A fool for a lawyer

To be sure, it was a non-moving violation, but I'd be damned if I was going to pay a fat fine because of a tire that went flat when it was 20 below.

My truck was hobbled by a slow leak, and when after a few days I went out to assess the situation I peeled a ticket off the frozen windshield. One of South St. Paul's finest had tagged me for violating the city's 21-hour parking rule. (Never mind that before the flat my truck had been parked in exactly the same spot for two straight weeks.)

The ticket said I could mail in the amount specified on the attached chart (not attached) or appear in court to defend myself. With the facts on my side and cash on the line that was a no-brainer. My court date was set for three days after the NCAA championship.

By the way, wasn't that a thrilling game? It's been years since we enjoyed a final like that. Cat called it "ridonkulous," and it was. Just that afternoon I had stumbled on a Sports Illustrated article about the unusual offense John Calipari had installed at Memphis, and this gave the game an additional layer of interest.

Still, for all the talk about the Tigers' firepower I thought the game turned on Bill Self's defensive calls. When Kansas went to the junk—box-and-one, triangle-and-two—in the second half, Memphis was on its heels for far longer than an elite team should be, giving the Jayhawks time to close the gap.

Speaking of defense, back to my case: A helpful sheriff’s deputy pointed me to traffic court at the shiny new government center. (My previous trip, some 10 years earlier, had been to South St. Paul's dingy 60's-era City Hall. My case having been called immediately following a third-time cocaine offender's, the judge took one look at my cherubic face and waived the fine.) When I pushed through the double doors I saw approximately one-fourth of the county's population waiting to plead its case. Who knew so many people had driver's licenses?

I thought about how Kansas had managed the clock that Monday night, repeatedly stopping the clock to send the nation's third-worst free throw shooting team to the line. Memphis, on the other hand, did a reverse Chris Webber, refusing to foul or call time out as the clock wound down and giving Kansas room to maneuver. Mario Chalmers's three-pointer put the game into overtime. Manage the clock.

At 7:57 a.m. a bailiff appeared and announced that court would soon be in session. He instructed everyone to sign in once they entered the courtroom. Cases would be called, he said, in random order: Just because your name is near the top of the list doesn't mean you'll be called sooner than someone whose name appears lower. Doing a quick head count and estimating five minutes per case, I put my best chance at appearing before Hizzoner at somewhere between 4:00 p.m. and next Tuesday. I decided to work the officials.

Clutching my citation I marched up to the woman behind the service counter and said, "How much?" She took my ticket and said, "Twenty-nine dollars."

"That's all?" Much less than I expected.

"It's a non-moving violation," she said.

"I had a flat tire," I said. "I didn't fix it in time."

She gave me a save-it-for-the-judge look.

"I have three children under five," I said. I know how to talk to women. "Sometimes it takes me a while to get to things."

"Did you want to pay?"

"I own my own business. Have to work late a lot. It was very cold that week. Yeah, I guess so. Check okay?"

"Checks are fine." She tapped on her keyboard and I reached for my checkbook.

"It's a very steep hill, where I park," I said. "Kind of awkward to jack the truck up right there. Anyway, it was like twenty below that week. Funny thing is, I actually went to pump up the tire but someone had stolen my air compressor. Right out of my garage. Can you believe that? Make it out to whom?"

"Dakota County," she said.

"I mean, that's something, isn't it? The police write me a ticket because of a flat tire, and meanwhile some crook steals my air compressor out of my garage. Where was Joe Friday then, huh?" I smiled at her. She was older than me but clearly didn't get the "Dragnet" reference.

"Does this go on my record or anything?" I asked.

"It's a non-moving violation," she said. "No."

"Will my insurance go up?"

"Non-moving violation. No."

Court had begun and most of those who decided to plead their case had filed in. The waiting room was nearly empty. I took my receipt and walked out, satisfied that while I hadn't quite beaten The Man I'd gotten to settle and plead my case.

And a smarter, more flexible Kansas team had beaten Memphis in overtime for the national championship. It was a good week.

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It had not been a good Saturday previously. Watching the Tarheels go down 28 to Kansas in the semifinals had put me and a few loved ones in a serious funk. In the end, though, at least one bounced back with the news that she had won the St. John's Hoops Al McGuire Memorial Final Four Contest. This year's winner is:

Carolyn Carpenter!

Carolyn (UNC, class of '88) absolutely trounced the field, and will take home this year's prize: An autographed picture of Tarheel coach Roy Williams and a copy of To Hate Like This Is to Be Happy Forever: A Thoroughly Obsessive, Intermittently Uplifting, and Occasionally Unbiased Account of the Duke-North Carolina Basketball Rivalry. Congratulations, doll.

A shout-out to the shut-outs in this year's contest: My five-year-old nephew Sam and sister-in-law Audrey Schroeder both finished with zero points. Audrey once again handicapped herself by selecting teams that were not in the tournament. Better luck next year, Sis.

If you've read this far, then you must be interested to know: We are playing at St. John's tomorrow, and tip off at 8:000 a.m. Please let me know if you will or will not be there.

We get letters

Time to check the mailbag! These might be actual e-mails from actual readers.

Steve,

I clicked on one of the band links [in last week's post] and was surprised to see that the station doing this bracket is none other than Philly's own WMMR! A mainstay of my youth, mostly classic rock but not as creaky and repetitive as rival WYSP. I think they're more "hard rock" now, which explains some of the unlikely contenders (Incubus? Evanescence??).

Local loyalties would also explain how Bon Jovi beats R.E.M. Otherwise, there is no explanation. I am at a total loss to explain Genesis—80s Genesis!!—beating, well, anybody, let alone U2, arguably the most important band of the 80s. De gustibus non est disputandum. Of course, Led Zeppelin will win the whole thing, and should.

—Rob E., Richfield, Minn.

Dear Rob,

If San Diego played Connecticut 10 times, the Huskies would surely win nine games. The tenth is called an upset, and there's no reason it shouldn't happen with bands, too. Nine times out of ten I'd rather hear "Where the Streets Have No Name," but every once in a while, just at that moment, I really would rather hear "Follow You, Follow Me." Maybe even a little Mike and the Mechanics.

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Steve,

I'm sending a rebate request. Ten bucks. To a seemingly fictional place called Young America, Minnesota. So where the heck is Young America?

BTW, I'm not sure any $10 rebate is worth the effort. You're down $0.39 just for doing it, then it takes an inordinate amount of time to comply with the rules of the game (UPC symbol, cash register receipt). And then, those Young Americans, like my 16-month-old, who loses the UPC symbol under the desk causing me to search frantically for it, thus raising my blood pressure and causing me to need a drink (beer: $2.50), followed by loss of productivity (incalculable, as my productivity ebbs and flows as it is), and the cost of the envelope and ink. I may have just spent $300 bucks for this $10.

—Phil S., Oakland, Calif.

Dear Phil,

That's a hell of a run-on sentence. But to your question: Everyone who grew up on the northern plains knows exactly where Young America is. It's right next to Norwood. How do we know this? Because for years we sat by our radios on snowy mornings listening to WCCO's Boone and Erickson intone, "Norwood-Young America, two hours late, no morning kindergarten." If Norwood-Young America, about 100 miles due south of Lake Wobegon, wasn't closed due to snow then Twin Cities schools probably wouldn't be, either.

Norwood-Young America is fixed in a Twin Citian's mind—if not on an actual map—alongside Dassel-Cokato, Lonsdale, Green Isle, Lester Prairie and dozens of other towns. All, one hoped, CLOSED, as Charlie Boone would say with finality.

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Steve,

Details of "The Office" spinoff, from the same creative team, are being kept under wraps, but it will include some cast members, premiere after the Super Bowl, and then follow "The Office" on Thursdays in February.

—Tom K., Minneapolis, Minn.

Dear Tom,

Shark alert?

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Steve,

This morning I made some coffee and went to the refrigerator for some half-and-half. The "best if used by" date was March 10, so I thought I should smell it before pouring into the coffee. It was just turning sour, so I thought about it, but decided not to use it. If it had been for cereal, I might have used it—for that tangy flavor like sourdough bread.

Anyway, from March 10 to March 29 is 19 days, so, if you want to be on the safe side, you could probably go two weeks past the expiration date and you'd still be fine.

—Paul B., St. Paul, Minn.

Dear Paul,

On a related note, I ate lunch at Culver's the other day. I ordered a tuna melt. It came ice cold. When I sent it back the assistant manager told me they have to make them that way because "if you eat warm mayonnaise you could get sick."

"No you can't!" I thundered, loud enough that several diners looked over. I proceeded to challenge his misconception about the dangers of warm mayonnaise, explaining the difference between fresh mayo that's been heated and tainted mayo. "You put mayo on your hot hamburgers, don't you? You ever eat hot dish? It's a third warm mayo!" He held his ground, though, saying he had to do it by the book. "Fine, I said. Then change your menu. This is tuna salad on toast, not a tuna melt."

Still annoyed two hours after lunch I called the store manager. "I had a bizarre exchange with one of your employees today," I said.

"Was it about the tuna melt?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I get more calls about that sandwich..."

The manager sympathized but said he'd have to keep making the tuna melts according to Culver's standards, which were no doubt put together with considerable input from the lawyers, but he agreed to buy me lunch next time I'm in.

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Dear Steve,

What's the definition of "boobdoggle"?

—Callan C., Austin, Tex.

Callan,

Thanks for asking. It's an all-expenses-paid trip to the cosmetic surgeon. During work hours.

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Dear Steve,

Hoops this weekend?

—A. Playah, St. Paul, Minn.

Dear Playah,

Wouldn't miss it. Saturday morning, 8:00 a.m., as usual. Please let me know if you will or will not be there.