Quite the Lap Dog

Al Davis

Sam, former World's Ugliest Dog Winner

I'm just sayin'.

Fun Dip

The Fun Dip Lik-A-Stik maybe the greatest tool invented by man.

I discovered as much along the first-base line of the southeastern-most Little League field at Yucaipa Elementary School when I was a lad of 10. I was in minor league ball, and I had real stirrups on my socks and the number 8 on my back.

And a couple of quarters in my paw.

Not enough for a rainbow snow cone, but enough for a bag of Shock Tarts or Bottlecaps, maybe a carton of Nerds (as long as I ate them before I got in the car). Good options all, but with a wrinkle-free blue sky, a double-header sweep and the promise of an afternoon of the brothers Mario, today was a day for taking chances.

"One of these," said I. "Please."

My first foray into Fun-Dippin'.

I must have sat there for an hour until I realized that, short of dumping the packet of candy powder into my mouth, I had to give the Lik-A-Stik an initial lik to begin successful candy-mining enjoyment.

In my memories, Fun Dip (or Lik-M-Aid) came with only one Lik-A-Stik (read: lick a stick). This made it the perfect candy for a cautious kid who hated to share food for fear of germs. The only way you were getting any of my treat was to beg for the the nasty spit-glued clumps clinging to the bottom folds of the pouch.

Somewhere along the line, or maybe they always had it, a second stik was added, along with another pouch of candy blow (maybe this was the 75-cent premium version). Kids were always trying to swipe that second stik. I told them in no uncertain terms that were they to place one grubby, glue covered finger on my Lik-A-Stik it would only be after wresting it from my cold, dead hand.

See, I found early on that the Lik-A-Stik was the true piece de resistance of the Fun Dip concoction. I would scrape all my candy powder with one stik (three pouches, senor) and then savor the last unadulterated stik. There was something magical about that chalky, pregnancy test-looking (not that I'd know) candy stik. It was earth-shattering to my elementary school self. The candy stik was the Milk-Bone to my dog. It was the exclamation point to my rudimentary between-meals. It was the delicious hyphen of my "pre-teen" years.

An hour ago I ambled downstairs to the student center mini-mart. I sought a drink but gained a childhood staple. I took my now-99 cent package, folded it into thirds, dumped it in my pocket and nonchalantly walked to the office.

I fished out the first stik and deftly exhausted pouch one: Grape-YUMPTIOUS Dip. In my impatience for the next flavor I left a thin line of purple-colored sugar in the bottom of the pouch. Carefully, deliberately I ripped open pouch two. Tunneling deeply, I unearthed a mountain of Cherry-YUM-Diddly Dip that cascaded onto my lap in transit from pouch to mouth. Only crumbles a deeper shade of red remained in the pouch. RazzApple MAGIC Dip beckoned.

And there it still sits, pregnant with a blue candy powder that apparently changes flavor post dip. I'd moved to focus on my old friend Lik-A-Stik. One side was greatly diminished from the wear and tear of Fun Dippin', but the holding side was full and warm. Delicious.

And I've still got another to go.

Steal The Man

Almost 50 and Rickey Henderson still owns it.

The Hall of Fame-lock wasn't about to give up the foul ball he snagged at AT&T Park on Monday. Can't say I blame him. I've probably attended 40-50 MLB games and I have yet to snag one. I've had a player at spring training toss me a BP ball, and I've found a practice puck under my seat at a hockey game, but I have yet to get my hands on a batted game ball.

On that fateful day when I finally reel one in, some kid will have to pry it from my cold, dead hand to get it from me.

Book it.