So I'm sitting at the bar at what used to be known as "The Happiest Little Place On Earth" early yesterday evening when I turn around and spot the venerable Paul Tagliabue standing right behind me. Having grown up in Southern California and having never been bitten by the celebrity bug, I naturally felt no compulsion to acknowledge his prescience. After all this is the man that presides over the great-quarterbackless, "Playmakers"-trashing, McNabb-overrating, can't-untuck-your-jerseying, where-have-you-gone-Roger Staubaching N.F.L. What to do? Should I act like one of those autograph-seeking a******s commonly seen on "Celebrities Uncensored" or ignore the man altogether? I know it's the football press and present members that vote for the Pro Football Hall of Fame but I've got to figure he has some influence as to who gets in and Cliff Harris has been consistently ignored over the years. He must have the power to release full-game broadcasts of old N.F.L. games to the terribly disappointing "ESPN Classic". He can, I'm thinking, loosen the reins on a policy that fines a player if his socks aren't pulled all the way up. He is one of the people who desperately wants an N.F.L. team here in L.A. which would ruin my ability to view double headers on Sundays and perhaps force my beloved U.S.C. Trojans to play a full season at Dodger Stadium. Isn't that where Mike Marshall played and didn't he used to date one of the Go Go's? As I'm sitting at the bar all of this hits me and I realize how much this man has and can affect my sorry little life. So I did what most people would do in my situation. I said "Hey, Paul Tagliabue, how you doing?" shook his hand, turned around and continued to consume my Early Times and Seven-Up. Also, I took a really good dump this morning.Mr. Cairns, I would expect nothing less from you.
December 08, 2003
I do get letters...an ornery "drinkin' buddy" of mine, who's somewhere to the right of Dennis Prager, writes: