What About Holt?

Author: Christian Holt

This week, Bob Wainwright, author of "What About Bob?" will be running his last column. Holt's Harangue therefore would like to give a send off to this sultan of sarcasm.
"So long, you old fogey!"
Haha, I kid. But the truth is, Bob's pretty old now. How old? Well, he's old enough to base his column on the title of a movie starring Bill Murray. When he still had hair.
He's been writing his column for years. Many will be telling you that he is stopping his column because he has to work on his American Literature thesis.
The truth is much darker, I'm afraid. You see, they want you to believe that he is retiring because of "academic reasons." The truth is something which I have to call, "Wainwright-gate."
I have a mole in The Middlebury Campus inner circle who has told me that Bob is being forced into retirement. During their weekly editorial meetings, in addition to their ritual sacrifice of a chicken, they decided upon Bob's "early retirement."
My source gave his life to bring me this information.
It appears that Bob's going senile. His brain isn't what it used to be, and his typing hands are beginning to disintegrate to dust. To say that he's over the hill might be an understatement. He doesn't play on the tennis team anymore, the other players are afraid he'll break a hip or something. Never being a terrific driver (he failed his test three times), his slackening abilities now render him a threat to anyone on the sidewalk. Due to his longevity, and perhaps his drooling, some are declaring him the Strom Thurmond of columnists.
So yes, age has played a role in Bob's retirement. But who could blame him? He's been giving us the best in middle-brow humor consistently, for what must seem like an eternity. Each week, you open the paper, and sure enough, he's there. Some people wonder how he can do it, week after week.
Answer: no social life. Bob hasn't seen the sun in about two years. He's been pounding columns out week after week, in a sick Dr. Frankenstein-esque obsession. Most of his columns were written months, even years in advance. He no longer cares for deadlines and is now nothing more than a sputtering joke machine. The only time he was let out of The Middlebury Campus office dungeon (a.k.a. his lair) was to judge the winter carnival talent show. Even then, he had two wranglers, Mike Kirkland and Francois Clemons keeping him in line.
Yes, Bob has sacrificed a lot for this paper that he loves.
But he's pretty damn funny. In my mind, not since Mike Piazza started doing those "1-800-COLLECT" commercials have I seen a funnier New Yorker. In the past, Bob's shared with us his views on the media, instructing tennis, the weather, Australians and drunken giraffes. And he quotes from Britney Spears a great deal. Yes, he's quite cultured. He explains that he's never had a lack of fodder for the column, because things just keep happening to him. But he adds, the absent minded narrator of the column is not a ruse, "it's all true."
The best thing a humorist can do to another is to make fun of him. To quote the Friar's Club, "we only roast the ones we love." So, readers, understand that my attempts at mockery are meant with the best intention. Bob and I have very different styles (his requires talent), but I've learned a lot from the guy. We all have, and laughed along the way too. We all have a favorite among his columns. I'm personally a big fan of his Dr. Seuss column and his kid's tennis one. Hey, 2 out of 75 ain't bad.