I suppose that is one of many ways to attempt and shed light on an evening that was full of New Year’s Eve freedom and frivolity, yet ended with a wretched encounter with a mad stranger who threatened to kill me and my family.

It is one those sudden circumstances that leaves you shocked, angry and beyond perplexed. But, ultimately, I have chosen relief. This wayward meeting could have ended in a multitude of ways that would have carried an unbearably negative outcome.

We did not know for sure that we would be able to go out for New Year’s until the afternoon of 12.31.10. When you have a two-year-old, you cannot really plan to do anything that does not involve the child – especially anything outside of the home. Thankfully, my in-laws live in St. Louis, which allows at least the possibility of a night out together from time to time. But many things have to fall in place for this to work, and often the effort required is not worth the hassle. So, we rarely go out together and usually our outings are individual experiences.

Everything lined up well for New Year’s Eve though, and we headed out to West County to drop off our little girl at her grandparent’s house around 915 p.m. She fell asleep on the drive as planned. We put her to bed, gathered ourselves and waited for my in-laws to get home so we could go to a house party in Dogtown. We were on our way at 10 p.m.

So far, so good. We found an elusive parking spot, and headed to the party. We did have an early mishap as we entered the wrong house! We walked into another party two houses before our actual destination as they had the same state of Missouri flag adorning their porch, which threw us off. But, they were all very cool and knew our friends, so it was not as awkward as one might expect. In fact, they ended up at the other party by night’s late end!

We found our friend’s house, and were delighted to see many familiar faces and friends. They had kegs of New Belgium beers, adult punch, an entire kitchen full of food and snacks, a roaring toasty fire outside and everything else to make this a fantastic party.

We drank, ate, laughed, talked and enjoyed the type of merriment that is very elusive these days for us to experience together. The night was racing by, and around 230 a.m. my wife expressed that we needed to head out as she was growing fatigued. No problem; we headed out.

About three minutes into our drive home, a car pulled up next to us with the driver, some guy, rolling his window down motioning at us. My first thought was that it was somebody we knew since we were still so close to the party. We were cautious, yet are always looking to help others, and we lowered our windows and inquired about what was up. He was on my side of our vehicle.

This dude immediately went into a panicked, rambling story about how he had been treated poorly from wherever it was he came from. He had been left or abandoned. A female acquaintance evidently had either not paid him proper attention, or left him … or something. He said he had a child (not with him). He was distraught, and could not believe he had been treated with such insensitivity, expressing “what is wrong with people.” And why would no one help him. And how could he be in this situation … how could this be happening to him … “how can people just do these things.” And so on and so on.

This was clearly and incredibly uncomfortable for us, and at this point we were just plain scared. I told my wife that I was going to kindly say goodbye and to get ready to drive off. I told him that we were very sorry for him, and to just be careful and try to take it easy and get home safely.

My wife drove off. This did not work as we had hoped. He came racing at us from behind, zipping alongside our vehicle until he had caught up with us. It is amazing he made no contact with our car as this was on a typically narrow St. Louis street and he was so close to sideswiping our vehicle. I kept expecting and hoping for someone else to drive onto this scene, just something to interrupt this impossible-to-handle scenario. He edged his car at an angle as to cut off our path. We were trapped from forward progress, and the thought of going in reverse was terrifying.

He expressed outrage that we had stopped listening and attempted to leave. Our attempts at reasoning with him were failing. We tuned in again to his sob story. My wife kept telling me to say, “I hear you. I understand how you feel.”

She had watched an episode of Oprah one time that dealt with these kinds of encounters, and that memory automatically surfaced. Meanwhile, I was watching his hands extremely closely for any signs of weapons, or motions that would indicate his intention to exit his black car.

I also had my hand on 911 on my phone. Needless to say, interacting with him, listening and maintaining a dialogue while thinking about our options at 3 a.m. was difficult. Plus, it was New Year’s at 3 a.m. and there was a reason I was not driving as I had enjoyed numerous cocktails and beers.

Thus guy was not in a proper state of mind, but we did not think he was crazy. It seemed to be a drug- and alcohol-induced madness, maybe even a psychedelic episode gone very badly. His ranting went on peculiar tangents and eventually arrived to a point where he was not listening to us any longer.

He asked us why we tried to leave, and I said we were fearful for our lives and it was just a natural reaction to a frightening encounter with a stranger that we simply thought needed help. He turned a very dark, ominous corner at this point after vacillating between distraught behavior and a threatening tone. Now it was dark.

He began to say he might hurt us, expressed an interest in not letting us out of this circumstance because of how people have treated him … then said he was going to kill us and our family. I managed to suppress my rage and not to do anything foolish. Our intuition told us he was not evil, just in the midst of a serious meltdown, an induced madness, though we had no way to know.

Once it got to this point, we wanted help. As we whispered below our breath about how to call 911 without him noticing, we decided to just sit quietly and wait his next move. I was guessing that a prolonged quiet would allow him a moment to gather his thoughts and see this situation in a new light. To see how drastic his actions were. We just sat there.

Just as we needed to somehow react, he sped off.

We are thankful this did not end worse, but like any major fright, there are some lingering feelings about how one’s safety and livelihood can be compromised at any given moment in life. Now that we are a mother and a father, these feelings are even more complex to sort through.

Of course, those first few months of unemployment were the most difficult, and, to some extent, worthy of some degree of compassion. But only because I had an eight-month-old baby at home when I lost my job, and I actually had really loved my position with Emmis Communications as Digital Brand Manager.

The fact that I was/am still young and very capable of working at an assortment of jobs, combined with a generous severance package and a wife that is employed full-time, made me feel hopeful for the future and not at all sorry for myself. I was not really in a bad position when I lost my job because I’ve always saved my money, was put into a position to be able and stay home and care for my daughter (an irreplaceable life experience!), and generally was not thrust into any serious hardship. Especially when compared to the millions of Americans that have been put into destitution over the past couple of years as a result of the prolonged misdirection of our country based on corporate greed and the false economy created by the PRE-Obama administrations.

My job loss was extremely emotional, but not a problem with my family’s livelihood. I’ve always said that to everyone. Still, it was not easy to handle. After a full year passed and I had not landed a full-time job, it was even more difficult to envision exactly what my family’s future had in store. I began my own sports radio show (on Sports Radio 1380) as an outlet for my own creativity and uniquely specialized interest and expertise, but it was not a method to assuage what I actually needed: a stable job and income.

In the 20 months since losing my job – because my company lost most of its advertising revenue – I have had countless thoughts about what the hell I need to do to land a job. That was my third lay off in eight years, and I was thriving at each of those three positions when I lost my job … at no fault on my part.

So, it may have taken 605 days, but I am now employed again in a stable, full-time position. I am particularly excited with my new position as Regional Sports Editor for St. Louis’ Patch.com network of web sites, because it will draw upon all of my abilities. I look forward to writing much more about this new endeavor as it unfolds. Wow … the future has arrived.

With that being said, I do not think I could be involved in sales full-time. In addition to trying to find suitable sponsors for my radio show, I am currently working for AOL to help them launch a vast network of community-based web sites (patch.com) around St. Louis. Though I should be moving into more of an editorial (writing/editing) role in the next few weeks, I’ll take whatever work I can find right now. So, I’m helping them complete their online business directories for these sites.

It’s not bad. I keep my own hours, and do everything independently. Much of this work involves taking and uploading digital images, and updating business information on the web sites. Flexible, manageable … and it’s work!

Unfortunately, much of the work I have been doing recently does not always pay, so these kinds of jobs and opportunities can be very helpful.

One aspect to this short-term venture is that I visit businesses to make sure I have their information correct, and to see if they want any input into how I present their directory web page (text, photos, etc.). It’s actually been relatively smooth, but I can tell when I first approach a business, they assume I am selling something. Their patch.com directory web page is FREE.

It takes a minute for them to realize I am no salesman. The fact I am wearing such casual clothing helps; and, I assume that I project very little sales “presence.” I’ve learned to mention that I am NOT selling anything, and this is a free deal right away. The few times the business representative made me feel like a salesman did not sit well with me. I’ve had a few moments recently during these business visits when all of a sudden I did not feel like myself. I’ve now adopted an approach where I just act like myself, tell them I’m a writer trying to get these web sites launched, and am helping out with the directories because I need the work and since I’m not selling anything, it is a good opportunity for some work.

People understand that. There is nothing wrong with those involved in sales, and, in fact, it is not only necessary but it always comes down to the authenticity and character of the person. Like in all aspects of business, there are people you like, and those you are not quite sure about. Sales exposes any artificial elements in certain personalities, and I’m sure most business owners pick up on this.

Between this web site work, and trying to convince people to sponsor my radio show for just a few bucks per week, I’ve experienced an increased glimpse into the world of sales. It is scary; the constant rejection, doubts, skepticism, dread and discouragement that traditional sales people experience on a daily basis has to be astonishing. It must be so difficult to operate knowing that only a fraction of your contacts will pan out in a positive way. It is also no surprise that this rejection and dejection is why so many sales people are depressed … and with the rough state of the US economy, this is a startling realization.

This is a very condensed version of a lengthy tale, but that is the point of a blog post. If I decide to write a book, I’ll let you know the details. I grew up in love with playing basketball from as far back as I can remember. The fact that I was really good at it helped, but when you play for hours a day you are destined to adapt a talent and ability for the game. I recall not being able to sleep the night before our morning league games … in fifth and sixth grade. These were games played before school, and though my body kind of felt like it was in slow motion at 7am it was still a thrill.

My junior high years started off a bit sluggish as my shyness prevented me from asserting myself, but once I moved to mid-Missouri (Lake of the Ozarks) for 8th grade I was becoming more confident – not socially, but with basketball. I played a key role for Eldon’s team in 8th grade, and when my family moved to Versailles my freshman year, I was intent on being a visibly talented basketball player.

When you find yourself in a new school, and don’t know anyone, it is helpful to have something to define who you are. I wanted be the best basketball player in the school. I led the JV in scoring as a freshman, though it was only about 12 points per game. Just as I hit my peak early in my sophomore season, playing major minutes for the varsity team (a rarity for a sophomore), I began to get lost. I was scoring double digits for the varsity, making over 50 percent of my 3s and becoming popular at school – perhaps the worst thing to happen to me.

All of sudden, I noticed that girls liked me, older kids wanted me to hang out and I actually knew about parties. It may sound like an after-school TV special, but it was my reality. I made it through that sophomore season, but I did not get much better at basketball. I was not even a prominent varsity player by the end of that season. All I cared about was girls. Girls, girls, girls. That set the stage for a very bad summer.

I chased girls and partied … and got into a LOT of trouble. However, none of that trouble really stuck. I went into my junior year still intent on playing hoops, and diving into all of these other recreational activities. I started off really well, scoring lots of points, drilling 3s and staying on the team. After nine games, the team seemed headed for a special season behind a fine group of senior players, and a few quality juniors like myself.

But … I kept indulging in various, misdirected late-night activities. It caught up with me. Busted! Big time. The list of what I had done wrong is lengthy, and I did not play another game in high school after that ninth game of my junior season. I still supported the team, as it won the district championship. I hung out in the locker room after wins, and was a huge cheerleader from the stands.

But, I did not stay straight the summer between my junior and senior seasons. I ran afoul of the law, and was not allowed to play my senior season. Ouch.

For the past 20 years, I have had recurring dreams (nightmares) about playing that senior season, maybe averaging 20 points per game, being named all-conference and setting all of the 3-point shooting records at Versailles … getting college scholarships. And, I could have done those things. It’s hard to let go sometimes, but after 3 or 4 of these dream cycles a week, it gets to be a bit much. That’s like 4,500 dreams dedicated to this issue.

Last weekend, I achieved resolution. Finally. My family went to Versailles’ annual Apple Festival, and I had made plans with the vice principal (and my ex-JV head coach) to play basketball early in the morning before the day’s events began. I woke up very eager, and was in the gym by 830am. I’m rarely awake and in motion before 9 … but I just wanted to do this so badly.

The gym was quiet. No one else was there. I went into the locker room, and changed under the 1990 District Champions sign. The year I should have led us to a state title. The locker room was the same. I went out on the court, and just felt free. I stretched, ran a few sprints, and started to shoot. I felt good. Really good!

I define my shooting by 3-pointers. Eventually, I was going to attempt my first 3 in 20 years at Versailles. I realized, after about 10 minutes, that I was stalling, and was plenty warmed up. I stepped behind the 3-point line and let one loose. Oh, no! It felt short. And it was … except after hitting the front of the rim, the ball went straight up into the air and came down and swished through the hoop. I almost cried. Almost.

I proceeded to make every conceivable shot and just generally had a great time. I am 37 years old, so I was tired rather quickly. I walked around the halls of the high school, seeing many of the same teacher names I knew. Lots of class photos. I changed in the locker room, took a deep breath and prepared to depart. I shot – and made – one last 3 to just hear the sound of the ball swish through the hoop (which is loud in an empty gym) … and pounded the basketball on the floor, listening to the resulting sound reverberate for a few seconds as I walked out.

I felt great about the experience, and got into my car to head back to my mom’s house to shower and get ready for a very special family day. I started the car, turned the XM station to The Grateful Dead channel … and it was playing a brilliant live version of Touch of Grey. I felt stunned. I looked into the car mirror, taking very particular notice of the grey hair in my beard. Well, at this point … I did cry. A joyous cry.

A really, really, really good year!

I am infatuated with the 70s, on many different levels. But my recent St. Louis radio show foray into the ABA and the Spirits of St. Louis has renewed this interest of mine. The ABA stories are riveting, quirky and relevant. STL’s team featured a cast of legends, yet in the end kind of whimpered out of town after the 1976 season. I’d love nothing more than to be able to go back experience those ABA days – kind of how I feel like about missing so many legendary Grateful Dead 70s and 80s concerts. Seeing those burnt orange, silver & black jersey at The Checkerdome would have rocked.

I’m just old enough to recall the 70s, but the decade concluded with me at just 6.5 years old and full of innocence. I do really appreciate all of the ABA and Spirits information provided at remembertheaba.com. This allows us to piece together the basketball puzzle that breezed through our city in the mid-70s.

To hear about what the crazy scene was like when the ABA was in St. Louis, you can listen to my interview with ex-ABA and NBA player Ron Boone right here.

Then, there is this great story: In 1974, the Carolina Cougars ABA franchise was purchased for $1.5 million by Daniel Silna and Ozzie Silna. The franchise moved to St. Louis and became the Spirits of St. Louis.

As I detailed on the radio show, this team was unpredictable yet armed with an abundance of talent. Marvin Barnes had several games of either 50+ points and/or 25+ rebounds. Early in Barnes’ rookie year with St. Louis, he bolted the Spirits and attempted to renegotiate his contract. Eventually, he was found in a bar/pool hall in Dayton, Ohio. Eventually, substance abuse and poor decisions led to his hoops demise.

In 1976, attendance was poor despite teams like New York (with Dr. J) and Denver (with rookie sensation David Thompson). In a convoluted series of dealings, the Spirits folded in 1976. In return for folding their team, the Spirits’ owners, Ozzie and Dan Silna, reached a famous agreement with the other remaining ABA owners. They obtained the rights to 1/7th of ALL future television money received by the surviving ABA teams (Denver, Indiana, New York and San Antonio) — in perpetuity. Basically, for as long as the NBA existed. It’s one of the most incredible things to ever occur in sports.

In the late 70s, the NBA’s contract with CBS was very little. But as the NBA’s popularity exploded in the 80s and 90s, the league’s television rights were sold to CBS (and then NBC), plus the TNT and TBS cable networks, for hundreds of millions of dollars. So …. over the past 25 years, the Silnas have collected approximately $100 million from the NBA, despite the fact that the Spirits never played an NBA game. The Silnas continue to receive checks from the NBA on a yearly basis, representing a 4/7 share of the television money that would normally go to any NBA franchise. Just amazing.

Though I love to party, my affinity for the night life is unrelated. In high school, I went to school until noon, then “worked” the rest of the day at Pizza Hut as part of a program for kids who needed to be employed. I hid from my high school the fact that I would go home and take an afternoon nap, then work from roughly 5 to 10 pm and stay up way too late afterward. Only to be exhausted by the next morning, where I’d repeat the same drill.

I was always late for school, and sometimes would sleep completely past classes. I could never wrap my mind around the fact that we were expected to be ready to learn and be attentive at 8am. It was like some cruel joke.

I was a smart and resourceful student, so I managed to always keep solid grades and made sure my absenteeism was not so excessive as to warrant extreme punishment. Plus, I had friends like Jennifer Rouse who would write my “mom” notes if I needed an excusable absence (that my actual mom would NOT have approved of!).

Throughout college, I managed to always keep my classes to 1040am or later – after my first year. I had to battle through two straight semesters of a 940 Italian class. That was hard, since I managed to get through high school without ever having a single foreign language lesson. Not even an uno, dos, tres … Eventually, I discovered the best legal drug our country has – strong coffee. All good. Bring it on, college.

I’ve worked some periodic early shifts in the 12 years since I graduated from Missouri (Columbia). But it was not until 2005 that I had a traditional 9 to 5 commitment … but the fact I was working for Emmis Communications (KSHE 95 and KHITS 96) meant I was in a rock ‘n ‘roll environment, having a ton of fun and could rely on being excused for coming in late – as long as I kept working my ass off into the evening as needed and taking care of business. Eventually, I had to leave Emmis because of layoffs, just as we had a baby at home.

So, that is what has been on mind as I stay up too late once again. I love the solitude of night, the quiet, the rain and thunder, sometimes the crazed partying if desired, the flow of consciousness, the romance, the stillness … and just being very involved in the moment. And lots of TV!

Being a night guy helped when we had a baby who only slept for a couple hours at a time for about five months! I still sucked at early morning help, but rocked the late shift.

It is a tempting path when trying to control one’s fate, and an altruistic approach to life and work. In that regard, I am abundantly fulfilled at having my own basketball radio show on the airwaves in an extremely historical, relevant and brilliant city such as St. Louis. It is pretty damn awesome.

Looking back five months ago, I may not have been as ready for this new endeavor as is typically required but I learn fast and now am quite comfortable talking live on the air, and hosting and producing St. Louis’ first and only NBA-themed radio show. But the path that brought me to this reality is convoluted, crazy and still somewhat turbulent.

I can honestly say that I am doing professionally what I want to do more than anything. But there is a major flaw I am currently trying to address. It has nothing to do with my work habits, dedication, enthusiasm, knowledge, radio show production, technical abilities or quality of programming. It’s money, damnit! What a nagging flaw …

I am so intensely involved and dedicated to this radio show, that when I hear a good show, or even a quality segment or two, it provides me with a significant boost of energy and joy. I receive a genuine sense of buoyancy. That is why I am doing it. I have written about sports for almost 20 years, covered multiple professional sports, been in locker rooms, figuratively rubbed elbows with and interviewed some of the greatest writers and athletes of our generation … yet, none of that is even close to fulfilling when compared to bringing St. Louis’ first pro basketball-themed radio show to the local air waves.

I realize there are not tens of thousands of people tuned in and paying attention. But just reaching those people who do appreciate what I am doing is incredibly valuable to me. I took a HUGE gamble in purchasing my own radio time to make this happen. I have zero guarantees. I have had off and on success with finding sponsors, but I can definitely say the sponsors I have worked with have been exceptional and of the highest quality.

This summer is the basketball offseason, so it is not a time to expect a surge in sponsorship. My goal is to break even until hoops season re-surfaces – that seems in jeopardy over the next few weeks. Which brings me back to that idealistic notion of making one’s dreams come to reality, and just allowing the positive vibrations to flow in that wake. Perhaps, it is true. I am not a true salesman, but am counting on hard work and honesty to carry me to where I plan to go.

But, right now, I am working very hard to keep doing what I truly want to do. And I am paying the (literal) price. I hope to find some support soon to prove that I have a very effective business model lined up, and am a good business partner that is in a prime position to make things happen. So, if I have to struggle during this process, so be it. It’s unfortunate, but giving up is even a more regrettable fate.

It would have been very understandable if she had been scared of: the crowds, the sand, the waves, the water, the ocean’s seemingly infinite qualities … but it was all good. Thankfully.

It is always an extremely trying and maddening experience to fly, and I really do not enjoy the related hassle. I don’t mind airports, and even can handle airplanes – but everything involved with getting from my house to the airplane, and the inverse of that from my destination, pretty much sucks.

As for Daytona Beach, it is awesome for us because of its proximity to Orlando and Gainesville, Florida where my wife’s siblings live. This includes our daughter’s six cousins, so seeing her interact with them is really what this trip was all about. Yet another reminder that despite all of the hassle, frustration and hard work involved with travel, it is worth it simply because the associated family memories cannot occur otherwise.

That is not to say that when such a large family gathering does occur, there is not an abundance of bickering. That is always a strange paradox for me since I did not grow up in a large family. The mixture of fun and conflict is presumably typical in large families, but takes a bit to get used to.

Certainly, seeing the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean in the morning from your hotel suite on the 29th floor is quite a memory. And the simple purity of playing in the sand, walking the beach at sunset and not having to drive anywhere to do what you want to do is an idealistic way to pass a weekend. For me, when I had prolonged moments to myself, just combining my favorite songs on my iPod with the ocean views and moonlight was a spectacular memory. Namely, The Grateful Dead’s performance of So Many Roads from 10.1.94 in Boston.

To be honest, I am not much of a fan of Florida nor Daytona Beach. But it is not difficult to enjoy my time when there, and the ocean possesses an irreplaceable quality that I will always enjoy. To share that with family is pretty cool.

Plus, the people watching in Daytona is off the charts!

Once this event occurs, I’ll dive deeper into its related significance. It is an intensely personal subject with unlimited depth. But it involves my pure love of the game, desire to revisit my teen years and high school experience, to put a positive ending on a negative outcome, and finally reconcile something that has haunted me for two decades.

I loved playing basketball as a kid, and fortunately was pretty good at it. I ended up down at the Lake of the Ozarks by the time I was a freshman, and at that time had begun attending school in a little town called Versailles, which was about 10 miles from the water where I lived. My graduating class had 65 people.

I did well as a freshman, leading the junior varsity in scoring at around 10 points per game. Now, this is the late 1980s, so I’m thankful to my late grandma Doolittle for keeping such a great scrap book of these events, as otherwise they essentially would have went undocumented. My sophomore season, I performed well at first, and saw a lot of varsity minutes, which was unusual at my school for a sophomore. My specialty was 3-point shooting.

However, I started to become a bit distracted around the age of 16. Typical kind of a deal when a shy guy/athlete starts to gain some popularity. I vacillated between JV and varsity the last part of that sophomore season, and went into my junior season as a starter. But, my wayward spiral was imminent at this point, and I lasted only about 10 games before getting the boot for disciplinary reasons. I found myself in major trouble since I was 17 by this point, and not a juvenile as defined by our legal system. The stories related to this are best saved for another time.

Now, that team my junior season actually became a district champion in my absence, and I’ll always wonder if I could have pushed them deeper into the postseason. But, my point here is that I made some mistakes as a teen and it really took away from my basketball experiences in high school, which was something I had worked toward for my entire childhood.

Obviously, when I have the opportunity, I tell kids to realize how precious these years are and if you mess up like I did, you do not get a second chance. Schools tend to be strict with extracurricular activities, which is kind of a Catch-22 because taking away basketball only made me rebel even more – too much time on my hands – before getting things turned around. But … the reason I bring this experience up is because just this week I reached out to my JV head coach at Versailles. It was a great email exchange, and he is going to let me shoot around at my high school gym. The last time I was in that place was for my high school graduation in 1991. So … I am beyond excited about this. Not to be corny or melodramatic, but I’ve wanted to do this for many years to kind of complete things for myself. To not recall my mistakes, but to walk off that court feeling good about things. To really re-connect with my younger self.

Basketball is incredibly important to me, as is my radio show, so I just wanted to share that story. Not only do I love to watch, read and listen to all things hoops-related, but I use the sport as a means to stay active, and play alone 2 or 3 times a week around St. Louis. By the way, if you know of a great place, indoor or outdoor, to play around town, drop me a line. I’d be thrilled to mention my personal favorites.

Anytime a pull-over does not result in an arrest, that is a victory of sorts … and if you can get out with no papers being handed to you, it is a total win. I did not win this round.

When I am actually not doing anything wrong (in my mind), then it leaves only a feeling of being perplexed at being pulled over. I was driving home from Maplewood this past Monday night, and noticed a police car sitting in the shadows in a clandestine fashion. I was cruising down Manchester, just before Hanley Road, and looked down to see I was traveling right at 40 miles per hour. All good, so I thought. However, as I kept my eye on this police car it was clear he had pulled onto Manchester pretty quickly after I passed his car.

No way, I thought to myself! What the f*ck?! I felt a surge of anxiety mixed with anger as I took a right on Hanley, not to avoid the cop but to see if he was following me. I can get home this way anyway. He turned. I knew this was for real!

I felt panicked, like I should try to escape. Having a fear of police cars and the individuals who drive them made me irrational for one or two seconds before I slowed down in anticipation of my pull over. I scanned my scene. I had just left Shop ‘n Save to grab a few items, and, of course, had an 18-pack of Bud Select on my passenger seat.

Yet, since I was sober (legally sober, had ONE Bud draft while watching the Cardinals’ ninth inning to wrap up a big win over the Reds) and the beer in the car was unopened, I had nothing to hide. As I pulled over, I slid my seat belt on – I should wear my belt anyway, my bad there – popped in a breath mint and put the beer on the floor, in a less prominent spot. I grabbed my license from my wallet and my insurance card from my glove box. All set.

But … oh, no! A sports bar cup in my drink holder! I like the cups used at The Post Sports Bar & Grill, and occasionally keep one to take home. I was not sure if the cup was TOTALLY empty, so I put it under the driver’s seat while being pulled over. Whatever liquid that was in there would now have to be cleaned up very soon. Oh joy! … Then, I hoped that did not make my car smell like beer. It was the right move, though. Had to do it.

After making 12 quick decisions in 48 seconds, I sat in my car and awaited my fate. If the speed limit was 30 and not 35 then that explains this situation, I figured. An extremely lame excuse for pulling someone over on a slow Monday night, but at least it is an explanation. So, I sat in my driver’s seat, somewhat rattled, (empty) beer cup hidden, an 18-pack of beer easily visible, documents ready … and a big bag of chopped walnuts now in my passenger seat (preparing for a new pesto recipe).

“Do you know why I pulled you over,” Mr. Authority says. “I saw you, looked down and saw 40 or 41, so thought I was fine. But I assume that’s why you pulled me over,” I replied. “I did not think I was speeding.”

Blah, blah, blah … he comes back with a ticket. “Oh, man!” I replied in a defeated tone. “Well, thanks for being very quick about it.” I started a brief conversation, then realized he was scoping my car and using stalling tactics.

“I’m very late now in getting my two-year-old, but thanks again for being brief.”

He was looking for something, but I was clearly sober and articulate and went home … though pissed off.

Looking back at all of the things I have done, to get hassled and ticketed for driving for 41 freakin’ miles per hour is just stupid. If should at least feel like speeding if it is. What a waste of my money, our tax resources and valuable police time. Little traffic, no schools near, too late at night for kids to be out walking … if someone is blazing down Manchester at 51 mph, well ok. But this was a straight-out money grab. Speeding is a real offense, but only in the proper context. Not 41 mph on a quiet night on a quiet road away from children and pedestrians. Maybe … a warning. Maybe.

Police are there to respond to calls, respond to problems and patrol our streets and keep them safe. But, not for this crap. Not these days, not in St. Louis. A Honda Civic driving 41 miles per hour down Manchester should not even get the attention of the police. Somewhere close, there were real crimes happening. With victims.

So … now I am back to being a paranoid driver and am likely to cancel many social plans so I am not in a position to have to drive home. Plus, I have to deal with the legal racket, where you pay a lawyer money to make the ticket magically disappear. Money grab! And I was having such a great night up until then. Still have not made my walnut pesto.