Nick shades his eyes and looks down the fairway. "How far, d'you think?" he asks the caddy.
The caddy squints, is thoughtful for a moment, and replies, "It can't be more that twenty yards at the most. I'd use a seven iron."
Nick nods in agreement as the caddy hands him the club. Nick takes a copy of his column this morning, July 20, wads it up in a tight ball, and drops it at his feet. He looks down the fairway again, which is really just an aisle in the Strib newsroom, at the, er, cup: Katie is leaning over and inveighing a co-worker about her recent column about the heroin epidemic in Northfield.
"Jesus, Nick, keep your head down," Nick mutters to himself. He addresses the wadded column, takes a couple of practice swings, and then gives the crumpled paper a sound whack with the iron.
Nick's aim is true. The paper ball sails in an arc and lands in its target! Katie straightens up and shrieks "AIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Then Katie reaches behind her, retrieves, and then reads the object of her humiliation.
Coleman's column this morning was a series of interviews and observations about the hyped and questionable story about heroin use in Northfield. Boys and girls, Spot says that reading the two columns linked above will demonstrate the difference between the work of an ideological hack and a veteran newspaperman.