïve.

Friday, June 01, 2007

28 times?

The days when we laughed at drunk drivers are long gone. Tragedies like the death of Beaumont police officer Lisa Beaulieu — and a thousand others — have driven home a fact as hard and unyielding as a tombstone:

Drunk driving is a terrible menace. Drunk drivers must get real punishment from our courts. They must not get wrist-slaps that basically encourage them to do it again.

So what do we make of Joseph Brill of Albuquerque, N.M.? This loser was in court again for drunk driving on Tuesday. It was not his first offense on this charge. It was his 28th.

That’s not a misprint. Not counting his latest run-in, he has 27 previous DWI charges.

Fourteen have resulted in convictions. I would guess that many of the rest were plea-bargained down to something like public intoxication … but should have gone in the books as a DWI.

How can that happen? How can any state be so incredibly lax about public safety?

This time, a state judge set Brill’s bail at $100,000.

"The probabilities are if you get behind the wheel, you’re going to hurt or kill somebody," the judge was quoted by the Associated Press.

Right on, judge. The 27 other judges who handled this clown’s cases should have done the same.

Brill’s attorney said he has not caused any accidents. If so, that’s a miracle. He’s also a ticking time bomb who is going to break hearts if he isn’t put behind bars.

I have a solution for repeat DWI convictions. About the third one, the law should require a minimum sentence of three years in jail. Three full years — no parole or time off for good behavior.

For a fourth DWI, a minimum sentence of four years. Five years for a fifth, and so on up the ladder.

That formula would do something that a lot of other laws have failed to do. It would get drunk drivers off our roads — no ifs, ands or buts … or funerals for innocent victims of somebody like Joseph Brill.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Michael's mess

You are Michael Vick, star quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons.

You make millions.

In the offseason, you could do just about anything Donald Trump does.

So apparently you choose … dogfighting?

Lots of NFL fans want Vick to say it ain’t so, but ....

On April 25, police conducting a drug investigation — right there, that is not good news — raided a 15-acre estate Vick owned in Smithfield, Va. Turns out Vick’s cousin — the target of the drug raid — said he lived there.

Police founds dozens of mistreated dogs that appeared to be used for fighting — along with equipment typically used for dogfighting.

We’re talking treadmills to build stamina, syringes for injecting various stimulants, “pry bars” used for prying apart the vise-like jaws of pit bulls. Oh, and bloodstained carpeting.

Of the 66 dogs found, 55 were pit bulls. The property also may contain the carcasses of 30 other fighting dogs.

Hey, it’s not like there’s a retirement plan in dogfighting. You have a few matches, then it’s that Great Big Kennel in the Sky.

Can it get worse for No. 7? Uh, yes.

ESPN cited a “reliable police informant” who said Vick is “one of the heavyweights” in area dogfighting circles. He reportedly bet big bucks on fights.

"I’m talking $30,000, $40,000," the informant told ESPN. “ … I’ve seen it.”

Vick says he didn’t live at the estate. He said he was taken advantage of by family members who did.

Heck, he said he didn’t know that the large kennel there might have been used for anything illegal. (I guess he thought it was a puppy mill.)

Let’s hope so, Michael.

But right now, this thing stinks like a locker room after a September game.

If Vick is innocent, he needs to hang around with a better crowd to avoid these kinds of, er, misunderstandings.

If he’s guilty, he’s really dumb.

If he’s guilty, did he really think this would go on without anybody noticing … or running his mouth?

Gee whiz, if Vick likes animals that much, why not dabble in horseracing like all the other millionaires?

It’s safer, more glamorous, and outside of a few shady tracks and stablehands, reasonably legal.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Responsibility

Grief is expected when you lose a loved one. Nowadays, a lawsuit often is too.

The father of the St. Louis Cardinals pitcher killed in a car crash last month has filed a wrongful death lawsuit.

The suit filed by Dean Hancock, father of Josh Hancock, said these “legal actions (were) necessary against those who contributed to the untimely and unnecessary death of my son at the age of 29.”

The suit names the restaurant where Hancock was drinking the night he died.

It also names the tow-truck driver who was responding to an accident — and the owner of the vehicle involved in that accident.

The younger Hancock died when his SUV smashed into the rear of the tow truck on an interstate highway. The truck was preparing to remove the first vehicle.

You could make an argument that the restaurant helped Hancock get drunk that night.

The family’s lawyer said drinks were handed to the young pitcher for the entire 3½ hours he was there.

You could make an argument that the tow truck shouldn’t have been in the way, too, when Hancock was driving home late at night.

The truck and the vehicle it was about to tow were on the highway, not on the shoulder. The family’s lawyer said the tow truck may have been behind the vehicle for up to 15 minutes but didn't get it out of the way.

All those things should be considered.

But something else should be considered too: The person most responsible for the fatal accident was Josh Hancock himself.

His blood-alcohol level when he died was 0.157 percent. That’s almost twice the 0.08 that defines intoxication in most states.

However this case ends, it won’t changed what happened in the beginning.

No one forced Josh Hancock to drink that night.

No one forced him to drive after he drank too much.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Size matters

One of the best ways to improve your car’s gas mileage is by making sure the tires are properly inflated. Newer cars even have dashboard warning lights that tell you if one of your quartet is low.

That’s nice. But have you ever wondered why tire manufacturers make it hard to find the one piece of information on a tire that you care about?

I am referring, of course, to the number of pounds per square inch that your tire should be inflated to, such as “42 psi.”

Most tires have a bunch of things written on the side, from company stuff to product numbers. When you want to inflate a tire, the only thing you want to know is the psi number.

It’s there, of course — somewhere. It’s just written in the same tiny type as the rest of the gibberish, and that makes it hard to find.

Maybe you’re one of those car owners who knows his psi number or remembers it when he needs to know it. Good for you.

Lots of us, however, don’t carry that number around in our heads.

When we’re at the gas station or convenience store, squatting down, maybe in the hot sun or drizzling rain, all we want to find is the psi number so we know much air the low tire needs.

So here’s my solution, and you have to wonder why this hasn’t been done before: Why not put the psi number in big type, such as letters a half-inch high, so that people can actually see it when they need to?

I'm talking "blah-blah-blah 42 psi blah-blah-blah ... "

Maybe there are some tires like that now, but I haven’t seen them.

If I was head bureaucrat at the U.S. Department of New Rules, I’d make that mandatory for all tires manufactured after tomorrow.

It might save enough gas nationwide to get the price below $3 a gallon … for a few days.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Consecutive justice

A thoughtless killer by the name of Jorge Arellano was sentenced to four life terms in prison on Thursday in Brownsville. It was true justice.

What makes this case noteworthy is that finally, a judge has correctly employed the use of consecutive sentences — not concurrent ones.

The background: In March 2006, Arellano was drunk and driving, and he ran a stop sign. That’s bad, but what happened next was incredibly appalling.

Arellano killed three people in the Ford Mustang he plowed into — U.S. Customs and Border Protection Officer Cynthia Carreon; her husband, Jorge Carreon; and Mario Gonzalez, a U.S. Border Patrol agent.

Just like that, three fine members of law enforcement wiped out by a drunk driver.

(And why is it that the boozer usually survives these wrecks while killing other people?)

Arellano was found guilty last month of three counts of intoxication manslaughter.

State district Judge Leonel Alejandro sentenced Arellano to four life terms. And again, here’s the key point: Those terms are consecutive, not concurrent.

In other words, this 28-year-old slug is not eligible for parole for … 120 years!

To which I say two things:

A) Hallelujah! and

B) Why does state law allow such nonsense as concurrent terms?

When a criminal gets two sentences stacked concurrently on top of each other, the concept of punishment is rendered meaningless.

If someone breaks two laws and gets, say, two concurrent five-year sentences, who is fooled?

He will serve only five years, just as if he broke one law and got sentenced to one five-year term.

Concurrent sentences should be abolished. Anyone convicted of multiple offenses should serve consecutive terms.

Arellano, for example, killed three human beings. Justice demands that he be punished for every single one of those monstrous crimes.

Anything else, like meaningless-but-feel-good concurrent sentences, makes a mockery of the law.

Judge Alejandro gets my vote for Judge of the Year in Brownsville.

The member of the Texas Legislature who gets a bill passed banning concurrent sentences will get my vote for Lawmaker of the Year.

Any takers in Austin?

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Wade's world

I stopped rooting for the Dallas Cowboys in March of 1994. That would be when owner Jerry Jones fired coach Jimmy Johnson.

I knew that Jerry had a big ego, but getting rid of a coach who had just one back-to-back Super Bowls and who might be able to pull off an unprecedented “three-peat”? And to replace him with a yo-yo like Barry Switzer?

It was absurdity squared. Plus it was happening to one of Port Arthur’s most famous sons. Not only did I stop cheering for America’s Team, I reveled in its subsequent slide.

However, nothing lasts forever. Now JJ has hired another local boy made good — Wade Phillips, son of Bum Phillips. It’s time to declare a truce and hope for the best for Wade, a truly nice guy in a business without a lot of them.

After the Cowboys’ first mini-camp this week, however, the early signs are not good. Several players are saying how glad they are that coach Bill Parcells is gone.

I was no fan of the Tuna’s, but he did know how to win. He also was a gruff disciplinarian, and that clearly rankled several Cowboys.

Running back Julius Jones complained that he had been forced to run “like a robot.” The infamous Terrell Owens praised the looser “atmosphere in the locker room. I don’t think I just have to really spell it out for you, but I think it’s very evident.”

Cowboy Nation, be concerned. When players start saying that the new coach has made practice fun again, that could be the first sign of a losing season.

Practice, especially in a brutal sport like football, is not supposed to be fun. It is supposed to hard and challenging and overall rather unpleasant. It’s also what good teams do to survive and prevail over a long, grueling season.

We shall see how it all unfolds. I just hope that after Wade welcomes all the players back with smiles and backslaps … he makes ’em sweat and cuss a little.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Bodies, buzzards, blecchh

If you live near Texas State University by San Marcos, you might be thinking, “Thank God for the buzzards.”

You see, if it weren’t for those flying scroungers, TSU would be well on its way to setting up the nation’s largest … “body farm.”

In case you’ve never watched CSI, a “body farm” is where researchers put human bodies outside and watch them, uh, decompose. They also bury a few.

By doing that, they can observe what happens to bodies over time in different environments. This helps cops when they find a body after weeks or months and want to know how it transitioned from a person to a corpse.

It sounds scientific and important and all that, but I’m basically thinking, “Yuck!”

Back to the buzzards. TSU’s plans have been shelved because it seems a body farm would attract buzzards (duh!) and the birds could create a danger for planes using the San Marcos Municipal Airport.

Undaunted, TSU officials will be searching for a new location. Good luck, I guess.

But since this great land of ours already has two “body farms” — one operated by the University of Tennessee at Knoxville and the other by Western Carolina University in Cullowhee, N.C. — do we really need a third one … in Texas?

What about property values? The town's image? And can you imagine what fans from other colleges will say to taunt TSU teams on road games? You don’t want to go there, my friend.

In closing, I would basically like to say once again … “Yuck!”

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Houston, we have a problem

Astro fans are not happy campers right now.

The team has started out slow — again. It is limping along at 15-17 in a division where anything above .500 makes you a contender.

This weekend, of course, Astro fans learned that Roger Clemens would not be riding to the rescue this year.

The Rocket signed with the Yankees instead. As a Cardinals fan, I couldn’t care less. In fact, I’m glad Clemens is pitching in a different division in a different league.

What does irritate me, however, are a couple of myths that Roger has been perpetuating, either openly or indirectly:

Myth No. 1: My family is more important than baseball right now.

If that were the case, Clemens would have stayed in Houston, whether he was pitching for the Astros or not. After all, that is — or was — where his family was living.

Myth No. 2: It’s not about the money.

Folks, when a professional athlete says this, it is PRECISELY about the money. Roger is about to don Yankee pinstripes because George Steinbrenner would cough up $28 mil (pro-rated) and no one else would match him.

Roger’s strongest family tie was to Houston. His strongest emotional link was to Boston. Guess where he signed? The place with the strongest financial incentive.

The Astros apparently didn’t even score any points with Roger when they gave his son Koby a $380,000 signing bonus last year.

That’s a lot of money for an eighth-round 18-year-old. If the lad’s name had been Koby Jones, I’m guessing he would have gotten less than half that.

Whatever. All baseball fans who don’t live in Gotham have another reason to root against the Evil Empire. It’s just not fair that The Boss can load up his team with one overpaid superstar after another until he buys another championship.

In that league, you have to root for the Red Sox.

In the National, the Brewers are already being called this year’s Tigers.

We shall see. But if there’s another Subway Series, please wake me when it’s Christmas.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Death While Intoxicated

In Southeast Texas right now, a DWI fatality isn’t something abstract. The death of Beaumont Police Officer Lisa Beaulieu on April 27 is still an open wound. It will be for a long, long time.

The thought of that fine young woman being struck by a car and thrown off an overpass to the pavement below is too painful to think about.

For someone like me who grew up in St. Louis, Mo., the perils of drunk driving are reinforced in another way.

A young pitcher on the Cardinals named Josh Hancock was killed early last Sunday. His SUV slammed into the rear of a tow truck stopped alongside the highway — with its lights flashing.

As a lot of people — like me — suspected, Hancock was hammered when it happened. His blood-alcohol level was tragically high — 0.157. Worse yet, 8.5 grams of marijuana and a glass pipe were found in his crumpled Ford Explorer.

Hancock was speeding (68 in a 55 zone) when it happened, talking on a cell phone and not wearing a seat belt. He had spent the evening at a sports bar in St. Louis owned by former Cardinal third-baseman Mike Shannon. The woman he was talking to when it happened said he was going to another bar.

As much as Cardinal fans grieve for him and his family, it’s plain to see that his death was completely unnecessary.

Before Friday’s first home game since Hancock’s death, the Cardinals banned alcohol in the clubhouse. Manager Tony La Russa lamely said the move was mostly symbolic “because our guys don’t stay in the clubhouse to drink.”

I don’t know if the Cardinals have more of a collective drinking problem than any other team of young, rich athletes who think they are invincible. But La Russa himself got a DWI in Florida during spring training.

When I went to a Cardinal game in St. Louis a few years ago with my son, I was saddened to hear about a cop who was directing traffic after a game and hit by a drunk driver. The officer lived … but he lost both legs.

You’ve heard it a thousand times: Don’t drink and drive. Some folks do it anyway. Either they don’t care what happens, or they think they’ll somehow beat the odds once again.

If they keep it up, their number will come up. If they kill only themselves like Josh Hancock, that’s one thing. If someone like Lisa Beaulieu is killed, that’s entirely different.

If you drink and drive, you need to think about these things. Then you need to stop doing it.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Steroid secrets

Another brick was laid in the wall this week — the massive wall of evidence that baseball was riddled with steroids for more than a decade.

The latest shoe was dropped by an otherwise obscure clubhouse assistant for the Mets named Kirk Radomski.

From 1985 to 1995, his day job was working as a bat boy and equipment manager. On the side, according to his guilty plea in federal court on Friday, he sold anabolic steroids, amphetamines and human growth hormone to dozens of Major League players.

It’s hard to be shocked at any of this anymore. But Radomski’s plea bargain looks like the tip of a very big syringe.

Radomski’s case was handled in San Francisco and yes, it is part of the infamous BALCO scandal. BALCO, of course, is the infamous Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative that is strongly suspected of bulking up Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, et al with a chemical cocktail of performance-enhancing drugs.

Lots of jocks breathed easier when they learned that none of Radomski’s client’s names were revealed in his plea agreement. Those same sluggers, however, might be experiencing some shortness of breath when they read that Radomski has agreed to cooperate with federal and baseball investigators still trying to unravel Steroidgate.

As Travis Tygart, senior managing director and general counsel for the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency, told the Associated Press, “If you’re a player that was using and receiving steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs from Radomski, I think you are pretty nervous right now.”

Let’s hope so. The feds have been trying hard to deconstruct BALCO for several years. Major League baseball was far more reluctant to admit there was an elephant in the locker room. Lately, however, it is ramping up its efforts with a study led by former Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell.

While all this is going on, of course, Bonds is getting closer and closer to becoming the game’s all-time home run champ. He has 741 as of this writing and needs 15 to pass Hammerin’ Hank Aaron. That’s about a month-and-a-half of slugging for Bonds.

Looking at the Giants’ schedule, we see that they host the mighty Yankees on June 22, 23 and 24, a Friday-Saturday-Sunday series. I think it’s safe to say that the series will receive white-hot media attention if Bonds is on the verge of hitting No. 756 by then.

The Giants play my beloved Cardinals on July 6, 7 and 8, another Friday-Saturday-Sunday series, but the thing should be over by then.

The All Star Game is in, of all places, San Francisco this year on Tuesday, July 10. That guarantees more Barrymania in a sport that is desperately trying to pretend this nightmare isn’t happening.

How fitting that the steroid story is growing right along with Bonds’ records instead of fading away. It won’t stop him from passing Aaron, but it will remind everyone how he did it.

Friday, April 20, 2007

A sweet shoe story

This week, when the horror at Virginia Tech was sinking in, I had an encounter with a student that restored my faith in human nature. It was a real Leave It To Beaver moment, and I haven’t had anything like that happen in my life.

About 7:30 a.m. on Wednesday, I was stumbling around the house trying to wake up myself and a couple of our kids.

Suddenly, came a knock on the door.

I thought it was one of my son’s friends, but it wasn’t. It was a polite young boy … with a strange request.

“Excuse me, sir, but I fell off my bike in front of your house. I stepped in some mud in my new shoes. Can I use your hose to clean it off?”

It took a while for my foggy brain to register all this. After a while I was able to blurt out, “Uh, sure. C’mon in the backyard.”

So I led this kid through our house into the backyard. I turned the hose on a low stream. He stuck his foot out, and I gently hosed off the goo on his shiny new shoe.

“I got them at Steve and Barry’s,” he said proudly.

He thanked me profusely. I said something profound like, “Sure. No problem.”

And with that, the lad went back out the front door, got on his bike and went to school.

I know: I probably broke six different laws by admitting a child into my house without notifying the police and providing three references.

And when the kid got home that afternoon and told him mom what happened, you know she said, “What!? You went into a strange man’s house! Don’t ever do that again! He could have been a perv!”

She’s right, of course. I could have been a perv or a serial killer or a drug dealer. Kids should not go into stranger’s homes or cars under any circumstances.

But even though we both broke all the rules, I couldn’t get over how trusting that kid was.

He had mud on his new shoe. To him, it was a big deal. He went straight to the nearest house — mine — so he could clean up.

A couple of generations ago, no one would have given that incident a second thought. Nowadays, with kidnappers and creeps on our minds, well, we don’t do things like that.

Maybe so. But I was cheered that whole day by the child’s innocence, and the fact that I was able to help him.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Sticker solution

Finally, America’s top researchers are focusing on a problem that has been crying out for a solution.

No, I am not talking about world peace or aiding the needy. I am talking about something we all care about — getting rid of those annoying stickers on fruit.

The Associated Press reports that a Georgia company has developed a laser that etches labels onto the skins of fruits and vegetables. The etchings — “indelible but edible” — would carry the product information or point of origin now included on those darned labels.

Durand-Wayland Inc. needs an OK from the Food and Drug Administration to begin zapping zucchinis. The feds need to greenlight this one.

As it is, bureaucrats have been sitting on the application — three inches thick, no less — for two years. Seems that any use of radiation on fruit, even the weak light of a laser, is considered a food additive and must be thoroughly reviewed.

Can you say “overly cautious”? If the government had dragged its feet like this when we were fighting World War II, we’d still be fighting World War II.

Those stickers are more irritating than being trapped in a phone booth with Ann Coulter and Don Imus. Consumers never read them — they’re too small anyway. And who cares if you have a “1021” apple instead of a “1022”?

Don’t even get me started on the adhesive used to stick some of the stickers. Have the busybody bureaucrats ever studied whether that goop causes hair loss or weight gain?

A spokeswoman for the Produce Marketing Association said the laser etchings are intriguing. I say they’re just a few steps below a cure for cancer.

The laser vaporizes the top layer of fruit and vegetables, thus exposing lighter layers underneath and allowing numbers and letters to be read.

It supposedly works well with fruit like peaches and plums, but not so well with cantaloupes (not smooth enough) or brown potatoes (weak contrast between upper and secondary layers).

Tough beans, I say. If a few spuds have to be sacrificed in the March of Progress, well, they are expendable.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Short circuit -- the sequel

Last week, this blog panned Circuit City for its Dickensian policy of laying higher-paid workers and replacing them at lower wages with … many of the same workers who had just been laid off.

A follow-up is in order.

Circuit City is the nation’s No. 2 electronics retailer. Its main competitor is — surprise! — the nation’s No. 1 electronics retailer, Best Buy.

This will sound like a commercial for Best Buy, but it shouldn’t.

Prior to Circuit City’s controversial announcement, I frankly didn’t think there was much difference between the two. When I needed a computer or electronic gizmo, I had no problem with checking out both of them — or whichever one was closer.

The point of all this is that maybe Best Buy is No. 1 for a reason.

Circuit City’s retail strategy, if you can call it that, is apparently to run its stores with as little help as possible — and pay them as little as possible.

Best Buy, on the other hand, is focusing on a quaint strategy called service from employees who are motivated and appreciated.

Best Buy has a “greeter,” one of those guys who says, “Welcome to Best Buy” when you walk in the door. Sure, it’s corny, but at least it shows they care.

Best Buy employees are also trained to approach customers soon after they enter the store and ask them if they need any help. They do not stand around and wait for the customer to come to them.

This shouldn’t sound too surprising — though it will to some short-sighted suits — but Best Buy’s approach seems to be working better.

Best Buy enjoyed an 18 percent rise in fourth-quarter profits. Circuit City took a fourth-quarter loss. Best Buy has 800 stores to Circuit City’s 650.

Why? Because consumers appreciate a little attention from someone who knows a little about the product.

What a revolutionary concept. I wonder why someone didn’t think of it earlier.

Oh, that’s right, they did, about a jillion years ago, before Big Box retailers thought they could get by with a couple of cashiers up front and a take-a-number-approach to customers who wanted help.

Finally, something old-fashioned is in vogue again. It’s about time.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Short circuit

Wow, talk about the cold side of capitalism.

Electronics retailer Circuit City is going to lay off 3,400 workers — and no, that’s not the bad part. Companies have to do things like that to survive from time to time.

I think consumers can understand that. What they will have trouble swallowing is something else Circuit City is doing.

It will replace the laid-off employees with new hires — who of course will make less money. Worse yet, some of those new hires could be … folks who just got laid off at Circuit City.

That’s right, tech-heads. Circuit City’s laid-off workers would get a severance package and could reapply for their former jobs — at lower pay, after a 10-week wait.

“This strategy strikes me as being quite cold,” Bernard Baumohl, executive director of The Economic Outlook Group, told the Associated Press. “I don’t think it’s in the best interest of Circuit City as a whole.”

No kidding, Bernie. Circuit City also dropped commissions for its sales workers in 2003, and sales slumped.

Surprised? Don’t be.

Employees who are not motivated will often do little more than show up. They won’t take initiative and hustle for sales or think of ways to improve the store. They will stand around and wait for customers to come to them.

The cold-hearted cuts come at a time when other retailers are paying more money to better-trained employees who can help them more. Home Depot is even hiring skilled craftsmen like carpenters and electricians, and they don’t come cheap.

You would think that Circuit City executives would think along those lines. After all, the store sells some pretty sophisticated electronics gear. If your sales clerk doesn’t know a byte from a bike, you’re not exactly going to be filled with confidence about the product.

Most consumers buy electronic stuff only a few times a year. They wouldn’t be going into a Circuit City a lot anyway. I think they will be making fewer trips now.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Rock on!

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has always been, well, a bit of a contradiction.

Rock music is all about being young and wild. It’s raw and racy … often in a destructive way.

Hall of Fame, on the other hand, sounds so … formal and official. In other words, very unrock.

And in Cleveland? Yeah, I know; that’s where disc jockey Alan Freed — aka Moondog — first used the phrase “rock and roll” in the early ’50s. He also organized the first specifically described rock and roll concert, on March 21, 1952 at the Cleveland Arena.

Still, it’s surprising that Cleveland beat out L.A. or New York for this honor.

At any rate, the Rock Hall held a couple more inductions this week. The rule, by the way, is that you have to wait 25 years from your first national exposure to qualify for the hall. (Hang in there, Britney.)

The inductees were R.E.M. and Van Halen, both well-deserved giants from the ’80s.

R.E.M.’s members showed up — including drummer Bill Berry, who suffered an aneurysm on state two years before.

Van Halen’s turnout was … a bit less complete. In fact — in the spirit of rock and roll, disorganized and disrespectful — only the group’s second lead singer, Sammy Hagar, a former bass player, Michael Anthony, made it to the ceremony.

Guitarist Eddie Van Halen, the soul and namesake of the group, couldn’t be there because he’d just gone into rehab. And original singer David Lee Roth stayed away because he was cheesed off about which song he’d be allowed to perform.

Now that’s rock and roll!

… Will be on spring break until next week; no column on Sunday in the paper. Be good.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Sister Action

We’ve all seen those depressing stories about former athletes who end up doing stupid and destructive things. They blow their fortune, their health and their reputation, often because they don’t know what to do with themselves when their careers are over.

There aren’t many stories about former athletes who go on to do noble things. I’m pretty sure that former tennis star Andrea Jaeger has retired the trophy in that narrow competition.

You remember her, don’t you? She was that pig-tailed brace-mouthed phenom of the ’80s. At one point she was No. 2 in her sport. She routinely beat big-name stars. For a while, she was a threat to end up in the finals of any Grand Slam event she entered.

You might not believe what she’s doing now. Jaeger, now 41, has become a Dominican Anglican nun.

That’s right. A habit-wearing vow-of-chastity nun. She’s one step away from completing her transition. And she has dedicated her life to helping children fighting cancer.

You go, girl! … Er, make that, Godspeed, Sister Andrea!

This has to be the greatest turnaround in the history of modern sports. Jaeger went from the epitome of wealth and glamour … to the ultimate in humility and selflessness.

If that doesn’t restore at least part of your faith in human nature, you might want to check your pulse.

Jaeger felt this calling from God even as a teenage star. She took time out to visit sick kids in hospitals while her competitors were hanging out in discos.

Incredibly, tennis officials who tolerated drug use and sexual hijinks from other stars were unsettled by Jaeger’s piety.

At one point, she was called into tour headquarters, where an official disdainfully threw a copy of The New York Times at her. Her offense? The paper recounted her inspirational visit to a high school that had suffered two suicides close together.

“I just got yelled at, told to quit doing it, because I was making the rest of them look bad,” Jaeger told the Associated Press.

Wow. Can you say, “inverted priorities”?

She’s left that warped world far behind. Now she works at a foundation she established, Little Star, in Southwestern Colorado.

Her biggest challenge today is a familiar one: raising money. She has long since given up the fortune she made. Now she needs more money to help more sick kids.

Unless you’re suffering from mega-cynicism, you might consider Little Star the next time you’re in a charitable mood.

And the next time some ex-jock winds up in the police blotter, remember Sister Andrea, and remember that there’s hope after all.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Lottery luck

I finally did it; I won the Mega Millions lottery!

And I picked a good time to do it. The jackpot totaled $370 million. To everybody except Bill Gates, that’s a nice chunk of change.

I haven’t decided yet how to spend my windfall. You don’t want to rush into a decision like this.

… OK, clarification time: I didn’t exactly win all of the $370 million. I didn’t exactly match all six numbers.

But I did nail three of ’em — 16, 22 and 39. If I’d included 29 and 42 along with a Mega Ball of 20, I’d be pricing Lear jets right now.

Then again, I really didn’t pick any of those numbers. The computer did, as I chose the ol’ quick-pick option.

My philosophy is, it’s hard enough to win the lottery. If you’re gonna roll the dice, go all the way and let the machine control your fate.

As for my winnings, they add up to … $7.

Maybe I wasn’t so lucky after all. In Texas 46,427 people also matched 3 of 5 numbers. If we’d matched 3 of 5 along with the Mega Ball, our winnings would skyrocket to $150.

Oh well, maybe next time. Then again, I know someone who refers to the playing the lottery as “paying the stupid tax.”

Well, Mr. Smartypants, here’s the difference between you and me: You won’t play because you know you won’t win. I know I won’t win, but I play anyhow.

Does that make sense? I guess not.

One final thought: If you need another reason to realize that psychics and fortune-tellers are phony — and you shouldn’t — think about this:

If these people have that “special gift,” why don’t they ever scrunch up their brains and figure out which numbers will win the lottery the day before the drawing?

If they could do that, they wouldn’t have to read palms for ten bucks.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Food fight

It has not been a good week for those of us who think we can defy Father Time with things like vitamins and food supplements.

On Tuesday, the Enterprise headline said it all: “Garlic study reveals no healing power.”

The study, published in the Archives of Internal Medicine, was called “the most rigorous, head-to-head study of raw garlic and popular garlic supplements. … ”

Though the pungent herb may protect your blood by warding off vampires, it won’t thin the sludge in your veins.

Talk about a blow to the stomach. Those of us who have been swallowing those nasty pills for years to cut our cholesterol have been, well, wasting our time.

Turns out we were inflicting those nasty side effects — bad breath, body odor, flatulence — on ourselves for no reason. I think I’m gonna be sick.

As if that news weren’t depressing enough, it turns out that antioxidants — vitamins A, E and C along with beta carotene and selenium — won’t help you live longer either.

That study, published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, actually analyzed 68 other studies on antioxidants involving 232,606 people.

The good news: They didn’t hurt anything.
The bad news: They didn’t help either.

So the up to 160 million people in the United States and Europe who have been gulping antioxidants can find something else to swallow. (Like our pride.)

If you’re tempted by all this bad news to buy a gallon of ice-cream and pig out, well, that might not be a bad idea.

You see, a diet rich in ice-cream and other high-fat dairy foods can help women become pregnant. That’s good news if you’re a woman trying to become pregnant.

A Nurses Health Study by the Harvard School of Public Health found that women who ate at least one fatty dairy food a day were 27 percent less likely to suffer from one form of infertility.

Blue Bell, anyone?

Friday, February 23, 2007

Drug disposal

Leave it to the government to make things complicated.

New federal guidelines for the disposal of old prescription drugs recommend mixing them with icky things like cat litter or coffee grounds before tossing them out.

“Following these new guidelines will protect our nation’s waterways and keep pharmaceuticals out of the hands of potential abusers,” Environmental Protection Agency administrator Stephen L. Johnson told the Associated Press

(Why do I think that Mr. Johnson is a neat-freak like Felix Ungar in “The Odd Couple”?)

Really, is any of this necessary? Is there an epidemic of garbage-looting drug fiends that I have somehow overlooked?

I did a quick Internet search on the problem of people taking drugs from trash. I got exactly zero hits.

This is not to say that it hasn’t happened somewhere, sometime. But if you were a junkie, would you rather root through a smelly dumpster in hopes of coming across a bottle of OxyContin, or throw a brick through a store window and grab something? That’s what I thought.

You’re probably thinking, “Flush ’em away.” Understandable, but wrong.

You see, “U.S. Geological Survey studies have shown that a wide range of pharmaceuticals and other compounds survive wastewater treatment and later are discharged into lakes, streams and other bodies of water across North America,” according to the AP article. And you’d better believe that some of these soggy drugs “may affect aquatic life.”

So don’t go that route, my friend. Circle of Life and all that.

Now, coffee grounds I could handle. I’ve heard they’re good for plant mulch, too.

But my experience with “used” cat litter is that it’s rather unpleasant. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would NOT WANT TO STAND OVER A STINKING HEAP OF IT GRINDING IN OLD PILLS.

Gee whiz, Mr. Bureaucrat, following these new guidelines will drive a lot of people crazy … which will make them need more drugs for anxiety or depression ... which will lead to more disposal problems … and more government guidelines.

Isn’t that how all this started?

Friday, February 16, 2007

Greetings from a friend overseas!

How can anybody be that dumb? I’m referring to the ol’ Nigerian investment scam that clogs your incoming e-mail every morning?

Who can actually be taken in by the oddly worded and patently phony requests to share millions of dollars … if you will only send back your bank account identification, Social Security number and a few other intensely personal pieces of information.

Incredibly, of course, it happens all the time. Somebody who’s either greedy or stupid — or both, usually — takes the bait and sends thousands of dollars overseas.

The latest sucker is, of all people, the treasurer of Alcona County, Michigan, one Thomas Katona according to the Associated Press

You would think that a person in that job would have enough sense to spot that hoax a mile away. Shoot, he’s even an accountant on the side.

It wasn’t enough. He lost $72,500 of his own money. His own bank even tried to warn him that he was stepping off a cliff, but he wouldn’t listen.

The bigger problem, however, is that he also apparently forked over $1.2 million of the taxpayers’ money. We’re talking eight separate wire transfers over a two-month period.

“You have to wonder how he could get involved in such a thing,” said Sheriff Doug Ellinger.

Good question, Doug. But why did voters keep electing Katona even though in 1998 he pleaded guilty to falsifying documents for his accounting clients?

I hate to sound like a nitpicking hairsplitter, but the words “fraud” and “county treasurer” really shouldn’t be in the same sentence.

Oh well, live and learn.

Before he was caught, Katona supposedly was telling people “that his train was coming in and he was going to be retiring very soon.”

Mr. K, the train was headed your way, but you were standing on the tracks and about to get flattened.

I wonder what kind of retirement programs are available in the Michigan Department of Corrections?

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Call of the wild

It’s one of those sad/bizarre stories you come across every few months: A deranged or misguided person goes to a zoo and gets into a cage with an animal … and gets killed.

Part of you is thinking, “Gee, that’s too bad.” And let’s be honest, part of you is thinking, “What did they think would happen? A Dr. Doolittle moment?”

The latest incident: A woman in northern Belgium got into a cage with cheetahs last weekend at the Olmense Zoo. Karen Aerts, 37, of Antwerp, was found dead on Monday, according to the Associated Press.

Police said they had ruled out foul play. (Good call, Inspector Clouseau!)

Aerts apparently was an animal lover. An extreme animal lover.

She had “adopted” one of the cheetahs in question — Bongo, for those who care — and even paid for the big cat’s food. She apparently hid out in the zoo after it closed on Sunday and found the keys to the cheetahs’ cage.

No problem — so far. The problem occurred with the statement issued by zoo spokesman Jan Libot.

“Karen loved animals. Unfortunately the cheetahs betrayed her trust.”

Huh? Betrayed her trust? Has Mr. Libot been cleaning out too many cages without proper ventilation?

The cheetahs did not “betray” anything. The bond that the confused woman apparently felt she shared with the cats existed only in her mind. The cheetahs were not her pets or her friends. They were wild animals — and predators at that, with claws and fangs. When she entered their cage, they reacted like wild animals.

Worse yet, an animal rights group called GAIA now wants the zoo to be closed, calling it unsafe for animals and visitors.

To be honest, I don’t know the zoo’s safety record. But I’m willing to go out on a limb here and venture that if you stay out of the critters’ cages … your chances of going home in one piece are probably pretty good.

Friday, February 09, 2007

Cut off

I forgot my cell phone the other day when I went to work. It was terrible; I felt like I was cut off from the world.

What if someone called me? What if I wanted to call them?

I couldn’t talk to them. I didn’t have my trusty little companion on my hip. I might as well have been on the dark side of the moon.

How did people cope with this isolation in the old days?

… OK, technically, I wasn’t completely cut off. I did have a land-line in my office. And the people I would want to call had a land-line at their home or job or, best of all, that omnipresent cell phone.

But it wasn’t the same. What if someone called when I was out of my office? I might not see that I missed a call for five or 10 minutes!

And what if I was walking to my car — or even driving. I wouldn’t be able to talk to them until I got home!

When I think of all the vital information I missed, I felt sick.

When I got home, I couldn’t wait to rush to my cell phone. At last, I could rejoin the human race and yak with people about Important Stuff all the time.

It had been a harrowing experience, but somehow I survived. Now I know what it’s like to be lost in the woods or marooned on a desert island.

Funny thing though: When I finally wrapped my trembling fingers around my beloved cell phone, something must have gone wrong. It said “no missed calls.”

How could that be?

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Fight or flight

There's a nasty war going on in Iraq. Some Americans support it. A bigger — and growing — number do not.

That’s fine. This is a free country, so you’re free to agree or disagree with what the president does.

Except for one class of citizens. That would be anybody in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force or Coast Guard.

They are all volunteers. They knew they wouldn’t be working for a flower shop or petting zoo. Even if they signed on to be cooks or clerks, they knew they would wear a uniform and train with guns.

Now mind you, they don’t have to like the war or George W. Bush. But if they are sent to Iraq — or Afghanistan or anywhere — they have to suck it up and go.

What they should not do is say, “Hold on; I just figured out I’m a conscientious objector to this war. Heck, maybe all wars, for that matter.”

If they truly believe those things, they’re remembering them a few months or few years too late. The time to figure all that out is before you volunteer to join the armed forces, not afterward.

One of these resisters is even an officer — First Lt. Ehren Watada, who refused to deploy to Iraq with the rest of the Second Infantry Division. His case is even weaker, precisely because he’s a commissioned officer.

Yes, there are times when a soldier can properly refuse an order. If he’s told to do something like shoot a civilian or torture a prisoner, it would be immoral if he didn’t disobey.

But those cases are extremely rare. Once you sign on the dotted line, you should realize that a lot of decisions about your life are out of your hands.

After a serviceman’s tour is up, he can go back to doing or saying whatever he wants about the war. Until then, shaddup and obey the commander in chief.

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