Two opinions — all mine — on things that totally irked me this week.

          Number 1: Two nobody’s from nowhere special - dressed up in their best party dud’s, invited themselves to a big "to-do" and waltzed themselves right up to the President of the United States for a little meet and greet. It seems that a Mr. and Mrs. Salahi decided they would like to go to a party, Obama was at a party, so they made themselves all pretty and sashayed themselves through police lines, barricades, Secret Service personnel and who knows how many security cameras to actually be announced at a state dinner where they shook hands, made small talk and had their pictures taken with the most powerful man in the world.

          How in the heck does that happen? Oh, yeah, they "said" they were invited. Obviously that was good enough for everyone concerned.

          Just a few years ago, I could not, for the life of me, get onto the football field at Wheeling Island Stadium to cover a game and I had all the proper credentials, press pass and everything. I wasn’t "known" to the officials in charge of admittance. Nobody recognized or remembered my name on any forms "allowing" me to be there. Although I had the duplicate of the pass they sent me, they did not have or could not find the original, so . . . no way Jude. Yes, yes, I ranted and raved and threatened, to no avail, and I assured them I was invited. And I still didn’t get in. And this was just a football game.

          Hmmmm. Maybe the OVAC officials should be in charge of security in Washington D.C. At least we’ll know that our President will be safe in the house we elected him to live in then, because I’m telling you, if the OVAC don’t want you in . . . you don’t get in.

          Number 2: The number one golfer in the world evidently needed a slushy or something at 2:30 in the morning (I dunno), jumped in the car and ran over a fire hydrant in or near his neighbors yard. Slamming into the hydrant caused him to hit his head or something, because his wife had to bust out the windows in the vehicle to save the poor guys life. It was crazy. When the police were called, the guy refused to talk to them. His wife said that he was asleep and did not want to be bothered. The police said, oh, okay, and politely left. And that was kinda that. The police returned to the home like three or four times to ask again if they could speak to him and were turned away every time.

          Look, you already know the story or stories about all this, if you don’t you’ve been living in a cave somewhere. I’m sure I don’t need to repeat it all over again. All I know is they must have some very lenient laws there in Florida, well, either that or some golf loving, cowardly policemen.

          Seriously!

          Imagine the same scenario . . . here . . . in West Virginia. Steve decides to go down to the Par Mar at 2:30 one morning for a Pepsi or whatever. In his great haste to get downtown, he runs the car through the neighbor’s yard, hits a fire hydrant, busts his face on the steering wheel and I gotta bust out the windows with a baseball bat to get him out. The neighbors, of course, call the law in the meantime, but I take Steve in the house and put him to bed before they pull into my driveway.

          The police: Mrs. Light, we need to talk to your husband about the car accident here out in front of your house.

          Me: Oh no, I’m so sorry, but he’s in the bed right now. He can’t be bothered. I’ll tell him you came by when he wakes up. Maybe you can talk to him tomorrow.

          The police: No. We need to talk to him now.

           Me: No. I said, sorry. He’s in the bed.

          The police: (laughing) Well get his butt outta the bed, he’s got some explaining to do.

          Me: He doesn’t want to be bothered.

          The police: Really?

          The next scene involves yelling, screaming and cussing, me being arrested for aiding and abetting a criminal and threatening a police officer, the dogs getting shot for trying to tear the policemen’s pants off their legs, and Steve Light being drug out of the bed, down the stairs and thrown into the police car. Insurance and registration be damned!

          I don’t care what state you are in, when the police ask to speak to you about an incident you were involved in, don’t you and/or your lawyer have to speak to them? I mean, isn’t that the proper and legal way to handle a situation like this? I really don’t know, but I’m assuming this is the way this should be handled, and even more so if you’re some kind of celebrity. I don’t think I actually know a policeman that would leave the scene without speaking to the person directly involved . . . or at least I shouldn’t know a policeman that would leave without doing their job.

          Give me a break!

          Here is what I learned from these two incidents this week: I can more than likely out smart the Secret Service, but still can’t get around the OVAC. And, anytime I have a problem with law enforcement . . . I’m invoking "Tiger".

          Plain and simple.