Trippin'

That's the only explanation I have for Shank's latest column.

It was long past midnight and I was in a pretty deep sleep when I smelled the cigar smoke wafting out of my cluttered office on the second floor of my house. Somewhat alarmed, I rubbed my eyes and tiptoed into the dark room, where I could see the shady outline of a short, bald man sitting in the raggedy old brown chair that my dad loved.

The orange glow at the tip of his familiar-smelling Hoyo de Monterrey was the only light in the room.

“Is that you, Red?’’ I asked as I took a seat in the darkness, across the room from him.

“You’re damn right it is,’’ he said. “I had to come back to tell somebody how much I like this team. And you’re one of the only guys I remember who’s still around.’’

“Thanks, Red,’’ I said. “I’m honored. We miss having you around, but this has been a fun bunch and fans really love them.’’

Fortunately, these types of columns are few & far between.