A Few Words From The Slab from Cyberspace   By Columnist Bob McKay   Hey, you guys. Still getting the feel of having The Slab out here in virtual reality. I think it’s like Superman, when his enemies knew they couldn’t kill him, they somehow compressed him into a flat plane and shot him into outer space where he was drifting in that vastness, and even though he was still alive, if anybody wanted to get in touch with him, well, you can see it would take some doing. And it takes a little doing to get to me, these days, so if you’re here, I appreciate it. As a good innkeeper would say, we’ll do our best to make your stay a pleasant one.   And like a good innkeeper, I’ve got a few housekeeping items in The Slab. First up is to remind you that this is National Leg Awareness Week.   Next, a few Reverend Readers have mentioned that The Slab has not offered a bobblehead in a while, and they are right about that. Oversight on my part, as usual. So this week, what say we put up a Steven King bobblehead. The King of Horror. How’s that? Order yours today.   Next, for absolutely no reason that I’m aware of, I recalled that quite a long time ago, we lived through a period that was called the Me Decade. And it caused me to wonder what this present decade might be called. I know it wouldn’t be Me. Whatever it’s about, this decade is certainly not about Me. In fact, I think it’s about Them. Joe the Plumber, the AIG execs, the unemployed, those receiving bailouts, politicians – Them. It’s their turn. The Them Decade. And so the wheel revolves.   As you may or may not know, the newly elected President asked me to be a member of his Cabinet, a new position, the Trusted Token White Guy Sidekick & Hapless Fill-In for Pick-Up Hoops. I was honored, but because of my responsibilities here, I had to decline, and I’m told that those duties are going to be picked up by the vice-president elect, Joe Biden. I wish him well. My advice? Box out.   In other news, I see where the Reds hired two more special assistants to the General Manager (as well as a scout), to go with the Bavasi scion who is already opening as a special assistant to the General Manager, who took over after serving as a special assistant to the then-General Manager, Wayne Krivsky, who was fired because the owner was sick and tired of losing.   I mention this in obvious contrast to the Bungles, who not only don’t have assistants to the General Manager, they don’t have a General Manager. And the question, which then looms, inevitably, I think, is: Why? What’s up?   Ordinarily, this would be the time to flog the owner of the Bungles, Mike Brown (Who is really that lovable old blockhead, Charlie Brown), unmercifully. But these, as you may know, are no ordinary times. And through the lens of these not-so-ordinary times, I think it is at last possible to catch a glimpse of the scintillating genius of Mike Brown.   Because the economy is sweeping down on pro sports, like a tsunami. In baseball, they say it will wash everyone away but Manny and C.C. They’re supposed to be tsunami-proof. But everyone else, look out. Some clubs are already trimming the staff, boarding up the windows. Not the Reds. They’re hiring special assistants. In bunches.   Hamlet, in one of his many mouthy tirades, said: “Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.” The madness of the Bungles, I believe this must be clear to all. As they say, it needs no introduction. We’re thoroughly familiar with the madness of the Bungles.   It’s the method that is now becoming clear. Not having any staff at all, save for a few cherished family members, now seems a brilliant strategic financial move. If I were wearing a hat, I would take it off and doff it to Mike Brown. You sir, are a genius.   There’s more. Because the team stinks, no one wants to see the Bungles. Ah, but that’s not so. The season ticket holders, stuck with their seat licenses and other costs, all for the privilege of having to watch the Bungles, don’t want to do it. To recoup at least a portion of their losses, they put their not so precious seats up for sale on the glorious Internet (Right here!), (You know what I mean by “here”), at a reduced bargain price, of course, because no one in possession of even a splinter of their right mind would pay what they shelled out for these seats. So come game day, we have in those seats people who previously could not have afforded the money to see the Bungles in person. While this may not exactly be “spreading the wealth,” as the newly elected President would say, it does indicate a definite shift in opportunity, and the one most responsible for this has got to be (May I have a flourish, please) none other than that smooth operator, Mike Brown. Sir, you are a man clearly ahead of your times. (But I have a sense, now, of the times beginning to catch up).