Picture Judy Garland on a trolley car singing "Clang. Clang, Clang Went The Trolley" and "Meet Me In St Louie, Louie". Or do you prefer the "St Louie Blues"?

Whatever theme song puts you in the mood, you may end up hearing the strains of "Rocky" and the WWF announcer bellowing "Are You Ready To R-u-m-b-l-e?"

We’ve now had it- -Boy! Have we!!- -The third and final Presidential Debate of this year 2000 election year.

This time those wacky boys in blue suits got to parade around the stage in front of an audience hand picked for their need to ask dull questions on television. These people were the rejects from the cattle call for Survivor II. (Actually, it just makes you want to extinguish W and Al’s torches and vote them off the island.)

I was really hoping for a little pushing and shoving between the two, maybe even a "step outside to the parking lot", after last week’s etiquetty-petty-wetty. No such luck.

Al Gore and George W Bush do not like each other. You can tell from their body language as they circled each other last evening like caged felines sensing for that first drop of spilled blood. Unfortunately, they still seemed more like two backyard Tabbies than lions or tigers. They hissed and growled a bit, but they didn’t really inflict any damage on each other.

And the chances are they didn’t change anybody’s mind. If you already knew which of these two you’re voting for, then you watched holding your breath, panicked that your man wouldn’t make a foolish mistake.

If you are still undecided I doubt you’ve been paying attention. Or, and this is the most likely, you just ain’t tellin’. Pollsters, shmollsters. They can all go take a hike.

So we’re down to less than three weeks and all the wise and knowing punditry class are saying is it’s too close to call.

Is this what Yasir Arafat is waiting for? Or the Yemeni leaders? Or Saddam?

We have a choice between the High School Principal and the High School Coach.

Do you want the Principal in your living room for 30 seconds every night on the news giving today’s announcements ("…and Tuesday will be braised beef, with mashed potato, peas, and a roll and a pat of butter, and for dessert, apple Betty… Wednesday we’ll have…") or do you want the 30 seconds to sound like a pep rally ("…And we’ll show them I-raqis that when we mean bidness- -we mean bidness- -that’s what we mean- -bidness- -with a capital ‘B’- -Ready? Gimme a B! Gimme an I!! Gimme a D!! …What’s that spell? BIDNESS!!)?

We all heard the same canned phrases last night that we’ve heard for weeks. But if the stock market zig and zags, and the heating oil and gasoline prices go through the roof, and the middle east keeps boiling and the tragedy of The USS Cole turns into something more than an isolated incident, do you want people to be marched down to the Gym or to the Principal’s office?

Sure, it’s a lot more fun in the gym. Shoot some hoops. Yuck it up with the guys. But never has my stomach churned as much as when a call came to report to Mr C D Principal’s office. It was never just for the fun of it. It always meant business. I went enough to know and I never got used to it. He wasn’t the most fun to hang with- -Lordy no! But he stuck to the deal, and when he was done, you knew you’d had the "bidness".

So, you want to shoot some hoops? Or do you want to take care of business.

You decide. It’s your country. It’s your future. Actually, all our futures. Choose wisely. Your life could depend on it.

Me? I’m going back to singing songs of Ole Missouri. How about "Shoeless Joe From Hannibal, Mo"?