Celebrate good times, but keep your pants on

We all know who Paul Hogan is by now. And thanks to Paul Hogan, we all know that the America’s Cup is not the athletic protector sponsored by the Dallas Cowboys.

ey, Paul—throw this on the barbie. The Cup is ours[[ex]] now. We’re number one! Wheeee! Yabba dabba doo! You know you make me wanna SHOUT kick my heels up and ….

I know what you’re saying right now. But you’re wrong—I haven’t had too many bowls of Lucky Charms. Like the rest of the country, I’m celebrating. I feel like forming a band and singing “Celebration” at weddings and funerals all across America.

It doesn’t matter that I didn’t even know the races were being held this past week in Australia, or in “the land of down underwear” as they call it. I was oblivious until my goofy roommate put on ESPN at 3 a.m. and we saw a couple of boats bobbing on the screen. I think they were boats.

“This is it!” Bradley cried. “We’re winning. We are winning!” All I could say was, “Why don’t they use motors?”

But now I celebrate. And do you know why I celebrate? Basically to be a snot. I couldn’t care less about the whole deal. I imagine winning a boat race is a great thing, but I’ve seen “Ordinary People” too many times to try sailing myself.

each over and wake up the guy sitting next to you. He’s missing the lecture and he’s about to miss the point of this week’s column. The point is: sharp. Dang, that’s a pretty mean gash I’ve got here.

If you’re 5-foot-3 and not laughing, that was a 5-4 joke to you. Either that or you’re just a real drag.

The point is this: I support the Gastineau Rule, the law in the NFL that prohibits excessive displays of emotion of the premeditated, phony or hallucinogenic variety. I think this rule can be applied to life. Pull up a chair, kids, and I’ll explain.

This is where Mr. Rogers would break into song.

I’ll draw an illustration for those of you here at NIU who have ever taken a test. Let’s say you get a test back and you see an “F” scrawled at the top. You’re upset, or at least you should be.

Then you see that guy who you don’t know personally but hate anyway because he dresses stupid and asks dumb questions when the bell is ringing. He’s standing there with a hysterical grin on his face saying “Yes! Yes!” You walk over, kick sand in his face and grab his paper. He got an “A.”

Let’s try another illustration. It’s colder than a witch’s elbow, and you’re waiting for the bus. When it finally comes, it’s filled to the rim, and not with Brim.

There’s only room for a few more riders, and you don’t make it. As the bus drives away, everyone on board starts singing “Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey GOODBYE!” Your body is found after the first thaw of spring.

Still don’t get it, Boy Wonder? Try this. You go to grab the last Ding Dong and you see your roommate eating it. When he smiles at you, he’s got chocolate caked all over his teeth. When he laughs, pieces fly out of his mouth ….

I hated to do that, but you kids never listen to me unless I get out the belt.

The Gastineau Rule has been examined by a Congressional subcommittee. It was the subject of a lengthy book by the late John Steinbeck. National Geographic will feature it next month on PBS. So don’t tell me it doesn’t apply to life.

Next time you win one of life’s little victories, or even one of those little-big victories, remember how you felt when you saw Phil McConkey catch that garbage touchdown in this year’s alleged “Super Bowl.” Walter Payton didn’t get a single point in 1986, and this clown got to dance around like someone with leg cramps.

Admit it. You wanted to kill him.

Stay young, keep your wheels in motion. But don’t run over anyone else.

Unless, of course, it’s Friday.