America learns true meaning of contraction

Contraction is this nation's latest spelling word.

It's the talk of Major League Baseball and soon fourth graders everywhere will be forced to learn the word.

Our oldest daughter, Becca, is in fourth grade. But she hasn't talked about contraction. Lately, she and her younger sister, Bailey, have asked us about redoing their bedrooms. But as far as I can tell, none of that involves contraction.

Of course, baseball officials view contraction as a way to eliminate two ball clubs. They've shown no interest in redoing our bedrooms.

As a dad, I've always thought of contraction as part of the birthing process.

Admittedly, there's labor pain, but not the kind that is plaguing baseball. That kind involves the player's union, which, as far as I know, has never taken any birthing classes.

Personally, I don't think baseball should be talking about contraction without first hiring a reliable obstetrician and learning proper deep-breathing techniques.

So far, baseball owners are making a lot of noise, but it's unclear if the league's experiencing real labor pains.

If the nation really wants to look at contraction, maybe it should consider getting rid of Rhode Island, that midget state that wouldn't even qualify as a ranch in President Bush's home state of Texas.

It covers only 1,210 square miles and is littler more than half the size of Delaware.

Rhode Island's official nickname is the Ocean State, which is clearly a worse nickname than that of the Montreal Expos, one of the teams on the chopping block.

Those that know and love the state call it "Little Rhody," a clear indication that this state has a size problem.

The state itself officially goes by the name "State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations," which sounds more like a prestigious golf course. The state, however, has had to settle for just Rhode Island to get its name on those little school maps.

When you're small, you have to go to unusual lengths to get noticed.

The first quonset hut was built in 1941 at a naval air station in the tiny state.

Most of Rhode Island's residents live in the Providence metropolitan area, which has the oldest indoor shopping mall in the nation. That's clearly a major reason why the other colonies got together with Little Rhody in the first place.

Never mind the ocean-front property, there's no reason to be a state if you can't offer good shopping malls.

With contraction, Massachusetts or Connecticut could absorb Rhode Island and lay claim to being the Ocean State. As small as it is, Little Rhody could become its own ballpark. But that would give birth to another team, which Major League Baseball is guarding against.

None of this makes any sense to baseball fans or even Big Mac.

I'm not talking about Mark McGwire. I'm talking about Don Gorske, who has eaten more than 18,000 McDonald's sandwiches since 1972.

Gorske recently told students and faculty at Fond du Lac High School in Wisconsin that he still has a taste for the burgers. We're not talking contraction here.

Yet, surprisingly, this guy only weighs 175 pounds, which makes you wonder if some secret contraction is going on.

Students in the high school, no doubt being Rhodes Scholars, have calculated that Gorske has consumed 14 1/2 cows, 6.25 million sesame seeds, 1,900 whole pickles, 563 pounds of cheese and 100 gallons of special sauce.

If Rhode Island had gorged itself on the same diet, it would be larger than Delaware by now.

We wouldn't be talking contraction, not even on spelling tests.

Mark Bliss is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.