‘Psychic twin’ couldn’t lock up the Heisman

I was walking through the kitchen of one of my many-decades Rockdale friends the other day when she went into “mom mode.”

“You know your shoe’s untied?” she gently asked.

Actually, I did. I was carrying a bunch of documents she’d just loaned me for a story and I was hoping to make it to my car without her noticing.

I knew if I tried to tie it now I would end up knocking over something priceless in her house or tying myself to a table leg or something.

“I’ll get it when I get to the car,” I said, no doubt mystifying her, but she’s far too nice a lady to let her concern show.

Stuff, weird random stuff, happens to me all the time. Last week in this space I related how I drove off from underneath a Reporter money sack and my checkbook, leaving them in the middle of different streets downtown.

Art by Robert Vega, a junior at Rockdale High School. Art by Robert Vega, a junior at Rockdale High School. I could write a column about something like that most weeks.

The point is, I may have a psychic twin.

John Morris is the football voice of the Baylor Bears. He’s also an assistant AD there. A busy man, he has a number of commitments to keep every day.

One day last week, as he later related to listeners on his radio show, John begins by recording a national segment at KCEN-TV. This requires a coat and tie.

Then he hurriedly goes home to change into more casual attire for the remainder of the day. In so doing, he hangs up his slacks with his keys in a pocket.

Of course he won’t know that until much later. Crucial information. John drives a vehicle with a “keyless entry” system.

As a security feature, those kind of vehicles won’t lock, unlock or start unless the fob— that little gizmo on the ring with the keys—is present within a few feet of the car.

John, of course, doesn’t know he has misplaced his keys, so he gets into his car. Which starts.

Off he goes. He makes a couple of stops, one to get gas, before heading to his office

In between these stops he inadvertently taps his pocket... and doesn’t feel his keys!

A quick search reveals he doesn’t have them. So, it’s easy to imagine everything running through his mind, not the least of which is “why is my car working when I don’t have the key fob?”

Oh, and there’s one other minor little dilemma, one that separates John’s predicament from what any of us would go through.

The previous night there was an event with Jackie Griffin, mom of 2011 Heisman Trophy winner Robert Griffin III. Somebody thought it would be nice if her son’s Heisman was there so it could be in pictures.

So, a Baylor of f icial was deployed to fetch college football’s greatest individual award and take care of it.

You g uessed i t. T hat m orning John is driving around with the (real) Heisman Trophy cradled and belted in his back seat and afraid to (manually) lock his vehicle. Why? He might not be able to get back in. He also can’t leave it unlocked. If it’s stolen it’s not hard to guess the Waco Tribune-Herald’s lead story the next morning. So John begins to retrace his steps, thinking he’s left the keys somewhere along his route.

(I just have a vision of a guy walking into a convenience store, hugging a Heisman Trophy, going “uh, excuse me, did I leave my keys between the Slurpee machine and the honey buns?”)

No keys. So he focuses on his car. Still starting so he must have lost his keys inside it somewhere. He almost literally tears apart a large gym/travel bag thinking they undoubtedly fell into it.

But no keys. Then at one point, his office I think, he carries the gym bag inside.

Still unsure what the actual situation is, he works through the morning and makes plans for lunch. At lunchtime—Heisman safely back in trophy case—he goes out and gets into his car.

Which doesn’t start.

This is where John differs from me. I would react in one of three ways: A. My head explodes; B. I call my wife and wail “please fix it!”; C. All of the above.

But his mind reacts logically. What’s different? Ah, the gym bag. It is no longer within range of the ignition. Keys have to be in there.

Except they’re not. What is in the gym bag, literally in an obscure, out of the way pocket, is—drum roll—the spare fob for his car which the family hasn’t even thought about in months!

That gets him home. Where, that evening, he goes to his closet and finds his keys, still in that pants pocket where they’ve been all along.

I had written this far without talking to John. He returns my call. Turns out his father was a preacher (like mine) and he grew up listening to the Cincinnati Reds on radio (like me).

Did I mention that I think I have a psychic twin?

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