Before I let the rest of the world know, I wanted to share with you first the news that it looks like I won’t be governor of the Great State of Georgia after all. My write-in campaign ran out of time.
Things looked very promising. I had 45 firm commitments, including the prized endorsement of the Ryo Morning Coffee Club and its chair, Skeeter Skates, owner of Skeeter Skates Tree Stump Removal and Plow Repair in Ryo, Georgia. That was huge. Ryo Morning Coffee Club is a collection of Great Americans which includes Walleye, who runs the bait shop over in Red Bud; Booger Bledsoe, who operates a local roadside vegetable stand on State Route 136 near Sugar Valley; and Uncle Coot, recently retired from the porta-potty transportation industry.
The Ryo Morning Coffee Club doesn’t endorse just anybody. That is why you didn’t see Donald Trump or Barack Obama stumping in Ryo. Trying to win over Skeeter and the boys would be a monumental waste of time. Can you imagine Trump trying to chat up Walleye on whether gizzard shad or red wigglers is the best bait for catching catfish? Or Obama discussing the logistics of porta-potty transportation with Uncle Coot?
All that was left for me to do was to round up another 2,111,547 more votes. No question they were there for the taking. Once you have Skeeter and his colleagues on board, the rest of it should have been a piece of cake. I certainly had no plans to ask Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger to see if he could find them for me. I remember that’s something he is not very good at doing.
So, what happened? My toe, that’s what. Big toe. Right foot. This is don’t-ask-don’t-tell territory, but let’s just say I messed it up big time. A short version: While walking across the floor my foot decided to stop without alerting my brain, which said keep going. My brain sometimes has a mind of its own. As a result, my big toe folded up under my foot like a tent. The rest is R-Rated.
I ended up in the hospital emergency room and then in surgery. All this for a toe? Yes, for a toe. Surprising what kind of damage you can do to such an insignificant digit when you aren’t paying attention. As I share this with you, my big toe now has more pins in it than a bowling alley.
This is also the reason you didn’t see the column here last week. You may have been wondering, where is that guy that looks like a young Brad Pitt and who knows a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff and isn’t hesitant to remind us of that fact? And why didn’t he respond to my email? Has he all of sudden gotten too big for his britches and lost touch with the common folks?
Those are fair questions. The answer is that when you are flat on your back on a hospital bed with a mattress as soft as concrete being poked like a pig, it is hard to be creative. I’ll bet even the woman from Canada who got the Nobel Prize for Literature couldn’t have written her “bold and inventive oeuvre” with somebody sticking a needle in her every hour. I did make good use of that time, though. I whined a lot.
I hope I have gotten word to you in time for you to make an informed decision on who next best to lead our Great State of Georgia for the next four years, be it the gazillionaire with the creepy smile or the cut-and-run former mayor of Atlanta. I feel your disappointment. Not sure who else could (Inhale) Lower our taxes. Reduce crime. Shrink the size of government. Create jobs. Stand up to powerful special interest groups. Fight bureaucracy. Secure our borders. Take care of our veterans. Improve education and fix Medicare. (Exhale.)
But please know I am not going away. Aching toe or no aching toe. Even though I won’t have my hands on the levers of government, I plan to keep a close eye on those who will. I am very much alive and kicking. Well, maybe not kicking. My big toe says I may be alive, but it is going to be a while before I do any kicking. I agree.
You can reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com or at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139.
