2004 off to a resounding start

by David Grand
January 29, 2004

Darn, if the beginning of this year's session of the General Assembly doesn't resemble a repeat performance of last year's donnybrook, with the only difference being that this time around the line in the sand has been drawn so deep you'd need a plank to cross it.

And unless Bullish Bob "higher taxes over my dead body" Ehrlich and Mighty Mike "I ain't budging an inch on slots without 'em" Busch (not to be confused with "Mighty Mouse") can find a middle ground on which to agree this session it will be known ever after as the "gridest" gridlock one of all times, with the counties and taxpayers bearing the brunt of it. And the session might as well be adjourned now if they can't reach an accord instead of dragging it out to April. But that's highly unlikely, considering that the legislators are getting a hefty raise this year and would have trouble explaining to the folks back home what they did to earn their pay by packing it in so early.

But then again, I'm one of those who believes in "never saying never" to any problem no matter how impossible finding a solution may seem to be. For example, I never thought I'd see the day when President Reagan and Gorbachev, representing such diverse worlds and ideologies, would develop the close, personal relationship as they did in fulfilling their mutual desire to put an end to the Cold War. Or that Nixon, the arch foe of Communism, would be the one to "build the bridge" with China, beginning with his meeting with Premier Chou En-lia in 1972- "his finest hour."

In doing a little brainstorming the other night (after my dogs had retired for the evening) to see if I could come up with a possible solution for breaking up the log jam over slots, I was struck, like a bolt of lighting out of the blue, with a ingenious idea that was so simple it's a wonder no one else had thought of it.

What would be a more appropriate way to break up that log jam than by having a logrolling contest between those two warring Titans to determine whose position on slots will prevail? It could be held in the Bay on a warmer weekend so as to guarantee a large turnout and maximum media coverage. And to help offset the $700 million budget deficit this year, tickets to the event could be sold for a nominal price of $100 for waterside seats, $75 for general admission and $150 for boaters wanting to view the showdown up close.

The same ground rules (or better said, water rules) as were followed by the lumberjacks who originated the sport of logrolling would apply: they'd have to hop on a log (not be boosted on by any of their aids) and face each other, hard as that may be for them to do when their teeth are chattering from the icy winds.

At the sound of a cap gun being fired by Senate president Mike Miller, they would then commence trying to maneuver the log as fast as they can in either direction until one of them falls into the water. Any use of the hands or feet to cause their opponent to lose his balance will result in an immediate disqualification, as well as holding the fallen person's head underwater, and wearing shoes with suction cups or other adhesives. Thermal underwear and scuba outfits may be worn but no life jackets or inner tubes. That's for sissies, which they aren't.  

And the match ends as it did with the lumberjacks, when one or the other falls into the water two out of three times. If Busch is the loser, he'll have to promise to quit blocking the passage of a slots bill in the House; and if it's Ehrlich who lost, he'll have to promise not to automatically veto such a bill because it includes a rider for, say, a 1 cent increase in the sales tax that would bring $300 million a year into the state's coffers.

I challenge anybody to come up with a more practical and peaceful alternative for putting an end to this two-year-old "Mexican stand-off." Who knows, what with their courage and manhood having been tested in battle, a mutual respect may grow out of it and perhaps even a friendship.

Hey, if Robin Hood and Little John could become the closest of friends after Robin got knocked off that narrow bridge into the stream after being clouted on the head by that seven- footer, Little John's quarterstave (a long, stout stick), why couldn't they?