Sheepish about dips who say 'THE paper'


January 26, 1999

Last Friday, I had the opportunity to attend the 35th annual presentation Sheep Dip. No, somebody was not taking a big swim in manure; Sheep Dip is a show put on by the Reno Ad-Club every year in which the happenings in the area over the past year are parodied.

For example, in this year's Sheep Dip show, Washoe County Sheriff Richard Kirkland was in a short film making fun of last year's flap over his in-uniform endorsements of political candidates. At the end of the film, he ended up endorsing donuts wearing nothing but a tie and boxer shorts.

I am not making this up. ever since, I have been having nightmares about the sight of Kirkland being only in his undies.

Anyway, I went with Jerry, the assistant managing editor of the Tribune (Tribune's motto: The truth has been our only friend since 1910), and Jerry's wife, Gioia. Before the show, held at the Flamingo Hilton (motto: Big smelly pink birds have been our only friend since 1910). we had dinner at a restaurant called the Flamingo Room.

(It was part of the cheapest dinner-and-show Sheep Dip package; if we would have wanted to pay more, we could have had dinner at somewhere like Top of the Hilton. But we work at the Tribune, and we're poor.)

Thus, we went into the Flamingo Room and treated ourselves to what I can honestly say was the worst buffet at which I have ever eaten. The buffet was the size of a large kitchen table, and the food was terrible. The gravy was thicker than the mashed potatoes, and everything tasted weird. Our only solace was that service was good.

(Please note: When the high point of a buffet is the service, that is a very bad sign.)

We then went into the show, where the usher had to kick some people out of our seats. We ended up sitting directly in front of Bruce Breslow, which I thought was terribly ironic.

All night, Jerry and I wondered whether the Tribune would get mentioned sometime during the show. I did not think we would get mentioned, and sure enough, we never did. As a matter of fact, at one point, we were not mentioned to the point of being insulted.

Let me explain. Despite its appearances, the last comment actually makes sense.

If you are reading this, chances are you know there are, in fact, two daily newspapers in this area: the Tribune, and the Reno Gazette-Journal (motto: Big-ass profits have been our only friend, along with the gaming industry, since we were bought out by Gannett"). But a local of area mumbleheads do not know this, and even some people who DO know this seem to have massive brain farts and forget on occasion -- and say something about "the paper," referring to the Gazette-Journal.

Well, they did this during Sheep Dip. Brent Boynton, of KOLO Channel 8 fame (Motto: Tad Dunbar has been our only friend since time began) made some reference to something being in "the paper," causing Jerry, Gioia and I to look at each other in disgust.

In fairness to the Sheep Dippers, a lot of other people who should know better have made the same mistake. I have been to exactly one meeting of the Sparks City Council (Motto: Syufy used to be our only friend, but we're sick of him delaying everything), where both Bruce Breslow and Tony Armstrong referred to the Gazette-Journal as "the paper." This is like referring to Reno as "the city," as if it was the only city in the area; or like referring to Breslow and Armstrong as "the brain farters," as if they are the only ones who have ever referred to the Gazette-Journal as "the paper."

In any case, I am assuming that the comment about "the paper" was just an oversight by Boynton, the Reno Ad-Club, and the Sheep Dip producers in general. I am sure they feel terrible about making such a mistake, and I am sure they will never do it again.

But if they do, we may have to just point out that there is another daily newspaper around which just so HAPPENS to be housed in a former POST OFFICE where there just may be frustrated journalists who are getting whacked out on all those postal service vibes to the point that they are thinking of themselves GOING POSTAL.

And if we're feeling really nasty, we may actually subject the Sheep Dippers to an even worse fate.

We may somehow force them to eat at the Flamingo Room buffet.

Jimmy Boegle, a fifth-generation Nevadan, salutes all those who put on Sheep Dip for doing a wonderful job (except for the "the paper" comment and Captain Sheep Dip, who scared the bejesus out of Jimmy). Jimmy's column appears Tuesdays in the Tribune; he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@alumni.stanford.org.

1