Where do I start? Let me count the words. In last week’s “I Say” column, Robert “Don’t you dare call me Bob” Minch apparently ran out of interesting topics to write about. While admittedly a Johnny who has come as a historian and columnist lately, I’ve been around long enough to know that it is difficult, if not impossible, to fill a 1000-word column with relevant and interesting information. . If you don’t believe me, read one of Robert’s columns and you’ll know what I’m talking about.
Make no mistake, I have great respect for Mr. Minch. It’s been doing the same thing longer than most of us have been alive. As the dean of the 13 prominent local columnists, Mr. Minch not only has the right, he has an obligation to mentor us when we fail to meet the literary standards he produces week after weekâ¦ after week; month after monthâ¦ after month; year after yearâ¦ after year.
I’ve only been writing my column for five or six years. If my calculations are correct (it usually isn’t), I wrote about 300 columns. If you’re stupid, bored, and old, you can actually read my drivel sometimes. If you read my column, you already know that I pride myself on not writing about politics, religion, or anything important to humanity.
As an exceptional athlete, one of my favorite subjects has been from time to time to share with my loyal fan base my extraordinary accomplishments in various sporting contexts.
In fact, I began to realize my potential as an exceptional athlete from my days in Little League Baseball. While I didn’t make it into the All-Star squad, I’m sure it was due to some sort of political decision on the part of the morons tasked with selecting the team.
Either way, I’m proud of my participation and accomplishments as a Little League player and coach, and I may have written a column or two detailing my involvement.
While the response from the masses to my Little League exploits has been overwhelmingly positive, Mr. Minch has more than once made fun of me for wasting words on such a meaningless subject.
While a landlord could retaliate tit-for-tat by pointing out that I haven’t once belittled Mr. Minch for writing about his alleged skills in the brutal game of tennis (or is it the badminton), I have always taken the high road, because every man should have the right to feel good about himself, regardless of the importance of his favorite sport. I think it’s tennis, but maybe it’s badminton.
I even tried to emulate Mr. Minch while chatting with my Labrador retriever, Clancy. Robert often writes that his Bull Mastiff, Jazz, gives him advice and asks serious questions; stuff like that.
Last week I asked Clancy who she thinks could be appointed to replace Steve Chamblin as county supervisor. Clancy looked at me from his overpriced dog bed, drooled a bit, rolled over and farted. Unlike the dog in Minch Jazz, my dog ââClancy is dumb as a rock.
I even sometimes thought of using Minch’s tactic of throwing a joke at the end of his column to complete his 1,000-word attribution; but frankly, I have more integrity than that. Regurgitating someone else’s humor in order to look good is simply not true.
In his last column, Robert proudly wrote, âI make my own breakfast. A monumental achievement, indeed. He goes on to write: âMost men don’t know how to cook anyway. Get someone to do it and they’ll come up with a TV dinner or maybe some Bud’s Jolly Kone hot dogs, and think their performance matters. He concludes with: âThe next time you see the author of ‘William Tells’ confront him with the fact that he is guilty of domestic violence in this regard. TTT … TTT. “
My question, Robert, is how the hell I got involved in your breakfast discussion. FYI, I also make my breakfast. In fact, if breakfast is to cook an egg, fried, scrambled, poached or whatever, I’m as good as they come.
As for lunch and dinner, I am fortunate to be married to an excellent cook who enjoys cooking not only for myself but for others as well. You stay in your kitchen and I’ll stay in mine, and other than that, hot dogs? Everyone knows Bud’s go-to dish consists of tacos, burgers, and the best milkshakes in town.
As if that weren’t enough, in his very next three-point offer, Robert writes, âSpeaking of William, he recently remembered Gene Penne and the good old days at Red Bluff, but didn’t credit the full source of his information, which he received from Gene Penne’s daughter, Susan, which spoke of a letter she found in her late father’s files in which the old days told that Gene and HK Kyler were the best dancers in town and even the humorous rendition of “BM” on my bass drum which I played dance jobs. Credit where credit is due, William. I had written the letter.
On the contrary “BM”, I did indeed give credit to the complete source of my information, because at the time when Susan sent me the letter, she believed and reported that her father had written it. It was only later that she realized that you were the author. Having said that, having this written, I would say that no matter who wrote the letter, the most important thing is that the letter describes a moment in your life and that of Gene that you will fondly remember forever.
Perhaps more importantly, Robert’s disparaging remarks, however ill-informed, provided me with material to end a column of over 1,000 words. TTT … TTT.
Happy Wednesday everyone.
Bill Cornelius is a longtime Red Bluff resident, retired chief probation officer, state theater champion and outstanding athlete. He can be contacted at [email protected]