Some people were thinking Jerry Jones might fire Bum's boy before Thanksgiving.
But Jerry gave his head coach a vote of confidence. He had job security -- for at least three months.

Since Denver, however, everything has changed.
Hail Wade -- king of the east.

The Cowboys have won four straight games and are now on top in the NFC East.
And Phillips is the valedictorian of the NFC East head coaches.

About the time all the experts were measuring the New York Giants for Super Bowl rings (in October), the team lost four in a row.
Now Tom Coughlin may quickly turn from expert to ex-coach.

Jim Zorn?
He's just the latest of many Danny Snyder mistakes.
George Allen must be turning over in his grave.
The one proud Redskins just plain suck.

And now another media-proclaimed genius is showing he can really screw up in front of the whole nation in prime time.
Andy Reid had a brain fart on Sunday night that left a stink all over Philadelphia.
And I'm not talking about how he lost two timeouts by losing ball spot challenges.
This just added to the problem.

Sending David Akers out to kick a 52-yard field goal with 3 1/2 minutes to play instead of going for fourth-and-11 at the Dallas 34 was idiotic.
The three points did the Eagles no good.
They were still needed a touchdown to stay in the game and had no timeouts.

But if you really are stupid enough to settle for a field goal, then wise up and at least try an onside kick to get the ball back.
No, Philly kicked away to Dallas, who made two first downs and let Tony Romo kneel three times to finish the Cowboys' 20-16 victory.

"We need to eliminate mistakes," Philly quarterback Donovan McNabb said after the game.
On Sunday night, that might have included locking their head coach in the dressing room until this game was over.

My worst finish was dead last. (Keep reading).
My best finish was a second place. (Thanks, Susan).

The Wichita Adult Literacy Council has the bee as a fundraiser every year. They say that one out of ever four people in our area can't read well enough to read a prescription bottle.
I'm not sure I really believe that.
I don't know one single illiterate person.

My bee days are over.
It all officially came to an end on the fifth round Wednesday when my two partners, Susan Knowles and Jessica Langdon, and I screwed up "Bezoar."
Can't remember exactly how we misspelled it, but we did and were punished severely by having to sit there on the front row while the 10 remaining teams fought it out for the championship.

Bezoar?
What in the hell in a bezoar?
Can I phone a friend?

"Hey, Joe Brown, how do you spell bezoar?"
"Yeah, it probably does start with a B."

The regular dictionary definition for bezoar is: "any of various calculi found chiefly in the gastrointestinal organs and formerly believed to possess magical properties"
One medical dictionary calls it "a ball of swallowed foreign material (usually hair or fiber) that collects in the stomach and fails to pass through the intestines."

A magical hairball?
My spelling bee career came to an end because I could not spell a word meaning hairball?

Oh well.
The end was better than the start when Susan and I spelled out and wrote down "Insomnia" in the first round and our good buddy Joe B. misread it.
How the hell can you misread I-n-s-o-m-n-i-a?
I know Joe Brown is not among the 25 percent that cant' read a pill bottle.
Maybe old Joe just had one of those bezoars in his belly that day.

It's just that he had a "D" beside his name instead of an "R."
Having George W. Bush as our leader for eight years was long enough.
Bush is a Republican.
We didn't want another Republican.

So, even though Fox News' "fair and unbalanced" reporting has tried to tear down Obama and everything he stands for, I am still happy with the way I voted on Nov. 4, 2008.
I might be a little blue dot in a big red state, but that's OK with me.

Am I completely happy with Obama?
No.
He talks a good game, but right now I have to honestly admit the thing I most admire about him is he's not George W. Bush.

I would like to have a president who ---

1, Ends all war. Leave the fighting to MMA and IFL.
(Somebody in Dallas suggested I take a short cut on the George Bush Turnpike and I told them "No, thanks, I might wind up in Iraq.")

2. Balances our budget. No more bailouts, please.

3. Explores and finds an alternative energy source. We have been talking about this since Jimmy Carter.

4. Stays out of other countries' business. We have enough problems of our own.

If Obama and a Democratic Congress can't get any of that done, I just might vote for somebody else come Nov. 6, 2012.
Heck, who knows, I might run myself.

My life can be divided into two parts.
There's Nicky -- the guy I was before 1972.
Then there's Nick -- the guy I have been since then.

If you knew Nicky, you really know me.
(Please don't tell)
But most people only know me through my job here at the paper, which began in April 1972. It was then that I dropped the "y" from my first name so my byline would be more mature.

Nicky's life centered around pool halls and bars for several years.
There is where the really good stories come from.

If you check out Wikopedia, I am there.
The online encyclopedia describes my life in two short paragraphs. -- 63 words (but who's counting?).
Mitch Albom is also a sports writer, but his Wikopedia biography is longer than most books in the New Testament.
The Detroit Free Press columnist is described as "best-selling author, journalist, screenwriter, playwright, radio and television broadcaster and musician."

The best-selling author part is what intrigues me.
It all started with some sports books that you have never heard of and then developed into "Tuesdays with Morrie." The book reportedly has sold over 14 million copies and has been translated into 41 languages and made Mitch a whole lot more money than he ever earned covering the Lions.

Then came "The Five People You Meet in Heaven."
That is the one that is now inspiring me.
My book could be titled "The Five People There Is No Chance in Hell You Will Ever Meet in Heaven."

Too long, I know, but my idea is to write a book about the five strangest people I have ever known.
Having grown up here in Hooterville Falls, it will take a long time for me to narrow the list down to just five. But I can also save some for my sequel(s).

At the top of my list is Gary Suiter, a 6-9 basketball player, pool hustler, con man, thief and general all-around pain in the ass who was at Midwestern back in the late 60s.
I will keep you up to date every week or so on the progress I am making.
You start saving up to buy several copies.

I was not a star athlete.
I was not in the National Honor Society.
I was really nobody.

So I have never attended any of my class reunions.
Why should I?
Isn't four years of suffering enough punishment for one guy?

But last week, thanks to Facebook, I was reunited with several others from Wichita Falls High School's senior class of 1964.
I probably still don't have much in common with these people, but the older you get, the more you enjoy reminiscing about the past.

I was really enjoying looking at the current pictures of all of my classmates, while at the same time wondering why they all got so old and I am still a youthful, handsome dude.
But not long after I joined the group, the woman who started the site put my high school annual picture up for everybody to see.

I need to call my lawyer.
This is surely worth some kind of big lawsuit.

I have told you this before, but as a kid, I was Ralphie on "A Christmas Story."
The spitting image of that nerdy little kid.

As much as I've tried to forget my 17-year-old self, now here I am on the world wide web for everyone to see.
A fat-faced kid with glasses, a flat top, a phony smile and a Subway suit.
I'm not talking about the 5-dollar foot long Subway.
Back in the old days, the Hub was a really nice downtown men's clothing store.
The Subway was in the basement of the store and had cheap stuff for us poor and needy folks.

My grandmother took me to Subway and bought me a cheap suit and a clip-one tie to wear to church on Sunday.
Senior photos required a suit and tie, so little Nicky wore his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes to school on picture day.

I was a virgin when I graduated from high school, and I still blame picture day for that.
I didn't even like crawling into bed with myself every night.

Now these people are talking about getting together for a 50th reunion in 2014.
I would really like to attend, but every time I look at the annual picture, I change my mind.
And after looking at the high school pictures of others in my class, they may be thinking the same thing.
I wasn't the only nerd in town.

But I couldn't get it printed on our Web site.
The guy in charge of stuff like that said it was a corporate problem.
I was assured that Fox had not bought the TRN. My liberal thoughts were not being censored.

Still, I got pissy.
How dare I write such great prose and nobody is able to read it.
I pouted for a couple of days and have now gotten over it.
So hopefully everything is fixed and you are reading this.

In fact, if I had it all to do over again, I would not have written my bash Rush blog.
"An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" may be in the Bible, but too many people use it as an excuse to get even.
In my profession it is so easy to bash the basher.
Somebody writes or say something you don't agree with, you run to the computer and tell the world what an idiot he is for thinking differently from yours.
That's how Fox News stays in business.

But real journalists should have learned with experience that we shouldn't shoot the messenger just because we don't like the message.
So from now on, instead of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," I will take the "turn the other cheek approach."
Even when the messenger's name is Rush and his message sucks.

I must be out of touch.
First off, I didn't know who Levi Johnston was.
Second, I didn't know Playgirl was still in business.

Had Americans made the wrong decision last year and put John McCain in the White House, Levi Johnston would have been within an "I do" and a heartbeat of being this country's first son-in-law.
He was the kid who knocked up Sarah Palin's daughter.
The two broke up right after their son was born last December.

Levi has since been trying to cash in on his sudden fame.
He wants to be an actor, but so far his only gig has been a TV commercial for pistachios.

Then Playgirl called.
I remember the magazine started back in 1973 when the feminist movement was in full swing -- the girl answer to Playboy and Penthouse.
But since the magazine hadn't called me wanting my sexy body on its centerfold, I just figured the magazine had folded.
They just don't know what they are missing.

So what if Levi Johnston is 19 years old and has muscles
I am 62 years old and have a skin rash.

His only claim to fame is he knocked up a girl whose mother may run for president.
I once knocked up a girl who voted for president.

My suggestion to all big lotto winners would be immediately phone Lou Eisenberg -- aka Lucky Louie or Light bulb Lou.
He's not hard to find.
He now lives in a trailer house in Lake Worth, Fla.

Lucky Louie used to live in an ocean view condo.
That was right after he won $5 million in a lottery in 1981.
At the time, it was the highest amount ever paid out in a U.S. lottery.

Lou -- who was earning $225 a week changing light bulbs in a midtown New York office building -- was a great story back then. He was interviewed by Johnny Carson and Regis.
Now, 28 years later, he is broke.
A $219,000 a year pay check ($130,000 after taxes) is now $250 per week.

So what went wrong? lavish vacations, slow horses and bad women.
He and his second wife divorced. She got the gold mine. He got the shaft.
He married a third time. Another divorce.
(Damn, this is getting to sound familiar; not the lottery; the divorces)

Last Sunday, as I was sitting in the recliner watching football, a woman knocked on my door and invited me to some shindig tonight at the Wilson House.
I was polite.
I smiled, took her invitation and then tore it up and threw it in the trash as soon as I shut the door.

I know the neighbors I want to know.
As for the rest of you, leave me alone.
I don't do volleyball or horseshoes or pot luck suppers.
I drink beer, watch TV and eat whatever I want.

I voted Democrat.
There that should scare them off.

I hate family gatherings that involve anybody other than my wife, my son, my daughter, my son-in-law, my stepson and my grandson.
So if I don't want to sit around and talk Cowboys with in-laws and outlaws, what makes you think I want to sit around and talk Cowboys with you and your family?

Once you start knowing a bunch of neighbors, then they put a target on your back.
They start inviting you to their church. No thanks.
Or their cult. No thanks.
Or their civic club. No thanks.

Eventually they will want your e-mail address and start sending you those things you are supposed to forward to 10 friends or die before sundown.

And when their kids have to sell cookie dough or Christmas cards or some other b.s., they feel they have the right to send them to your house.
After all, you are their neighbor.

So I'm skipping the big party tonight.
But nobody will miss me.
How could they?
They don't know me.
Just the way I like it.

Early on Sunday afternoon it was obvious to me, you and the legally blind that this was one of those days that Romo should have brought a wrench and plunger to work with him.

OK, I know that all that goes wrong with the Dallas Cowboys is not the fault of the starting quarterback.
This team has no real No. 1 receiver.
The real head coach is sitting in the owner's box,
And the offensive coordinator has the imagination of a tackling dummy.

But even all that could not hide the fact that Romo sucked in Denver.
When this guy can't even find his No. 82 security blanket in a game, you know he's in big trouble.

So, I ask, when a head coach -- even a puppet head coach -- knows that his quarterback is really sucking, why can't he go to the bullpen?
It works in baseball.
Why not football?

Cy Young had days when he sucked.
So did Sandy Koufax and Bob Gibson and Roger Clemens.
Managers never hesitated to take them out of games.

Jon Kitna might not be very good, but it's hard to believe that he could be any worse than Romo was against the Broncos.

October is the only month in which you can watch all four major professional sports.
The NHL has begun.
The baseball playoffs begin next week.
The NFL is in full swing.
The NBA begins on the 27th with Shaq making his debut as a Cleveland Cavalier in Boston.
Then on Oct. 30, the Mavericks open at home against the Lakers.

We will soon have what we Texans call "football weather."
You will have to wear a coat to the games on Friday night.

And, of course, it's State Fair time.
That means Texas vs. OU in the Cotton Bowl on Oct. 17.

College basketball teams start practice on Oct. 15.

And it all ends with Halloween.
A stress-free holiday where you don't have to have a family reunion.
This year Halloween falls on Saturday.
How cool is that?

I was reminded of that old joke this morning while reading our newspaper.
Only in Hooterville Falls would seizing 10 pounds of marijuana be considered a major drug bust and be a front page new story;

The top story of the day, however, was worth reading.
Al Sharpton will be speaking at MSU tonight.
Give my alma mater a round of applause for bringing in interesting speakers for its Artist Lecture Series.
Like his pal Jesse Jackson, he is a reverend without a church, but he has had a loud voice in this country for many years.

With Sharpton, you never know what you might year.
Fifteen years ago while speaking to an audience at Kean University in New Jersey, Sharpton was quoted as saying :"White folks was in caves while we was building empires. We taught philosophy and astrology and mathematics before Socrates and them Greek homos ever got around to it."

Rev. Al has spent a lifetime defending and apologizing for his words.
He has also run for the Senate three times, major of New York City once and president once.
He remains a reverend without a church but a guy who can bring in $25,000 for a 30-minute sermon.
Not bad.

If it weren't my poker night, I would love to hear Sharpton.
I am sure there are others who would like to hear him, too, so why does MSU hold events like this in tiny Akin Auditorium.
If Diamond Rio rates D.L. Ligon Coliseum, surely a guy like Sharpton does.

I tried to explain to G-Dawg that I was on vacation that week and the obit clerk did my picking for me.
But all his narrow mind could see was 4-12 and me at the rear end of the standings.

Wonder what he will say this week.
With one game left (Panthers at Cowboys tonight), I the Nickstrodomus of the NFL am 11-4 for the week.
It's a sure thing that I will move from last to a tie for second place.
If the Cowboys cover the 9 1/2 tonight, I will be in a three-way tie for first place.

From worst to first in just two weeks.
Let your stupid OU butt-licking dog try that.

I tried to explain to G-Dawg that I was on vacation that week and the obit clerk did my picking for me.
But all his narrow mind could see was 4-12 and me at the rear end of the standings.

Wonder what he will say this week.
With one game left (Panthers at Cowboys tonight), I the Nickstrodomus of the NFL am 11-4 for the week.
It's a sure thing that I will move from last to a tie for second place.
If the Cowboys cover the 9 1/2 tonight, I will be in a three-way tie for first place.

From worst to first in just two weeks.
Let your stupid OU butt-licking dog try that.

The phrase is stupid and annoying.
Plus it is grammatically wrong.
My is an adjective. Bad is an adjective.
You may have been asleep in high school English class when the teacher told you that an adjective can not modify another adjective. If it did, it would be an adverb.

Some say Manute Bol got it all started when he came to the NBA in the 1980s.
When he threw a bad pass or did something wrong on the court, the Sudanese center would say "My bad" instead of "My fault."
His Golden State teammates then started saying it and it caught on in the NBA.

From the NBA, it probably went to the streets.
Then to the schools.
To the movies ("Clueless")
To television ("Scrubs")
And eventually it ended up everywhere in my life.

So the next time you see me, please avoid "My bad."
If you say it, "My pissed."