“Desert islands are all the rage these days. From Survivor to Castaway, it seems like our nation is obsessed with the concept of human beings isolated from all they’re normally used to. And in that original, free-thinking spirit, the North Kitsap Herald chain has decided to capitalize on this trend by stranding me on a desert island, with everything I could ever need …. except for sports. No TV. No cable. No Sports Illustrated subscription. They wouldn’t even let me bring any sports-related products. The following is a diary of my time on the island. DAY ONE: This won’t be so hard. Sure, I’m stranded on this desert island with no sports, but it’s just a matter of breaking out of my routine. I’ve already missed the first three episodes of ESPN Sportscenter, and only have five more to go. It’s just a matter of finding alternatives. I’m even thinking about reading a book … later. DAY TWO: Today was good. I started enriching my mind by reading a book – that Waldo sure is hard to find! I also have been exercising by running up and down the dunes, much like Vin Baker should have done before this …. no, I can’t think about that. I am stuck alone on this island, surrounded by trees and birds and rocks, but I must have the discipline not to think about the 2-3 zone or Formula One racing. DAY FIVE: I must admit I miss sports. I miss watching sports highlight after sports highlight. I miss flipping through the sports pages. But I will continue. Hope survives. DAY SIX: I had a slight setback today. After I found Waldo (which was ant-iclimactic) I made a pair of sock puppets to amuse myself. I found myself re-enacting Sportscenter with them. DAY EIGHT: Today I broke down. After days without sports I pulled a coconut from a tree and started teaching monkeys how to play football. I have divided them into two teams, the Cowboys and the Giants. They have good physical skills but little aptitude for the game. I demanded that one of them run a slant and he bit me on the arm and ran into the woods howling. No Super Bowl bonus for him! DAY TEN: The monkey Super Bowl has been cancelled. One team is holding out for a larger portions of grubs. Through their leader, Jo-Jo, they have communicated that, if they are not paid, they will move to a bigger, better island. DAY TEN (later): My attempts to play basketball using a porcupine as a ball were unsuccessful. Note to editor: please send bandages. DAY TWELVE: I have grown desperate. I am weak and tired, and fresh water is running out. I even dug out a message in the sand: GO MARINERS! DAY TWELVE (later): Changed message to SEND WATER. DAY TWELVE (even later): Changed message back to GO MARINERS! DAY THIRTEEN: Bitter disappointment today. It turned out I had not found Waldo but a cleverly dressed imposter. I had merely overlooked the cowboy hat the false-Waldo had been wearing. Back to the search. PS: Found a wrecked boat on the other side of the island. The boat is called the SS Minnow. Nearby are seven skeletons. This can only be taken as a bad sign. DAY FOURTEEN: Today the monkey-Cowboys hired Scott Boras as their agent. Waldo is nowhere to be found. Things are very bleak. DAY FIFTEEN: Held a seashell to my ear. Thought I heard Vin Scully, but it was just the shell’s only occupant, a crab, grabbing my ear in his claws. Note to editor: send more bandages. DAY SIXTEEN: Today hope. A helicopter landed, and I was told I had to leave. Finally! I’m allowed to leave, I said, and one of the Armani-dressed lawyers informed me that no, I HAD to leave. One of the monkey-Giants, the one with the best arm, had purchased the island and planned to turn it into a compound. I was just happy to leave. As I lifted into the air I asked questions of my companions: Gore had won the presidency, right? Was Letterman still the late-night king? And was Paul Westphal still coach of the Sonics? The two lawyers looked at each other. They didn’t speak, and I looked for Waldo all the way home. “