And With The Fourth Pick, The Cincinnati Bengals Take...Harrison Ford

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Today’s column is going to be short and sweet because my neighbor and good friend, Jm. J. Bullock, has invited me to a clambake at his weekend retreat in Monterey. And if you know Jm. J. like I do, you know his clambakes are always a wild shindig. Not many women there, but fun nonetheless. If I remember the last one correctly, Loni Anderson took on David Crosby in an oyster eating contest. And Loni won! God, she is really put together, people.

But let’s get to the sports. Everybody is getting all hyped up for the draft this weekend. Who’s going number one is the question on everybody’s mind. Will Cleveland take Courtney Brown or Lavar Arrington? Will the Jets trade their four first-round picks for Cleveland’s number one? Well, if you want my opinion, we’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Here’s a little tip to Cincinnati. Draft Harry Ford with that fourth pick. He may not be a great football player, but he sure can put fans back in the seats.

I was almost drafted once. Uncle Sam wanted to stop the Reds from taking over Korea. Which presented a problem for The Showman. I was 18 and my career was just getting underway. My first agent, Benny Schwartzsteinberg, advised me that being sent to bomb the 33rd parallel wouldn’t be a great career move. Fortunately, he was the cousin of the head of the Minnesota draft board. So I went into my local draft office, crooned a few bars and was declared 4F faster then you can say "Kim Il Sung". The official reason? Flat feet. But it was really because Uncle Sam knew I could serve my country better behind a microphone than a machine gun turret.

Baseball fans may have noticed that the Kansas City Royals swept the Baltimore Orioles in a three game series this week. Nothing out of the ordinary until you consider the payroll of the Orioles is about three times that of the boys from the Dairy State. Which just goes to show you, money isn’t everything. They say money can’t buy happiness, but try telling that to a guy with $100,000 and a three-day weekend in Vegas. If that guy ain’t having fun by Monday, check him for a pulse.

The hockey playoffs are underway. I tried to watch a little of the games last night, but the only thing I like on ice is Johnnie Walker Red.

Well, I’m outta here. I have to go pack for this weekend. On the way up to Jm. J’s wingding, I’m playing at Pebble with my regular foursome. Me, Andy Richter, Nancy Sinatra and Liz Taylor’s fourth husband. We’ll put a little money down on the match, as long The Showman gets three strokes a side. But let me warn you folks, if you ever catch yourself in a foursome with Nancy, she’s a hell of a sandbagger. And if you catch yourself in a threesome with her, you’re a luckier man than I.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman