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The neighborhood Charlie Brown is at it again. While many in the town are enjoying AAABA week, Charlie is out videoing the neighbors and alleging misdeeds on their part.

As a bit of background, years back Charlie thought he could claim a so-called paper alley as his own and lost, repeatedly, in the attempt. Charlie believed he knew the law better than the judges. Predictably, they did not agree.

Charlie’s response to his legal beatdown was to become an even larger pain in the behind.

When your life’s work is to be a human hemorrhoid and you hit that goal, should you really be proud? Charlie seems to be.

Charlie likes to intimidate women and rush to social media to claim victimhood. Why’s everybody always pickin’ on me?

His tools are profane language, a “planter” festooned with obscenities that he conveniently places across the street from people he does not like, and his ever-present video device.

Charlie once proudly boasted on social media that I was afraid to face him man to man. I showed up at a Southmont Borough council meeting to remedy that and to assure him there was no fear. Charlie had little to say face-to-face, other than I was a good writer.

That didn’t get posted online by video boy; imagine that.

Charlie also misstated some facts in a brief conversation we had at the meeting.

Charlie would fit well in the current Democrat party, always lining up on the 10- to 20-percent side of issues. He loudly cites his First Amendment rights, but fails to recognize others have rights, too.

These days, Charlie apparently is strolling the streets and alleys, trying to goad the upstanding citizens into disputes that he can video and post online, perhaps desperately seeking to procure a few bucks.

I’ve been made aware that one of these video postings from Charlie involved my house and a vehicle parked behind it under a car cover.

Charlie wondered aloud if it were a Corvette, if it were duly licensed and insured, and generally if it was violating borough ordinances by being parked there – on a gravel pull-off area, not in the grass, by the way.

So, Charlie, here are your answers: It is a Corvette, yes it is registered and insured, and no, I’m not violating borough ordinances by having it parked on my property under a car cover.

Now, Charlie, is the quasi-junkyard of vehicles parked around your family hovel all street legal?

I’m betting no on that, not that I expect you to be forthcoming with answers. Frankly, if I were you, I wouldn’t be admitting to reality, either.

But, I hope you do scrape together a few dollars with your online video gig, allowing you to buy some much-needed testosterone.

Opening night of the AAABA is a tradition in this family, much like it is for many other area clans.

My father took me, my mother and my brother to the games. I took my immediate family (when I wasn’t working covering the game). Now, I’m taking my son and granddaughters to the grand spectacle.

For those grandkids, ages six and seven, a big attraction is the pregame parade of AAABA Ambassadors in their formal gowns. A bonus this time was the younger girl found a ball in the stands before the game, perhaps from a Mill Rats contest.

Later, a friend took her down on the field to get signatures from the Mainline Pharmacy players, and she returned with two baseballs, both signed. I had bought two of the souvenir balls and display cases on the way in, at $10 a pop. But these latest balls caught the imagination of the one child, and aggravated the other.

I was able to beg another ball for the second granddaughter and things improved.

Alas, the girls were tuckered out and we had to leave with Johnstown trailing Cleveland 3-2, thereby missing the late-game rally that produced a 15-7 Johnstown victory.

My thoughts turned to another tradition of mine. Many years back I had written an A-to-Z reflection on the AAABA Tournament, updating it at least once.

Here is another refresh.

A: Arcurio. This is Johnstown’s first family of the event, with George Arcurio III carrying the torch for more than 50 years of association with the tournament. I made it a point to seek him out to say hello (and beg for that ball) Monday and was greeted in typical fashion, which is to say with a smile and warmth from a genuine people person.

B: Baseball. That’s the draw that brings us out year after year; a reported crowd of more than 6,000 for this opener.

C: Competition. Where once you could pencil in one of the so-called Big Four (Detroit, Baltimore, New Orleans or Washington, D.C.) to win, now only New Orleans remains. We miss those loaded teams, but find solace in the reality that now any franchise can win it all

D: Dollars. The tournament continues to be a shot in the arm for a local economy that all these years later still can use any help it can get.

E: Electricity. Now that the balky lights have been upgraded through years of Point Stadium renovations, the notable, desirable electric aspect of opening night is the parade of players and ambassadors and the handing out of awards for the Johnstown Collegiate Baseball League season.

F: Fans. In this era of sports saturation on television, fans from Johnstown and the surrounding areas still turn out in droves to support this event. Give yourselves a hand. More importantly, keep it going.

G: Gridlock. All those convertibles ferrying in the ever-expanding number of tournament ambassadors to Point Stadium on opening night make the field look a lot like Pittsburgh’s Squirrel Hill Tunnels at rush hour.

H: Hopes. Teams from four different franchises have carted home one or more championships in the past eight tournaments. Others entertain legitimate hopes of joining that list.

I: Inclined Plane. The tourist attraction remains dark as lengthy repair work continues. It used to provide a marvelous sight beyond the right-field wall at night, seeing the Plane’s cars periodically ascending and descending the mountainside to Old Westmont.

J: Johnstown Oldtimers. Their year-round efforts keep this event going. It’s only getting tougher as the years pass.

K: Baseball scoresheet shorthand for a strikeout. I never saw him play, but tales still are told about Roger Bowman of Schenectady’s Amsterdam Rugmakers, who struck out 71 batters in 27 1/3 innings of work in 1945, the very first AAABA Tournament. You might not be surprised to hear his team won that championship.

L: Longevity. This is the 80^th edition of the AAABA Tournament. Thanks are in order to all, including many of whom now departed, who made this possible.

M: Memories. The precious list of them grows with each passing year.

N: Nomads. It was more noticeable in the former Point Stadium configuration. But even with this version of the Point it’s evident that at any given stage of play, hundreds, if not thousands, of fans are in motion on the walkways, seemingly oblivious to the ongoing events. Game? What game?

O: Ordnance. All these many years later the freelance bomb squad on the hillside adds to the ambiance. It’s amusing to see newcomers to the tournament jump at the first aerial explosion.

P: Pharmacies. Is it mere coincidence that the two Johnstown championship teams were sponsored by pharmacies, first Martellas and then Mainline? And both pharmacy sponsors have teams in this tournament. Come to think of it, both pharmacy names begin with M. Hmmmm.

Q: Quarrels. Watching managers and umpires go at it is a colorful part of baseball that seems to be going the way of the buggy whip.

R: Rain. The Weather Gods seem to be smiling on this tournament, with a perfect opening night and a forecast for more good weather, beyond smoke from Canadian wildfires. By way of contrast, the opening night of the 72^nd tournament taught us all never to trust the weather guy when he guarantees no rain. Torrential rain proved him wrong and soaked more than a few trusting fans. Many years before that, there was a night when a helicopter was brought in to fly over the grass playing surface and attempt to remove moisture with its rotor wash.

S: Stadium. The rebuilt Point Stadium lacks some of the rickety charm of its predecessor, but is a much more fan-friendly facility, albeit with a smaller capacity and no need for the ballboys to field fouls off the screen behind home plate.

T: Tension. It’s hard to match opening night before a packed house. Johnstown playing for a tournament title comes close, but somehow the attendance doesn’t match up.

U: Underdogs. Zanesville and Johnstown played for the championship of the 72^nd tournament in 2016. If you’d have predicted that 20 years before, a padded cell would have been your next destination. Johnstown teams have won the tournament twice, again something seemingly impossible in my younger days.

V: Victory. All 16 teams are victors or they wouldn’t be here. Sometimes that gets forgotten in the emotion of the moment.

W: Woy, as in Brian, has been the stadium PA announcer for pushing half a century. If you see Brian, ask him about the time his observations regarding a Baltimore bat girl went out over the stadium speakers.

X: Xylem. From the Greek for wood. I’m glad we’re back to using xylem bats in the tournament.

Y: Youth. I reiterate from the previous alphabetic rundown on this topic, these young players seem to play with more passion than the pros do.

Z: Zanesville. Tip your cap to the ultimate Rocky-esque champions, Zanesville’s Junior Pioneers, winners of the 2016 tournament.

I’m having Pete Axthelm experiences regarding sporting tickets. Allow me to explain.

Axthelm is the late, great sportswriter turned TV sports commentator and betting expert, who coined one of the most memorable descriptions of unattractive sporting events. He dubbed such contests as “smashed windshield games.”

Explained Axthelm, you could place two tickets to such games on the dashboard of your car, walk away, and when you came back, someone would have smashed the windshield and left two more tickets!

Already I’ve told you of the Johnstown Mill Rats phenomenon, in which free tickets fall from the skies like ducat manna. I’ve been to exactly two Mill Rats games during their tenure in town, which I fear is on life support.

Both times there were fireworks as an attraction. I noted following the first that my family seemed to be in the distinct minority that actually had paid for their tickets. More recently, I got in on a freebie from a friend.

He painted a memorable scene, standing in front of Point Stadium ticket windows trying to share his stash of free tickets.

If you are an area baseball fan, you know this is AAABA week, a festival of amateur baseball played for eight decades, mostly here.

As a youth this was a bittersweet moment, tending to come later in August back then. The baseball tournament was a reminder the summer was ending and a new school year was approaching.

Regardless, the games were savored and we dreamed someday that Johnstown would compete for titles, which has come to pass, admittedly as the overall quality of the tournament has diminished.

Opening night, with the Johnstown hosting at Point Stadium, always was a huge deal, with massive turnout. There were times they’d stop the game, in the middle of the seventh inning as I recall, to chance off a giveaway car. Your ticket also was a chance to the win the car.

Tickets always tended to be reasonably priced, and still are, at $5 each. The car giveaway long ago went the way of the dodo bird. My tickets this year refer to three $500 cash prizes. No car, but still worth winning.

The push this year is to have fans use their cell phones to bring with them to confirm purchase of a ticket for admission. I’ve seen worker and would-be fan trying to perform this cell mind meld at the most recent Mill Rats game (inexplicably he had actually purchased a ticket?) and it was not pleasant.

Looking to avoid this, I decided to buy physical tickets Sunday. I called Randy’s Bi-Lo because they have sold tickets in the past, and was told that if I came down there were two AAABA Ambassadors sitting outside at a table, selling tickets at half-price.

I drove down and bought five at $2.50 a pop, which is quite the deal.

I was able to bask in the glow of my bargain for less than 24 hours, which is the time it took for the wife to show up with four more free tickets, presumably given to someone, who passed them on to my wife.

I guess I’ll be the one standing around offering free tickets tonight.

But, it occurs to me the Axthelm reference is unkind, particularly in regard to the AAABA Tournament.

Instead of these being smashed windshield tickets, I shall christen these freebies as tribbles, the furry creatures from the Star Trek episode in which their prolific reproductive ways caused them to multiply quicker than rabbits and eat the grain shipment the Enterprise was carrying.

I suspect that if I leave two (tickets, not tribbles) on the dashboard of my car, I will come back and find no smashed windshield, but still two additional tickets.

I wonder if this trick works for bars of silver?

Lime green dildos are flying onto the courts during WNBA games and the mind races to comprehend.

We read that the gals of the league are as disgusted by this as they are by their pay levels.

Color me amused by it all. Let us count the reasons.

With Caitlin Clark sidelined with yet another injury, the flying dildos have become the most watchable aspect of the games.

From the conspiracy department, could Clark be the one behind this, feeling the need to serve up something for people to talk about while she recovers?

Since both dildos seemed to be the same garish green color, do we have a serial dildo thrower on our hands? Should dildos be banned from private ownership and should there be restrictions on their size?

One of the dildo throwers reportedly was caught and banned for a year. This seems like a reward to me. I’m surprised the guy didn’t beg for a liftime ban.

Are we sure these dildos didn’t just fall out of players’ shorts? Recall a similar event when an errant wig left a player’s head during the game, prompting her to retrieve it like a dead possum along the side of the road, and rush off court to the dressing room with the thing.

Is this an attempt by some benefactor to pay the players what they deserve, as asked for by those whiny T-shirts worn at the league All-Star game?

Why do the people removing these items from the playing surface treat them like a combination improvised explosive device/piece of dog crap? Check out the videos with people kicking them, prodding them with a broom, jumping away from them, and finally cradling them in towels for removal.

How long before a sports drink comes out with an ad using a green dildo and asking Is it in you?

Online gambling was providing betting action on the color of the next dildo to be thrown onto the court during a WNBA game, but green was off the board.

As amusing as the green dildos by themselves, is the hysterical over-reaction to it by the self-appointed PC types.

The poor young ladies, being forced to put up with this. Oh, the humanity! But, considering the population of lesbians in the league, this could be an educational experience for many players.

I had forgotten that dildos being thrown onto a sport’s playing area is something of a tradition among Buffalo Bills fans, when facing the New England Patriots. Hat tip to my cousin for reminding me, and providing a link.

Those NFL sex toys have been a more pedestrian caucasian skin tone, with one being mis-identified as a banana by CBS announcers.

I’m thinking the WNBA should embrace their green dildos — figuratively speaking, of course.

Pirates fans will recall legendary announcer Bob Prince, who collaborated with team trainer Danny Whelan to conjure up the Green Weenie during the 1966 season.

The original was a green rubber hot dog, supposedly getting its start when wielded by Whelan from the Pirates’ dugout to jinx an opposing relief pitcher.

Beginning the next year and running through 1974, a plastic rattle version was produced by a Pittsburgh plastics company, with a brief revival in 1989. I’m pretty sure I’ve got one of the 1989 versions in my sports memorabilia pile.

The lore was the Green Weenie could be pointed at the opposition to hex them, or at Pirates players to imbue them with mythical strength and abilities.

The Pirates did win a World Series title in 1971.

Perhaps WNBA players could wave green dildos at ownership and encourage them to show them the green – pay the help more. Just forget the unpleasant reality that the league loses money faster than a Stephen COAL BEAR late night talk show.

I’m headed to a Johnstown Mill Rats game tonight, a playoff tilt at Point Stadium, and it is going to be free admission, confirming a suspicion I had the previous – and only – time I went to a Mill Rats game.

Back then, the crowd was huge and there were postgame fireworks. My son and I took two granddaughters to the game and I ventured aloud then that we might have been among a handful of people who actually paid for their tickets. Not complaining, mind you. As I recall, said tickets were just $5 a head.

I had heard rumors then of the team papering the town with giveaway tickets. Fast-forward to Thursday night and a friend called inviting me to this game. Yes, he’d gotten free tickets – from a bank as I recall him saying.

The team web site lists a variety of places to scarf up free ticket “vouchers.”

While I am grateful for the free ticket, I’m not sure about the financial future of a franchise that feels compelled to give away tickets for a playoff game.

There has been a lot of similarly strange, often troubling news in recent days. To cover this, an edition of news and views is in order.

NEWS: The Pirates were sellers, as usual, at the trade deadline. Some of the national media types had speculated in advance of Thursday’s trade deadline that the Pirates might consider trading dominant pitcher Paul Skenes for a handful of players to boost the team’s many glaring weaknesses. But Skeenes remains.

VIEWS: To fully appreciate the pathetic ways of the Pirates, consider that Skenes has a microscopic 1.83 earned-run average, has struck out 146 in 133 innings, yet is a sub.-500 pitcher at 6-8 because the Pirates’ offense is weak. The Pirates would do Skenes a great favor by trading him to a team serious about winning. When do the Pirates begin to paper Pittsburgh with free tickets?

NEWS: This is the week the Federal Reserve again refused to lower interest rates, and the government job statistics again presented a confusing picture of soft numbers and re-stating previous reports.

VIEWS: This stuff is supposed to be apolitical. Yet, it is clear that Fed chief Jerome Powell has a personal vendetta against President Trump, sort of like the now outed deep state intelligence and law enforcement types showed with their Russia hoax. Keeping interest rates up is Powell’s Russia hoax, designed to penalize Trump and, by extension, the economy, hoping to swing the mid-term elections. Recall, Powell cut rates big just ahead of the past election, perhaps trying to do the impossible — usher Cackling Kamala into the Oval Office. While it is not clear if Trump can fire Powell, whose term is up in eight months or so, regardless, Trump can and did do something about the suspect job numbers. He fired the Biden appointee who has been producing the ridiculously arbitrary numbers.

NEWS: Kamala Harris has a book, “107 Days” and is making the rounds of sympathetic media hawking said tome that she allegedly wrote. This comes after a social media launch that, shall we say, painted Harris as still being a rather bizarre, out-of-touch human being.

VIEWS: The title should have been “How To Blow A Billion-Plus Bucks In 107 Days.” If you are thinking of buying me a copy for my September birthday, or Christmas, please refrain. Snippets, such as the Cackling One sharing with CoalBear she’s out of politics because the system is broken, tell me all I know about the book, that being Kamala still dwells in Denialville, unburdened by what has been.

NEWS: Responding to inflammatory statements from former Russia president Dmitry Medvedev, President Trump has ordered two nuclear submarines moved into position just in case the language morphs into action.

VIEWS: So, both the U.S. and Russia have ex-presidents from the recent past who are short on mental accuity. The problem is, where Joe Biden is walled off from power and spends his days traveling on trains, sniffing the hair of young children, eating ice cream cones, and giving ridiculous “insight” for speaking fees, Medvedev still has a role on the Russian security council. We also have other past presidents Barack Hussein Obama and Bubba Clinton, who seem to pop up in the spotlight way too often. Why can’t these guys slip quietly into private life obscurity, like George W. Bush did?

What’s wrong with President Trump? It is 11 a.m. Tuesday and he has yet to make a mammoth trade deal, broker peace somewhere on the planet, downsize the government, cut useless red tape, reduce taxation, or otherwise do something beyond solidifying our border that markedly improves our lives.

Slacker. Layabout. Charlatan.

Forgive my brief descent to the darkside of the Trump-hating, deranged left. I just wanted to try to understand their insanity. Alas, it feels too absurd and I cannot dwell there.

But, while Trump is taking a break from making history today – so far, but it is early — and being pilloried by the lunatic left for his efforts, there was plenty of other news.

ITEM: A man enters a New York City building housing, among others, the NFL, carrying an AR-type weapon, and opens fire, killing four, including an off-duty policeman. CNN predictably rushes to identify him as “possibly white.” And I remember when the same propaganda outlet tabbed George Zimmerman a “white Hispanic.” It fit their agenda. Zimmerman went to trial for shooting and killing black teenager Trayvon Martin. Zimmerman was acquitted on grounds of self-defense. By the way, the NYC shooter was Hawaiian, not white. And I’m waiting for CNN to start referring to Barack Obama as a possibly white black. His mother was, after all, white. Oh, right, doesn’t fit their agenda.

ITEM: Back in our once great state of Pennsylvania, two portly “possibly white” gay guys are able to adodpt an infant son despite one of the gay blades reportedly being a convicted child sex offender. In typical fashion, it is further reported the two used crowdfunding to pay for it all. Perhaps my tax dollars will be found to be part of the process, or now supporting the duo turned trio? I’d vomit on the floor, but my wife would balk at cleaning it up, painting me as a “possibly white” male.

ITEM: Possibly white looking Zohran Mamdani, “Mamdani The Commie” as Trump calls him, has been doing what socialists do, spending other people’s money. Mamdani, leading candidate to be the next mayor of Beijing on the Hudson — New York City — was off to Uganda. There he celebrated recent nuptials in what is described as a “ritzy, secluded Ugandan compound.” Reportedly there were armed guards to keep out the riffraff, and a system to jam cell phones, presumably to prevent any reports from inside. To recap, possibly white Mamdani has rich parents who fund his lifestyle. He hates guns, but they are fine when used to protect his sorry butt. He hates wealth, except when it can provide a reinforced luxury site to celebrate his wedding. How long before Mamdani joins Bernie Sanders (who truly is possibly white) as a socialist with a portfolio of luxury real estate holdings?

ITEM: Possibly white Sydney Sweeney, apparently a prominent young actress of whom I was unaware, is in the public spotlight for an American Eagle jeans ad. Social media keyboard warriors are pounding away that Sweeney is promoting a Nazi agenda because the tag line for the commercial is “Sydney Sweeney Has Great Jeans.” She also wears a denim jacket with some buttons conveniently undone in the ad. What? She was wearing jeans? The navel-gazing crowd, with all that spare time on their hands that tends not to be available to people on the right who instead spend it earning a living, sees jeans as genes. It’s not just a clever play on words, say they, but more racist Nazi eugenics. Having seen images of the social media critics, who would look best with their jeans pulled over their faces, I’m all in favor of more possibly white Sydney Sweeney types.

Mike Rowe, the familiar voice of cable shows highlighting people who do the so-called “dirty jobs,” made a splash in Pittsburgh a few weeks back when he said out loud that we still need such workers even amidst the rush to deify computer coders and artificial intelligence.

I know from firsthand knowledge how difficult it is becoming to find reliable people to do basic tasks. I’m not talking about the hysteria that shipping illegals home would grind the farming, construction, hospitality, healthcare and trucking industries to a halt.

That’s proven to be a false talking point.

But, percolating beneath the surface for years is the harsh reality that it’s getting harder and harder to find people willing and able to do necessary tasks that risk getting one’s hands dirty, or having to mop sweat from the brow.

For some time, I have been looking to dispose of a window air-conditioning unit. It used to be appliance outlets such as Best Buy were obligated to accept them for recycling. No longer. And, due to the abundance of environmental regulation, you can’t put them out for the annual cleanup collection.

My wife, trying to be helpful, noted some online “Neighbors” site she has signed up for – a misnomer since some listings are 10s, if not hundreds of miles distant – had people looking to pick up air-conditioners.

The site is populated with people purporting to be eager to come and collect such appliances, for purposes of recyling them for profit.

Good. A win-win situation. Just one problem, a vast majority of these people fail to show up to collect the air-conditioners, or refrigerators, or whatever.

They promise. They make excuses for not meeting their promises. Finally, they ignore, even while they continue to post their willingness to come and get these things from fresh contacts.

After about 10 tries, I was eager to go with another alternative. But my wife, ever the optimist, wanted to try again.

This time, after several false starts and failed appearance promises, success. Along the line, my wife had tried to assist a neighbor looking to unload a refrigerator, by putting her on the pickup list.

I suspected problems when the two guys showed up driving a compact SUV. Not exactly the size vehicle one would bring to remove a refrigerator. I had visions of a Laurel and Hardy scene of the two, one an undersized type, trying to hoist a refrigerator onto the luggage rack atop the roof.

It did not transpire. The two took the air-conditioner and passed on the refrigerator, promising to come back in a truck. Meanwhile, they wanted the person to have it plugged in and running so they could assess its condition.

She told them it didn’t work. The guys never were seen again. But, in the interest of fair disclosure, they later contacted my wife to tell her they had resurrected our air-conditioner. Also, the neighbor had discovered a switch on her ‘fridge that had been turned off somewhere along the line. She flipped said switch, it works again, so she’s keeping it in the basement as a spare.

It’s not just these lower level workers who seem to be unreliable at best; nonexistent at worst.

Another neighbor has a roof that needs attention. She’s been turned down by several roofing contractors – too steep, they say.

Others just fail to show up to provide estimates.

Of late, she’s gotten two estimates I find to be extremely high, including one that’s probably for half of what she paid for the house. It is not a big house, by the way.

Another example of lack of motivated and proficient help involves my 1984 Corvette. I spent more than a month trying to get into an automatic transmission shop to address a shifting concern that cropped up last year, disappeared, and now has returned.

During my wait, I had extensive conversations with the two men who work there, telling each maybe 10 times it was not a stock automatic transmission, but rather an aftermarket TCI StreetFighter, a beefed-up, modified example based on the Chevrolet Turbo-Hydramatic transmissions of the past.

I dropped the car off one morning – the guy who actually works on transmissions was not there. Later, I dropped in again; still not there. It turns out he likely didn’t come in at all that day, which helps explain the month-long wait.

The next morning I got a voicemail from the guy who runs the shop. The absent worker apparently had showed up that day, took a quick look underneath the car, and declared he could not work on it because – wait for it – the car did not have its stock transmission.

Jesus H. Christ! Had they bothered to pay attention when I told them this, repeatedly?

I drove down, picked up the car and spent a few days fuming about having wasted a month, a significant slice of remaining life when you get to be my age.

During the voicemail, it was relayed that the worker was not confident he could find parts for it. I found an entire StreetFighter transmission listed on the Summit Racing website for a little over $3,000. They also sell parts. I checked.

This transmission shop came recommended to me by the garage that does most of the work on my others cars. It is, supposedly, the best in Johnstown. My God!

I’m left to cast a wider net. I’ve found in the past that Altoona tends to have more capable providers in almost any capacity than Johnstown.

Why I should need to leave Johnstown to get work done on a transmission that is based on widely used GM transmissions of the past baffles me, except to reinforce that Mike Rowe is right, in spades.

This is a tale of two Stephens.

The first is Stephen Colbert, the modestly talented late night television host scheduled for unemployment next May as CBS cuts its losses, said to be $40 million or so a year. The network tired of losing so much merely to provide a platform for Colbert’s political screeds.

In a commentary on our times, and the widespread delusion of the political left, Colbert’s demise has been blamed on President Trump. Consequently, a smattering of protests have been heard, mostly from similarly marginally talented types perhaps fearing loss of their positions on the public airwaves.

Censorship, they allege. Economic reality, I reply. When people aren’t buying what you’re selling, you lose your job. Period, Full stop. Even PBS and NPR are being dragged kicking and screaming to that reality.

Ever wonder why the government doesn’t have to subsidize Fox News?

The hyperbolic describe Colbert as a genius. Are they talking about the guy whose idea of COVID humor was dancing around with people dressed as syringes? Have they noticed that since he got his walking papers, Colbert has used his low-ratings show as a vehicle for absurd attacks on Trump, including some F-yous?

Genius? I think not.

Now, to our other Stephen, better known as Steve Allen. He didn’t, as Colbert has, fiddle with the pronunciation of his last name in a pathetic attention seeking ploy. Allen easily could have gone that route by using his full name, that being Stephen Valentine Patrick William Allen.

A brief history lesson is in order for the younger crowd that tends to be both ignorant of history before their birth, and a lot that has happened since their arrival. It is Steve Allen who invented the Late Night TV genre that Colbert inhabits (not for long), first on a local TV station, and then nationally on The Tonight Show beginning in September 1954.

Allen was the first host of The Tonight Show. Not only was Steve Allen a funny comedian, he also was a trailblazer, introducing the staples of man-in-the-street interviews and comedic interaction with audience members.

Along the way, Allen might showcase his musical skills, playing the piano, for example. I’ve seen clips of him playing the trumpet, in a foursome with Doc Severinsen, then a member of the Tonight Show band who would go on famously to lead that ensemble.

Allen was a prolific music composer, said to have written more than 8,500 songs, Perhaps the best known is “This Could Be the Start of Something Big.”

Allen wrote more than 50 books, he acted in TV shows and movies. He hosted a variety of other TV shows.

This Stephen has not one, but two stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, recognizing his monstrous contributions to TV and to music.

Steve Allen also had a political side, but didn’t shove it into our faces on a nightly basis. Yes, he was on the political left, back when that end of the political spectrum practiced rational behavior.

I feel sure Allen would not have approved of riots to support criminal illegal immigrants, or anti-Semites.

Steve Allen was a strong supporter of free speech, but thought raunchy comedians Lenny Bruce and George Carlin went too far with their profanity.

Allen was a Democrat, yet he married a Republican, actress Jayne Meadows.

Allen had shows canceled, but never gave the verbal middle finger to anyone over it. He didn’t encourage protesters to take to the streets and proclaim his genius.

But Allen deserved to be described as a genius. He was funny, a talented host, musician, composer, writer and actor.

Allen was a titan. Compared to Allen, Colbert is a comparative dwarf and, most assuredly, not a genius.

Canada, our northern neighbor with an inferiority complex the size of, well, Canada, is a continuing source of amusement amidst tariffs and President Trump trolling these insecure types about becoming our 51^st state.

Their pitiful pushback began with the Canadians booing our National Anthem as played before 4 Nations Faceoff contests, as well as regular-season and Stanley Cup playoff NHL games involving franchises from both countries.

This protest didn’t do anything of note. A Canada-based franchise still has not won the Stanley Cup since 1993, way back when Bill Clinton was years removed from soiling blue dresses with semen, Sears and Roebuck still had a catalog operation, along with a huge chain of retail stores, and X-Files was debuting on TV.

Canada Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was still holding the job – barely – last year, and since has given way to Mark “The Carnival Barker” Carney. But still there are hard feelings up north, with some delusional types suggesting they might slug it out militarily with the United State. That’s a big mistake unlikely to unfold. Perhaps they saw some Iran footage that cooled their ardor.

Somewhere along the way, I missed the outbreak and fighting of a ketchup war. Growing up, the only friction regarding this condiment was between those who called it catsup and those preferring ketchup. For the most part, ketchup has won that skirmish.

I only became aware of this current ketchup conflict while watching a baseball game between the New York Yankees and the Toronto Blue Jays Wednesday. This was made possible because DISH is having a free preview of its Major League Baseball package. I won’t pay for it, but free is good.

Of great importance to the story, this game was being played in Toronto. Early on, with a runner on first base, the camera kept panning to the runner. Behind him, on the low wall separating fans from playing field, was a message between a pair of Heinz logos. Read the message: Canadian Ketchup. Made with Canadian tomatoes.”

Later, I saw similar messages farther down the right-field line, with Heinz logos.

This caught my attention. Curious about it all, and unwilling to wait for a news conference as too many current media members do, I commited some journalism and researched the story.

The background is that little Trudeau, taking a break from prancing around in blackface and making lives miserable in Canada last year, had accused Heinz of selling ketchup in Canada made in the U.S. Trudeau was threatening ketchup tarrifs on that All-American condiment, although I understand some say salsa has supplanted it in popularity here. I guess Biden sneaked more illegals into this country than we had imagined.

Heinz, the once-proud Pittsburgh based company that now is part of Kraft Foods, fired back at Trudeau (figuratively, of course) pointing out that, with the exception of 2015-2020, Heinz has made its ketchup for Canada, in Canada, for about 100 years. That is in Quebec and the tomatoes are sourced from Ontario.

But, but, but, protested the butt-hurt Canadians, some Heinz ketchup bottles for purchase in their land say Product of USA on the labels.

And Kraft Heinz replied that only when demand outstrips the capacity of the Quebec plant, or in the case of some speciality ketchups not made in Canada, does USA ketchup leave stains on the Great White North.

This charge and countercharge was transpiring late last year and early this.

But, judging from the signs at the ballgame, the battle for the hearts and minds, not to mention wallets and stomachs, of Canadian ketchup consumers continues to be waged.

As an aside, the way the Yankees choked away the game in comical, error-prone fashion, TV coverage of the ketchup war might have been more entertaining than the baseball game.

Wasn’t it cute the way WNBA players used their All-Star Game to demand more money with those ‘Pay Us What You Owe Us” T-shirts?

Like so many Mamdani The Commies, they want their fair share of money that isn’t there.

Understand, the WNBA is an economically subsidized program of the NBA. To put it another way, if WNBA players got their share of profits (actually losses) they would end up owing the league for the right to play in it.

Reports on readlucid.com indicate the WNBA, founded in 1996, has lost $10 million to $20 million a year since then. Yes, even with the Caitlin Clark phenomenon raising the league’s profile, it still bleeds red ink.

Clark is the poster girl for many aspects of the WNBA, including hatred of her for being white, hatred of her for being widely recognized by the public as the face of the league, hatred in All-Star postgame remarks for her allegedly not supporting the cause, even though she wore one of the ridiculous T-shirts.

By the way, when convenient, WNBA players will use Clark to make their case, noting her salary is a reported number of about $80,000 for 2025. They neatly omit she has signed lucrative endorsements, including one for $28 million from NIKE. You won’t see Clark using a SNAP card to buy groceries anytime soon.

It’s like the faux outrage over CBS canning Stephen Colbert – next year! – due to his show losing huge money.

The left is outraged. It can’t simply be that he repels viewers with his political screeds and costs boatloads of cash to keep on the air No, there must be another agenda here, most likely the network bowing to Trump censorship demands.

Speaking of other agendas, does anyone else wonder why Colbert, the wrinkle-eared humorless comedian pronounces his last name with a French twist. I did a little research and discovered that the COAL-BEAR pronounciation was dreamed up by little Stephen. His father prounced the last name COAL-BERT.

I guess COAL-BEAR was Stephen saying FU to his father.

WNBA players want 50 percent of the revenue, avoiding the unpleasant reality that those revenues don’t cover expenses. So, do they want to share the losses, too? Take the lower reported loss of $10 million a year, divide it by 150 players and you get a number of $66,666.666 each player would owe the league. Symbolic.

Three quick points before we close.

First, if you hear people whining about economic fairness, they often don’t share all the facts. When billionaire Warren Buffett lamented publicly that his secretary paid a higher tax rate than he did, he didn’t mention that was due to his income mostly coming from capital gains, not a salary. If Warren really felt bad for the help, he could gift her with stock and let her pay a lower tax rate due to capital gains. If the stocks went down — think the WNBA losing money – alas, no capital gains and no income.

Second, the quality of play and officiating in the WNBA is, shall we say, suspect. There is a viral video on social media of star Angel Reese double-dribbling at least twice, travelling and carrying the basketball repeatedly on a trip down the court to a layup. My brother, something of a college women’s softball guru who maintains a web site on the sport, wondered about the Clark phenomenon a year or so back and tuned in a game, only to see her have more turnovers than points, as she alternated between coughing up the basketball and clanking heaves off the rim. He called me to express his dismay.

Third, it strikes me as perfectly understandable that the WNBA players, both white and black, seem to hate Clark despite her being the best thing that ever happened to their DEI league. During a career of covering sports, I knew several coaches with experience coaching both boys and girls teams. They almost all agreed that their girls teams were more difficult to keep together in terms of locker room unity or playing together on the court. The girls, they told me, tended to get caught up in cliques and had difficulty leaving personal dislikes at the door to the dressing room.

In conclusion, I say pay those WNBA women what they are owed. They should share the wealth, or in this case, the losses.

When can the WNBA expect their $66,666 payments?