If Major League Baseball insists on using those ridiculous cutouts to fill the stands, they should add some realism by having some of these “fans” staring down at their phones.

Thanks to the pandemic, I took my first bike ride in 20 years. You know that saying, “It’s like riding a bike, you never forget.” It’s not true.

If we had hosted our premier softball tournament this summer, it would have been called the “Two Gloves National Softball Tournament.” There’s no way we would allow players to field the ball barehanded.

The Treasury Secretary announced the U.S. is applying for a second mortgage but will need Bolivia to co-sign.

Farm-to-table is all the rage but our standard of freshness is Ed’s Way-to-table.

In one evening, I dined at Chicago Cut, a fancy steakhouse on the Chicago River and picked up a steak sandwich at Submarine Tender. The cuisine at Chicago Cut was more upscale but Sub T has better artwork.

Players at the “Two Gloves” would have been required to bring their own coolers of beer. Despite the absence of fans, there would have been no decline in beer consumption.

The U.S. is considering selling the Louisiana Purchase back to France because we could really use the $19 million.

My most pleasurable morning ritual, reading the daily newspapers, has become the most painful. The headlines are so depressing, I skip half the articles.

One headline was so shocking, though, I had to read the article. The French wine industry has collapsed due to the pandemic and the 25 percent tariff we slapped on French wine. Grape growers are so desperate, they’re selling their wine to distilleries to be boiled down for hand sanitizer. As the French would say, “Oy vey!”

The stock market reports shares of AAA Board-Up Service are skyrocketing.

Our patriotic duty is to social-distance, wear masks and binge on Netflix. It’s not like we’re being asked to storm Omaha Beach.

People in my neighborhood have been so pleasant, I made three new friends during a two-block walk. One of them was a 14-year-old dog named Sadie, who still has the stamina to take three walks a day.

We make frequent trips to O’Hare Airport to drop off our son who works for TSA. The once-busiest airport in the world is a ghost town. The traffic on the way there may be gone but the drivers who are left seem to have a death wish.

Like many of you, I’m suffering from intense nightmares. I don’t have Freddy Krueger chasing me. It’s worse. I’m dreaming that I’m still doing detective work.

Many clothing stores have closed but a start-up selling wooden barrels with suspenders is posting big sales.

The U.N. decrees that the U.S. can’t start any more wars until the current two are paid for.

Forest Park man reports box of pennies retirement fund ran out in 15 minutes.

The U.S. seeks modification of debt payments. The World Bank can’t stop laughing.

Canadian language classes are crammed with American job-seekers learning to pronounce “out” and “about.”

Pear thief apprehended by Forest Park Detective Sam Diamond last summer is exonerated after police discover that squirrels were the actual culprits.

The U.S. applies for a car loan but can’t produce a single pay stub.

I don’t know how exciting your life is but my daily highlights include making the bed, running the dishwasher and staring blankly into space.

Despite all the adversity we face, Forest Parkers remain strong, unified and respectful. With the exception of that couple who cut ahead of me at Sub T.

John Rice

John Rice is a columnist/private detective, who has seen his business and family thrive in Forest Park. He thoroughly enjoys life in the village and still gets a thrill smelling Red Hots, watching softball...

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