Old Coot calls for a penalty flag. Article #1085 -Published June 19, 2024

 The Old Coot calls for a foul.

By merlin lessler

 When an infraction is committed in a football game, the ref throws a yellow flag. When the coach thinks the ref made a bad call, he throws a red flag, asking for a review. In soccer it’s not a flag, but a yellow card for “excessive” fouling of another player. Do it again and a red card comes out and the player goes out. In basketball, the ref blows a whistle. We need to employ these techniques in non-sporting events. Gatherings of families and friends. When the bickering starts to heat up, the ref throws a yellow flag, halts the conversation before it gets out of control.

 This would be especially productive at a Thanksgiving gathering, where red and blue political people are thrown together. When the bickering starts, the host or hostess should present a yellow card, blow a whistle or throw a yellow flag, to stop the escalation. And, introduce a more friendly topic of discussion. If one of the bickering pair starts up again, they get shown a red card and put in exile at the children’s table in the next room.  

 This process would also come in handy when a group of married couples get together and the “Bickersons” start to pick apart each other’s statements. (She) - “Billy Jones ran through my flower bed.” (He) – “No, it wasn’t; it was the Watson kid!” (She) – “IT WAS BILLY JONES!!!” one more back & forth and the ref blows the whistle. Everybody laughs, and the temperature of the bickering couple cools down. Besides, nobody cares if it was Billy or the Watson kid. Just tell the group what happened to the flower garden.

 If you witnessed a table of old coots under these rules, you’d hear a lot of whistles and see a lot of red and yellow flags thrown about. But the bickering with them isn’t between participants; it’s self-bickering, an old coot stuck on a name that he can’t retrieve from the fog in his brain. He gets angry at himself, and yells, “What was it. Darn; it’s right on the tip of my tongue, blah blah!”  Flags, whistles and cards would make the world a better place. Especially the one I live in.

The Old Coot knows why, Article #1084 published June 12, 2024

 The Old Coot knows why.

By Merlin Lessler

 Why is there no cure for the common cold? That miserable, life sucking ailment that lays you low once a year, or so, if you’re lucky. More often, if you are around or have little kids that bring the “gift” home from nursery, or regular school. This is the age-old question, for which the medical science industry stays mute.

 For the answer – all you have to do is take a stroll down the cold medicine aisle in any drug store. It’s a long lane, well packed with pricey, cold remedies. Day pills, night pills, pills to make you cough, pills to stop you from coughing, throat soothers, sinus ache relievers, and an endless list of promised relief. Why would any industry seek to cure what brings in so much cash from the shoppers of this aisle of voodoo.

 So, we cough, we hack, we drip, we ache and we buy the promise of relief that lines the aisle. The most extensive assortment in the store. Here is where I shift into “the good old days.” You are forewarned of the journey that will follow. But, back then, mom got out the Vicks, rubbed it on our chest and neck, brought out the cough syrup (that did, by the way, contain a narcotic) and sent us off to school. The cold virus burned its way through the classroom, eventually the whole building, and then sputtered out. Teachers weren’t immune, but rarely became infected. Probably because they stayed away from us at their desk or the blackboard at the front of the room, a good ten feet from the first row of hackers and sneezers.

 I have to stop here. I’m headed to the drug store to the “aisle” of gloom. You’ve probably figured out; I have a cold. And worse, I passed it along to my wife.    

 Comments? – Complaints?  Send to mlessler7@gmail.com 

The Old Coot is bottle opener challenged. Article # 1083 (published 06/05/2024)

 The Old Coot is a second-rate opener.

By Merlin Lessler

 I was struggling to get the cap off a plastic water bottle the other day. You’d think it would be a simple task. All you have to do is, grip the bottle and twist off the cap. But, it’s not so easy, because plastic bottle material is so thin, that when you grasp it, it squishes in half and looks like an hourglass. If you’re an old coot, it’s hard to get a firm grip on the tiny cap. You squeeze harder and harder on the bottle and twist as hard as you can on the cap. So hard, that the hidden vein in your forehead makes an appearance, as if to ask, “What’s going on?” When the cap finally breaks loose, the water erupts from the bottle, like Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park.

 That’s why I get my water from the tap. I miss the good old beverage container days. When the bottle was made of glass and topped with a metal, fluted, cork lined cap. Sure, you needed a can opener (church key) to open it, but they came free with a beverage purchase. Or, you could use the built-in opener in coke machine, which were located all over the place. Most of the time we didn’t need any of that stuff; the jack-knives we carried in our pockets had a bottle opener blade.  

 Some of the caps had a surprise under the cork lining, if you had the patience and took the time to scrape it off. You might find a dollar sign, entitling you to a free soda. Or an ace, king, queen, jack or ten card. When you collected a royal flush, you won a special prize. Most often, you found a message that said, “You will be thirsty again in one hour.” Those cork lined, metal fluted caps, were in use from 1892 until 1960. You would think I’d have gotten over it by now, and I would have, if I didn’t get a shower every time I opened a cheap, thin, plastic water bottle.

 Comments? – Send to mlessler7@gmail.com