1999 -- THE YEAR IN PREVIEW

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Why, it seems like just last year we were sitting here, discussing the pending events of last year. As I recall, I was, as in years past, stunningly accurate with my predictions, nailing a whopping 50 percent of the true/false questions, although that could be a chemistry test in high school I’m thinking of.

Regardless, I’m back for a third (I think) year of informing you of the coming events of the new year, a year which, I can say for certain, will be 1999.

On Jan. 1, 1999, a nation will wake to a new year. Granted, they will not wake until around 2 p.m., and their heads will be pounding so severely that they will be fairly sure that, since they can’t remember the actual events of the night before, they must have been assaulted by a gang of shovel-wielding thugs. Desperate attempts will be made by all revelers to get Prince’s 1999 out of their head.

Early into January, despite a dazzling Fiesta Bowl between Florida State and Tennessee, allegations regarding both school’s off-the-field affairs raise questions of their ability to be national champions. Al Gore is named collegiate football national champion.

In political news, the Senate reaches a decision to proceed with a trial against President Clinton. Sen. Trent Lott says the decision is based on the realization that, like the American people, "We, too, didn’t really know what censure meant."

In professional sports, the Atlanta Falcons whip the Denver Broncos 45-6 for their first Super Bowl win. After the game, Falcons coach Dan Reeves tells the nation, "Who needs a soul?"

Chilly temperatures blanket the nation in February. Freakishly, though, Washington D.C. boasts temperatures in the high 80s during Congressional hearings.

February comes to a close with the stunning confession from Sen. Daniel Patrick Moynihan that, should any woman ever want to, there is a really good chance he wouldn’t be able to resist. The House of Representatives brings forth Articles of Planting Disgusting Images in our Heads against Moynihan.

The Senate trial against President Clinton gets under way in March. A nation is glued to the television. Granted, it’s to watch the NCAA basketball tournament, but they are glued nonetheless.

In the opening statements of the trial, the President addresses the Senate by expressing his sorrow for his misgivings. Insiders say the President may have made a tactical flaw when he asks for the phone number of Sen. Barbara Boxer. Realizing his mistake, the President launches an air strike on Belize.

Also in March, Steven Spielberg cleans house at the Oscars, with Saving Private Ryan reeling in seven Oscars. However, the true highlight of the evening occurs when a drunken James Cameron storms the stage, saying all of the Oscars, including the award for best animated short, are actually additional praise for Titanic. Spielberg, in true diplomatic fashion, beats Cameron to death with his Best Director statuette.

Linda Hamilton offers $4 million for the blunt object.

In April, baseball hits the field again. Trying to top last year’s season for the ages, teams around the league try with little success various promotions to keep the fans coming. Among those, Check For Mark McGwire’s Andro-Induced Shrinkage Day and Make Out With David Wells Night are dismal failures.

Perennial friend to hungry children Sally Struthers extends her cause to another needy group of children, NBA players. With the season having been officially scrapped and sold for parts, Ms. Struthers puts together a campaign to assist the players. In her commercials, footage is shown of a dazed Patrick Ewing wandering the streets of New York, gnawing on the ankle of superagent Leigh Steinburg. Cents roll in.

International problem child Saddam Hussein shows his less than attractive mug to the world in May, as he denounces publicly the efforts of United Nations inspectors. Iraqis begin to band together in opposition to their leader. Thousands sign a petition reading "Please don’t make them blow us up again. It really, really sucks, Saddam." Saddam, realizing he has few options left, has all signees caned.

May marks the anniversary of the official retirement of one of the greatest single men of all time. Hoards of women call press conferences to express their sorrow that he is officially off the market. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

In June, the nation turns its eyes skyward, as NASA prepares to launch another component of the space station. The nation quickly turns the eyes back to earth after they remember they haven’t been remotely interested in space travel since 1969.

The Senate trial of President Clinton lags on through the month of June. The embattled President has been on the witness stand for nearly three months, with graphic and personal questions regarding his sex life being hurled at him nonstop. The Senate eventually votes 99-1 to no longer allow Ted Kennedy to ask questions.

Also in June, recent college graduates begin searching for employment in the real world. Realistic parents begin disassembling the rec room in their houses to put Junior’s room back in order.

July temperatures reach sweltering highs around the country. Running out of Spanish terms, weatherman begin saying it is due to Paco. Also in weather news, most of the nation is hit with a terrible drought, with some places going without rain for over two months. In Topeka, KS, a weatherman is dragged off camera from his map by an angry mob of dusty farmers after referring to the upcoming day as "another clear, beautiful day."

Also in July, store clerks get an early jump on things and begin putting up decorations. When reached for comment, one store owner says, "Oh, this is for 2002. We’ve already had our sale for next year’s Christmas."

August has parents rushing busily to get those last minute school items for little Timmy and little Mary. Parents pause for a moment to remember their days of shopping with their parents, searching for three ring binders and pens and the like. They then quickly resume the hunt for a boys size 10 bullet-proof vest.

The Presidential trial comes to a close when the Senate comes back with a verdict of not guilty. Al Gore demands a recount.

In September, the nation turns toward television, as the Emmy Awards capture just as much attention as they do every year. In a bizarre twist Dennis Franz is given the award for Best Actress in a Comedy.

October is ripe with controversy, as concerned groups begin protesting the pagan implications of Halloween. Grocery stores begin stocking up on eggs and toilet paper, as they just know a market surge is looming.

Thousands of Native Americans gather in October to protest Columbus day. They demand that Columbus, OH, change its name to Land Stealing Paleface Who Gave us Smallpox, OH. The city council agrees that it’s still better than being Cleveland.

Towards the end of October, O.J. Simpson gets publicity when he says that, as far as he was concerned, he did not kill anyone, as far as the definition of kill he was given implied. He later admits that the definition of kill was provided by Johnnie Cochran and read: "Kill -- verb. To dress badgers up in ballerina outfits and make them dance to various Bob Seger songs."

November will come and go as it always does, with Thanksgiving getting the brush aside for its flashier holiday cousins. Several newspapers report seeing Thanksgiving hanging out in seedy strip clubs with the likes of Arbor Day and Election Day.

December is a busy month, as parents look to fill those children’s shopping lists. In a related story, a drunken Furby and Tickle-Me-Elmo are arrested after attempting to hold up a liquor store in Phoenix. A third suspect, thought to be Scratch and Snore Ernie, is still on the loose.

1999 will close out in dramatic fashion, as thousands of drunken revelers brawl in to the wee hours of the night, all over whether or not they have started a new millennium all the while the music of Prince rings through the area.