SIXTY'S THE NEW FORTY, YOU KNOW

I never knew what that meant. Pink's the new brown. Sixty's the new forty. Pink is pink, brown is brown, and 60 well, it's defining. And it's not 40.

I have to make a couple of phone calls today. To two of my best buds who are turning 60 this weekend. My best man turned that dreaded number last month. I didn't have the heart to call him.

I mean we had trouble turning 30. We of the generation that was told not to trust anyone over 30. Now we have reached or are fast approaching double that number.

Another good friend is coming today to our fair city for a few weeks. He likes to "do up" Scottsdale, so we'll have Mexican food complete with mariachi band tonight. He's going to the Gun Club tomorrow for some shoot-em-ups. And Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday we'll play golf.

We're already lamenting playing 3 days in a row. Riding in golf carts. Eighteen holes only. Are you kidding me? This is the same guy who used to wait for me to get finished teaching Summer School at noon. In Southern Illinois. Then we'd take off for 18 or 27 holes. We'd walk them. With a gym towel over our heads. And we had a ball. By the way, we did that 5 days a week. We usually sprung for golf carts on Saturday only.

I think he's already reached that age milestone. The one that I said defines. But I'm not saying what that defines. You see, I'm a full 6 months away, so what would I really know about those guys in another decade. Meanwhile, I'll bask in the 50-somethings. But that carousel's going 'round. Way too fast.

THEY DOES BITE, MR. STAHL, THEY DOES BITE

A week ago they played a golf tourney in Tucson. Tiger won, of course. He's dominated the sport like no other individual has dominated a sport since Babe Ruth. I mean one year Babe hit more home runs than some teams, if I'm not mistaken.

Anyway(s), a friend of mine vacations in Tucson for part of the Winter. An avid golfer and golf course worker, he has been a marshall for the tournament for a few years now. His 15 minutes of fame came on the Saturday round.

When he asked a golfer, Justin Leonard, I believe, if he needed a rope moved in order to hit his ball that had snuggled next to it. Since it was added to the course for spectator restraint and was man-made, he could move it without penalty. When Dick moved it, he got into a cholla or jumping jack cactus(not pictured) that left its needles in his hand and arm.

TV covered the carnage. When one of Dick's sons saw the close up on TV he knew it was his father's hand because of the watch and ring. It must have shown another view, because friends of Mr. Stahl reported it. "Did you see Dick on TV? Silly guy got into a cactus, and the cameras showed him with needles in his arm."

Other cactuses have brushed against my hands, legs, arms, feet, and neck. And, yes, they bite. Fortunately no cholla has gotten me, but I've heard about them. They say it's best to comb the needles out rather than pick them. They picked at Mr. Stahl's. But what do they know--they're from Tucson.

Next Winter, I'd suggest Florida for the Stahls. Or at least Scottsdale. We know how to remove stickers.

IT SMILED IN CARMI, ILLINOIS

The Fickle Finger of Fate Award that used to be offered on Laugh-In. (I know, it's my second entry from that tv show this week.)

A former student of mine, unable to find a teaching job in her field, took a job as a high school Special Ed. teacher's aide in Carmi, Illinois. A farming community located on the Illinois/Indiana state line, it is a town known mainly for its delicious watermelons grown there. Until L.L. got there.

Supplied with little training in Special Education, she arrived at the high school eager to get into the classroom. As an aide to a veteran teacher, she could learn a lot.

She was armed with a notepad and pen to write down what she observed. During one of the first weeks of the new school year, a student went postal ( I hate to have to use that term, but I can't spell bisserk closely enough to get my spell check to correct me) and started yelling and "pitchin' a fit", as they say in Southern Illinois. Curse words were flying, directed at the teacher.

L.L. had to interrupt,"Is that with a c or a k?" she pondered over her pen and pad.

It diffused the situation as both student and teacher erupted in laughter over the question. And while the incident occurred a few years ago, for it, Lindsay Lee is awarded the Fickle Finger of Fate Award 2008.

WE HARDLY KNEW 'YE

I've long admired Brett Favre. I've long wondered why his name wasn't pronounced Fav-re, but hey, he's from the South and I'm from Southern Illinois; sometimes we don't say things the way that others do. We'd never add an r to idea, for instance. I also liked to play the Packers in the all-too-few-heydays (or is it haydays) of the St. Louis Rams. It seems like Kurt Warner could beat Brett pretty handily.

But this is not to bash the Packers or Mr. Favre. Both are class acts. But had I not had a heads up from Packer buddy Ryan P., and had I just turned on a sports channel, I'd have thought Favre passed away. I thought Heath Ledger got a lot of press. Wow! It was all over the news/sports channels all day. More than any retired player that I've ever seen.

It made me think about the old SNL newscast with Chevy Chase announcing that Generalisimo Franco is still dead. They must have run that for two months. And, yes, I laughed every time. Even when I knew it was coming. So, that being said, yes, Brett Favre still is retired after quarterbacking the Packers for 17 years and 160 wins.

No one saw the retirement coming. But we all heard about it. Now discussions begin about who was the greatest quarterback ever. As Cardinal broadcaster Mike Shannon used to say about different players, "If he's not the best, he's amongst them."

When it comes to Favre, I'd agree. Now, can we move on. Please.

HE'S OUTTA HERE!!

What good news in the morning paper. At least the on-line edition of St. Louis Today where I get my bi-daily dosage of Midwest sports that I can't seem to wean myself from. Even in lean Rams and Cardinals seasons, like 2007.

And I'm talking baseball, not the free agent signings of Brown and Bell by the Rams. Good start Blue and Gold, but pick it up before all the decent ones are signed with other teams.

No, my bit of good news, in fact great news, is that Joe Buck will not be announcing Cardinal games this season! For the first time since 1960 there will be no Buck in the booth. But I'd say since Jack's passing, there's been no bang for the Buck. Or the Buck stopped there.

Joe has long been a resentment to me. I won't belabor my dislike for him, but I will explain. He got too big for St. Louis. And what he did was go East Coast. When the Cardinals were playing a game where the viewers weren't Midwesterners, Joe went Broadway Joe. He'd favor the other team, selling out his own Redbirds. Time after time. While I understand the necessity of not being a homer on a national broadcast, you don't have to run down your team and never, ever say anything unfavorable about your opponent.

That's what Joe was to me. A redcoat instead of a died in the red wool Cardinal fan. His father was a class act in every sense. He announced national games; he wasn't a homer; but he never forgot his roots.

Little Joe must have taken after the other side of the family. I knew Jack Buck: Joe was no Jack.

EASTER IS EARLY

Someone told me that it's rare when Easter comes and Lent falls in the week of St.Patrick's Day. I really don't know what that means, but I'm guessing one is supposed to avoid alcohol during Lent. Something about Fat Tuesday.

Since my only celebration of St. Patty's Day is wearing green so I won't get pinched, it doesn't mean much to me. Even though I'm Irish and it should. Actually I think I should wear orange since I come from Irish Protestamt stock, but I'm not sure if that color prefernce is accurate. I'm just glad things have settled down in Ireland. It's a great country with great Irish stew. You'd have to ask someone else about green beer and corn beef, though I ate the best pastrami on rye at the Downtown Deli in Phoenix last week. So I don't know if that counts or not. Probably not.

But Peeps were part of our Easter celebration. A purist, I liked the yellow ones best, followed by the white ones. Had I taken a spoon and dipped it into the sugar bowl, I probably would have gotten the same effects. Hard boiled eggs, dyed Easter eggs, Easter baskets, green Easter grass, Sunrise Easter Service, setting up extra chairs in the aisles for church service were all part of Easter. Traveling back from Florida after Spring Break was another Easter memory. Working the Holiday Inn Easter Buffet was a part of our last MTV years that became a tradition as well.

And, of course, singing at church. "He Lives," "He Arose," and other hymns mark the greatest religious holiday on the calendar. Good Friday church services, Palm Sunday, yup, lots of great memories about family and God. I know, Easter is three short weeks away. But it's time to stock up on Paas egg dye, and yes, Peeps. But don't overdo the Peeps, and if Lays didn't already have the saying, I'd suggest it for Peeps,"bet you can't eat just one".