Columnist Scott Dickensheet: Collector’s item! Timeless classic! Year-end bonus!

Scott Dickensheet

Friday, Dec. 26, 1997 | 10:46 a.m.

WELCOME TO a special, bonus, collectible, extra-special year-end edition of Scott's Column! In the tradition of Time, Newsweek, Esquire, Rolling Stone and most other publications with staffs eager to begin their holiday breaks early, I'm presenting the sort of year-that-was retrospective that seems pretty damned impressive but actually requires very little work to assemble. That's what makes it so extra-special. Brace yourselves:

SCOTT'S COLUMN, THE YEAR IN REVIEW

January-August: Actually, nothing much happens with Scott's Column during this period, aside from that incident with the power tools and the cat.

September: Scott's Column is captured on White House videotape, during an informal gathering of soft-money donors, racing President Clinton for the last bear claw in the Winchell's box. A struggle ensues. Secret Service agents are forced to intervene.

October: The British turn over Scott's Column to the Chinese, who promptly give it back as Asian stock markets tumble.

November: Scott's Column makes its ballet debut to great acclaim in the Nevada Dance Theatre production of Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the He-Shes." "That column was never meant to wear tights," one critic gushes.

December: Septuplet mania! World media descends as Scott's Column announces birth of seven! Hoax suspected as the kids turn out to be six cloned sheep and one cat with a fear of power tools. Muttering something about a "kid pro quo," Scott's Column vanishes with a 10-year supply of free diapers, the cloth variety. Good luck, guy!

SCOTT'S COLUMN'S MAN OF THE YEAR

Small, easily manipulated, but possessing world-class stick-to-it-iveness, the Scott's Column Man of the Year is ... the little sticky guy at the Henderson Albertson's!

True story: My sister-in-law tossed a little sticky guy -- one of those toy figures coated with a gummy substance who, when tossed against a wall, sticks, then slowly eases down -- to the ceiling at Albertson's, then waited for him to come down. Five years later, he still hasn't. Talk about suspended disbelief.

For being one of the few men this year not to bite someone, cheat on his wife, or accept illicit money -- for simply hanging in there -- the little sticky guy was an easy choice.

Alas, his reign will be a short one; the Henderson Albertson's will move to a new location shortly after the new year, prompting a final question: If a little sticky guy dangles from a ceiling and no one sees him, does he really exist?