It was the kind of call that reminded me of the old days. My phone rang this morning, and the caller was someone who was either too bashful or too far gone to give me his name. For all I know, the guy has both long-term and short-term memory problems, and couldn't remember who he is or was. Maybe a buzzer goes off when he tries to leave wherever he lives. Anyway, the jackoff evidently quit taking his medicine and quit playing with himself long enough to start discussing a football matter with me. Just when he began making some sense, I asked a second time what his name was. Unfortunately, there was complete silence from his end of the phone. I guess the stuff he's regularly doing with himself not only can cause blindness, but also can rob him of his ability to speak. I think he'd better see his urologist, his throat doctor and his shrink as soon as possible. Maybe one of those uniformed guys in a county office would be interested in chatting with him. It's too bad he didn't identify himself because, actually, he didn't come across as a complete nutcase in what he was saying. Like I said earlier, the conversation I had with him reminded me of lots of calls we used to get in the old days at the paper--usually when it was 11 p.m. in the bars. Plenty of the world's problems were solved with those calls. Actually, I'm pretty sure I've talked a couple of times earlier with the guy who called today. What the doesn't realize is that there are ways these days to trace the identities and phone numbers of people who think they're making anonymous phone calls. Now that I know who he is, hopefully he'll call again very soon so we can continue our conversation about football. Then we'll be on a first-name basis. There's nothing I like better than talking football with a guy like that on a Sunday.