WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!

Mike Price attended Washington State in the 1960's, and spent two seasons on the football team, coached by Bert Clark. Price then transferred to the University of Puget Sound, where he finished up his college career.

This means that the last time a Cougar alumnus was hired as head football coach at WSU was 1989 when Price succeeded Dennis Erickson. That's nearly nineteen years before the hiring of Paul Wulff. So close. Everyone mised it by only four decades.

Normally, I wouldn't make a big deal out of something like this, but what's the use of having a blog if you can't vent a little?

Wulff is a good coach and recruiter. His years at EWU bear that out. But these days, that's not enough in Pullman. Somehow, many of the Cougar faithful have gotten it into their heads that each season must end with a bowl game. It sems like only this will appease the Cyber-Cougs... Mind you, none of them would actually log onto Travelocity and buy themselves a trip to said bowl game, but it would shut them up for several months.

Too many have forgotten that to be a Cougar fan means to relish the role of the underdog. Too many have forgotten that even the most-loved coaches in WSU history would not have a good bowl percentage---even with the glut of holiday games we have today.

Jim Sweeney coached eight WSU seasons, and only once did he have a winning record. Jim Walden coached nine years with two winning seasons.

The Cyber-Cougs are already griping about the hire of Wulff. They wanted a sexier hire---someone who will come in, win immediately...and then move on. Yes they would move on, because big time schools looking for good young coaches realize what the Cyber-Cougs do not: That anyone who can put together winning seasons in Pullman is one heck of a recruiter, and a very desirable coach.

Paul Wulff will have his growing pains, but he will win. Be nice to him Cyber-Cougs, and when those big name programs start calling his name, maybe he'll stay.

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--There are no right-off-the-highway coffee stands between Spokane and Colfax. Somebody could make a killing.

--Jim Rome (sports radio guy) is an egomaniacal bufoon.

--The best thing about cruise control is that it allows you to scratch your right without slowing down.

--With all these hawks circling and diving in the fields, I'll bet a lot of mice won't be going home tonight.

--I see giant new power poles just south of the Spokane line, and running northwest-southeast... I wonder if it goes all the way to Grand Coulee Dam.

--Colfax is a pretty cool town, but that Codger Pole is a sore subject with me. (Long story)

--I haven't played the Colfax golf course in about 20 years.

--I've seen some nasty crashes on this road.

--I wonder if somebody finally bought that boat that sitting in the field across from the John Deere dealership, or if the owner just gave up after two years.

--Julie takes an awful lot of crap from Dennis

--I wonder if Paul Allen ever ate at the Cougar Country Drive In when he was a W-S-U student.

There's plenty more. But those are some of the highlights.

And when your child plays a sport, you get caught in the fundraising game. Each team sells something to raise money. Our daughter's Soccer team is selling car wash tickets at ten dollars a pop, and our other daughter's volleyball team is selling a 2 for 1 pizza card for 20 dollars. So we're thirty dollars down right out of the gate, but it doesn't end there... Not even close.

Since Dan's parents bought one of the pizza cards, it's only right that we buy one of the entertainment books he's selling for the football team. And since Lindsey's mom and dad bought two car wash tickets, well, how can we not purchase the wrapping paper that Lindsey's big sister is selling for the cheer squad? Twenty five dollars.

It used to be so much easier when everyone sold "World's Finest Chocolate." Every family ended up with a gross of candy bars, but they were only two bucks apiece. Your only choice was with almonds, or without. Those were the days. We'd watch each other get fat all winter.

Education just isn't what it used to be.

Now, for the past four years, I've been very happy with my driver, Big Red, as he is known at our house. I refer to him as a person because when I purchased Big Red and started striping drives down the middle of the fairway, I informed my two daughters that they now had a little brother---and that he was close to achieving equal status in my will. I treat Big Red better than I treat my power tools.

So on hole number nine, I pull out the square-headed driver for a comparison. First I hit my "counting" shot with Big Red; an arcing beauty that came to rest in the short grass about 90 yards from the green. "That's gonna be tough to beat," I said. And my two playing partners agreed.

But out comes mister square head, a strange looking club with a paint job that's not nearly as polished as Big Red. As I stood over the ball, and looked down at the square-shaped piece of metal about to hit it, I thought, "I'm about to hit this Titleist with a Wendy's double burger---hold the cheese and lettuce." When I connected, it made a hollow sound---much like a coffee can being hit by a rock. But that sound was immediately followed by the voices of my playing partners: "Whoa!"

That Titleist cut through the air like a scream. When it stopped rolling, it was a good 25 yards beyond my first ball. Same swing, same ball, different club. I hit one longer on number ten, and then on number 14, I cranked one longer than I ever have on that par five. I felt so guilty because Big Red was being ignored. How could I do this to my buddy?

So now I have a decision to make: Do I remain faithful to my lifelong pal, Big Red, or do I forsake my longtime companion for a burger-shaped interloper---just for a few more yards off the tee?

And yet another dilemma: How do I explain to my daughters that their new sister Wendy will soon be joining the family, and that their little brother is moving to the garage?

Like most people, I have my set routes. From home to work, I take the same path every day. From work to the coffee stand, the route never varies. I play golf at several courses around Spokane, and you can track my route to each of those by the ruts I've worn in the road.

This summer, however, road construction has affected many of my favorite shortcuts, and I've had to take the long way around. It's been entertaining.

My detours have taken me through a neighborhood where a brother and sister have been capitalizing on the increased traffic by operating a lemonade stand. Since the weather turned hot, they've been making a killing at fifty cents a cup. By the end of the summer, they might have enough cash to pay for all of next year's roadwork.

I've been keeping my eye on another home where the owners like to leave things for sale on their front lawn. Over the past few weeks they have unloaded a kitchen table, a very 80s-looking entertainment center, and a tub and shower enclosure. If a rolling tool chest shows up there, I'm all over it.

And then there is a young couple, early twenties, that sits at the same bus stop at the same time every morning. They normally sit so close together that, from a distance, it's hard to tell if it's one person or two. I've seen them engage in displays of affection that would never make the cut in a Disney movie, and other times they simply hold hands. Until the past few days, they seemed to be very much in love. But recently, I can tell, they haven't been getting along. They now sit far enough apart that, betwen them, I can make out four digits of the phone number printed on the bus bench. And there has been no hand-holding to bridge that widening gap. I don't know what happened between them, but I hope they can work it out. But I may never know.

As the road projects wrap up, I'm getting back to my normal routes. I know I will miss my new friends. My curiosity is almost enough to make me continue taking the long way, but the price of gasoline easily trumps my nosy nature.

Every once in a while, though, I think I'll swing by the perpetual yard sale---just in case one of those tool chests appears.

But the one that's cracked me up for years now, is when people mistake me for a certain guy who works at another Spokane TV station:

"Hey Dan," or "How's it goin' Dan-o?" they'll ask. Then they'll inquire about my (Dan's) family, or ask me why I don't have more than six questions... They're always a little embarrassed when I set them straight, but really, there's no need to be. It turns out the same thing happens to Dan.

Dan and I were playing golf one day a few years ago. We compared notes and discovered that this mistaken identity thing was happening to each of us as often as once a week. People like to ask Dan how he's able to work so well with his wife. I advised him to be very careful about how he answers that question—not for my sake, but for his.

These days I'm noticing that more people are calling me Dan while I'm wearing a cap. That's because, for the past several years, my hair has been turning steadily gray, while Dan's hair has maintained its mostly-dark hue. The next time we play golf, I'm going to ask Dan about this disparity, and I know what he'll say: “You're the one who works with his wife.”

I’m sure everyone at work thinks I simply celebrated hard last night before entering the next decade, and that’s okay with me. It sounds a little more youthful and vibrant than the reality---I just felt like crap.
Actually I have no problem with being fifty, other than saying it out loud. But one thing blows me away:
When I started working at KXLY, I was 25.

I’ve spent half my life in one place.

Three years was the plan. Three years in Spokane, and then on to work in my hometown—Seattle. But here I am, with a beautiful wife, two daughters, and a mortgage anchoring me firmly in Spokane. Unlike many in broadcasting, I’m having trouble finding the bad in that.

In my business, people are constantly on the move---presumably upward. I’ve watched dozens of my colleagues play this leapfrog game. To Portland, then Seattle… Maybe Chicago or San Francisco after that. There is a lot more money to be made in those bigger cities. But the ones who are looking for happiness, wind up leaving the business, or leapfrogging backwards a city or two.

Over a quarter century, my perspective has changed. I believe now that I actually stuck to that plan from 25 years ago. I am living and working in my hometown---Spokane, Washington. I’m not sure when, but at some point, I started telling people that I grew up in Seattle, but I'm from Spokane.

Today I want to amend that. I spent my childhood in Seattle, but I grew up in Spokane---my hometown.

One of the items I “rush ordered” on the 17th of April just arrived (May 31st). And I’ve received e-mail notification that another “rush order” should be arriving in the next day or two.

Whatever.

My biggest issue now, is that I have a box full of As-Seen-On-TV junk that I’m sure we’ll never use, and I don’t feel like waiting for Volunteers of America to call and ask if we have reusable items to donate.

I do know someone who’s getting married in a few weeks, and maybe… No, they probably saw the story on the news, in which case I’d be labeled as something much worse than a re-gifter. I’d be an expense account gifter, and a cheap one at that.

There’s only one thing to do. Next week, I’m taking that big box of items, which are “not available in stores,” and I’m going to set it out in the KXLY newsroom. (Except the Bug Zapper—I’m keeping that). I’ll place it on the same table where people often place donuts in the morning. This is tantamount to saying, “Come and get it!”

They won’t last long.

So, if you’ve been thinking about ordering the Go Duster for $19.99, or The Dryer Balls for $9.99, you will have a chance to get these items much cheaper. Just wait until next spring when Mark Peterson or Melissa Luck holds a yard sale.

You’ll save shipping and handling charges too.

My wife Teresa and I sat down at the KXLY anchor desk nearly two hours ealier than usual for Good Morning Northwest Sunday. With no scripts, and no idea what was going to happen, we went on the air. We had very little information about what had happened: A sniper had opened fire in downtown Moscow, Idaho, and people
--including police officers-- were hurt. it was 5:15 a.m.

We did not get up from that desk until 9:45 a.m. But as the new information continued to roll in, the time just flew by. When we finally wrapped up the broadcast and stood for the first time in four and a half hours, it was not a good feeling. Three people were confirmed dead--including a Moscow cop.

Teresa and I drove straight from work to church.---It's where we always are on a Sunday morning at 10:30.
As we walked to our car after mass, a few people asked us questions about the Moscow shootings. At that point, we had very few answers, and it's not something I really wanted to talk about. But one friend approached us saying her family had been watching. She said her ten year old son had pointed us out during mass and asked, “How do they do that?”

What he meant was, how do they show up on TV every Sunday, and then show up at church a short time later, like normal people... But on this particular Sunday, that question kept coming back to me with a much more profound meaning.

“How do they do that?”

I guess I answer that with another question:

How does anyone do it?

The guy I was sitting with got a big kick out of watching me take that picture. "Only in Spokane," he laughed. But he was laughing louder when I told him the story of how I've acheived near-rock-star status in Japan.

Okay...that's a slight exaggeration, but it's a good story.

In December of 1988, I was in Honolulu covering the Washington State Cougars' trip to the Aloha Bowl. We were staying at the team hotel--the Waikiki Sheraton. Several days before the game, I hopped into the elevator for a ride to the top floor. Already in the elevator car were three Japanese tourists, and Cougar All American lineman Mike Utley.

Utley and I spoke briefly about his taped appearance that night on the Bob Hope Christmas special on NBC. (Hope always invited the AP All Americans to appear on this show.) Utley lumbered off the elevator a couple of floors below my stop, and the tourists and I continued the ride. The three of them were talking excitedly about something.

As we all got off on the same floor, one of them ---the one who spoke the best english, I assume-- tapped me on the shoulder and said, "He...a......big...guy."

"Yes," I said, "he's a football player for Washington State..." In spite of my best football pantomime, they weren't getting it. "He's playing in the Aloha Bowl on Christmas..." When I did the hula pantomime, their looks of confusion turned to looks of worry. I had one last chance to save it.

"He was on television tonight with Bob Hope...." That did it.

"Ahhhh! Bob Hope!" They said it almost in unison, nodding vigorously, and smiling at each other. One of them even pantomimed a golf swing. And then they got out their cameras.

We posed in groups of two and in groups of three, and I was in every shot. Once we had shot all possible combinations, I was directed to stand in front of the elevator for several more single shots. Then they left... Without so much as a "Domo arigato."

I felt slightly used.

My eyes were still blurry from all the flashes, but I watched them walk down the hall---all talking at the same time about who-knows-what. I did hear Bob Hope's name mentioned several more times, and I'm pretty sure one of them said "Bing Crosby."

So who was I? When those three guys got home and started sharing their vacation snapshots, and telling their story about a brush with fame---who was I? And who was that "big guy" they never got a shot of?

I like to think that somehere in Japan, people are still looking at those photos and pointing to me as a close personal friend of Bob Hope. Maybe Mike Utley was a bodyguard.

I do know that I'm a part of a fun story they like to tell. And I can say the same about them.

I wish I'd had a camera.

But this "literal" statement only works if there is a figurative counterpart. I've never heard anyone say figuratively, "My home fell into the ocean."

Maybe it's a Canadian thing.

And I just now changed the channel to cable news in time to see the same video. This time the news anchor told me to stay tuned because they were going to show us why some Canadian residents are "Literally on the brink of disaster." Now, with a home sitting on the edge of a cliff, and the earth eroding underneath, that is indeed literally on the brink.

Nice to see somone get it right every once in a while.

With Bloomsday registration still hovering around 45-50 thousand, I'm wondering why we don't see as many people training on the roads. I guess there are a lot of answers. Workout machines like treadmills, Stairmasters, and elipticals provide a pretty good aerobic workout, and also cut down the risk of injury. People are using these at health clubs, or in their homes.

Bloomsday founder Don Kardong had a couple of observations when I spoke with him a few weeks ago. He says that people are doing more cross training---not just roadwork. He says they will cycle, swim, or do other workouts.
Kardong also says that, after more than 30 years, Bloomsday has become more of an annual celebration, and less of a serious race.

There are still the elite runners, and plenty of local Bloomies running for time, but more and more people are just strolling through the seven and-a-half mile course, listening to the live bands along the way, laughing, and enjoying themselves.

Here's what I know: This is my 25th Bloomsday. I've never trained, I've never entered. But I haven't missed a one since 1983. There may be fewer "trainers" on the road, but I know they will be there in a few weeks. I too will be on the course again the first Sunday in May---and loving it.

A TV news reporter in Seattle told us that, "Gasoline prices are literally going through the roof." Boy...that's good news for everyone who owns a roofing business.

As I was driving home from Seattle, a Spokane radio announcer told me that, "Easter is literally around the corner."
Imagine my disappointment when I drove around the next corner and Easter was nowhere to be found.