"The crossword puzzle?" I say, suspiciously. That's impossible. He might know the three-letter name of a former Notre Dame coach, but I'm sure he's never heard of an obi.
"No, no," he says. "The Jumble." Points to the scrambled-word game, where designated letters help spell out a hilarious caption for a crudely drawn comic.
I rip the paper out of his hands and look at the clock: 6:54 p.m. Four minutes later it was not only solved -- A HEARING AID -- I'd had time to consider the way Busch Lite affects the brain. I imagined a porous ham floating in a pale yellow liquid. Globby hunks eroding from the mass, and creating a chunky stew.
Ten minutes. Psshh.