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Page A2 The Joan De Arc Crusader / Saturday, January 1, 2000

I hope all you Clinton lovin' bastards out there are happy now. We've had seven long years of presidential slime and crime now, with more to come. That roll of toilet paper in the White House is the most corrupt politician of all time. He sold us out to the Red Chinese. Let's impeach his ass again, and make it stick this time.

God, I love to hate that son of a bitch.

J. Dogholler

Dean Ozone

______________________________________________________________________________________JDA

Page A3 The Joan De Arc Crusader / Saturday, January 1, 2000

Chuck’s Corner by C.H.Bueker

    Well, with Christmas finally over (by the time you read this, anyway), we now focus as always on the upcoming New Year's events. This year, that means Y2K worries, and as always the American public has decided to look at things with the sort of selfish self-centeredness that we seem to have in such abundance. "Oh! But what about MY food supply?!" you hear them lament. "And MY finances!" "What about the hoards of survivalists invading MY home? Do I have enough weapons to destroy all of MY neighbors?" "Will I soon have to be drinking MY own urine to live?" Mine, mine, MINE!!!

    Why is it that our concern for the less fortunate among us stops with Christmas all of a sudden? How about that poor homeless child who suddenly finds that he can't tuck that eight of clubs neatly under the virtual red nine? Or the mentally ill woman who cannot afford but a lower grade of mutual fund and then loses track of even that pitiful capital asset as her laptop PC freezes up on December 31? What about the derelict transient who buys a Palm Pilot, only to have it explode in his shopping cart, destroying all of his meager belongings? Christmas has now passed, so I guess some people are just plain out of luck. Who oh who will look after these poor lost souls?

    The next millennium will be just as full of needy people as this one has been. Just remember, folks, there is no "I" in Y2K.

    By any measure, Jerry Colangelo's Phoenix Suns have had a remarkably successful run here in the Valley of the Sun these last thirty-three years. Countless playoff appearances, two trips to the Championship Finals, MVPs, Hall-of Famers, you name it, baby. However these achievements nevertheless ring remarkably hollow. For despite all of the money (including taxpayers' money) that Uncle Jerry has poured into "your" Phoenix Suns, our local hoopster heroes have yet to come away with the big tortilla a single time. Never. Not once. I mean, my God. The Suns are by far the oldest team in the NBA that has never snagged a title. Seattle has won the title. Jesus, PORTLAND even won it once. So what is it in the Suns that perpetually insists on squandering golden playoff opportunities? What is it?

    Man, who could forget the magical spring of 1976, when a 41-41 Suns club came out of nowhere to beat the champion Warriors in the playoffs and go on to the finals with Boston? I still can't believe they lost that series. No I cannot, not to this very day. Then seventeen long years later, the 1993 Suns seemed absolutely destined to take it all. The best record in the league, MVP Charles Barkley, a constantly sold-out shiny new arena in which to play. But the unfortunate fact was that they still had to beat Michael and the Bulls. They didn't.

    The latest incarnation of the Suns is certainly a decent collection of players, but no one seriously thinks these guys are going to get back to the finals anytime soon, let alone win it. Danny Ainge's recent departure says it all. Forget all the warm and fuzzy talk about Ainge wanting to spend more time with his family. Things just weren't going real well. Jerry wanted Danny gone. It's that simple.

    Jerry Colangelo, quite apart from his incredible financial success as a sports mogul, is arguably the biggest loser in the history of the NBA. This is not a tragedy on the order of Hamlet or Macbeth, certainly. What remains clear, though, is that the only remedy is for the Suns to finally, to finally, win it all. Will any of us actually live to see this happen? Will anyone ever? Stay tuned, Suns fans. Yes, do stay tuned. Zzzz.

Chess Clinic by J. Bueker

    The game of chess has a long and colorful tradition on Joan De Arc Avenue. This writer learned from the best, 1960's Joan De Arc Avenue "World Champion" Carl Bueker. Dad taught me to play aggressively, to concentrate on strategy, and above all, to use cheap psychological tricks against my opponent. For example, the timeless "misdirection" technique, wherein Old Man Bueker would draw his hapless opponent's attention to some remote, irrelevant corner of the chessboard by feigning concern about his strategic position there, while covertly setting up his true line of attack elsewhere. When your opponent catches on to this technique, you simply change tactics and start pointing out the true areas on the board that you plan to attack.

    I believe that I beat dear old Dad just once at the game of chess, probably due to my emerging mastery of the very same tactic he had effected against yours truly for so many years. It was one of those genuine milestones in the father-son relationship. We were both momentarily stunned by my triumph, but then a father's pride in his son's achievement shone through. "You played that very nicely," said he. "Now get your big butt in bed, it's late." I never beat him again.