Mark Saal

Hey, I’m a big enough man to admit when I’m wrong. Not that it’s happened in 27 years of writing for newspapers, mind you.

However, about six months ago I came as close as ever. Last April, when newly hired football coach John L. Smith bolted Weber State University for the University of Arkansas — before coaching even a single game for the Wildcats — I pretty much jumped on him with both cleats. I called him selfish. Cowardly. A quitter. A liar. A loser. And a bunch of other adjectives.

Look, I’ll admit it. As a Weber State University fan with an alumna wife and a child attending that fine school, I was a bit miffed at Coach Smith leaving us in the lurch like that. And in the heat of the moment, I said some harsh things.

But that was then, this is now. It’s difficult to stay angry at a man whose life has spiraled so far out of control that even the most debased of former child stars, sitting in a jail cell somewhere covered in vomit, is going, “Man, at least I’m not HIM.”

Uh-oh. Did someone forget to slip the anti-psychosis meds in the North Ogden water supply again?

It seems like every year or so, somebody in that Weber County city makes a good-faith attempt to put the “No” back in North Ogden:

• No classic Greek statues featuring the human form in any degree of undress.

• No works of art at festivals using the letters “S-E-X” in them.

• No face-to-face or phone interviews between city employees and the media.

But this latest North Ogden “No” is the nuttiest of them all:

• No using parks on Sunday.

That’s right, people. There was brief talk among the powers-that-be this past week about closing the city’s parks on Sundays. Closing them. The parks. On Sundays. A weekend day.

Look, I don’t like to nag you people, but today is National Grandparents Day. And as it turns out, I just happen to be one.

So then, can I assume that your cards and gifts are in the mail?

National Grandparents Day was the brainchild of Marian McQuade, a West Virginia housewife who, back in 1970, envisioned a day set aside to encourage families to visit their elderly relatives. (Whew! Thank heavens THAT only comes around once a year, huh?)

It took a while to catch on, but by 1978 the idea for a day honoring our grandmothers and grandfathers had reached the White House. That year, President Jimmy Carter signed into law a resolution declaring the first Sunday after Labor Day as National Grandparents Day.

And here we are.

"To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself."

-- Soren Kierkegaard

Two weeks ago, I wrote about my considerable fear of heights, and how my friend and neighbor -- canyoneering ninja Shane Holst -- was attempting to help me master that fear. His brilliant plan, in a nutshell, involved taking me to Southern Utah over Memorial Day weekend, attaching me to a rope, and pushing me off the side of the first dizzyingly deep canyon we came to. (Imagine Shane's remedy if I'd told him I have a fear of bees; I'd be writing this covered in large, red welts right now.)

And just in case anyone is interested in the final score, here's how Shane's patented Acrophobia Intervention Plan shakes out:

Saal -- 3

Southern Utah canyons -- 0

That's right, people. I came, I saw, I kicked some red rock.

You need to know that I have a healthy fear of things beginning with the letter H.

I'm not really sure what they'd call such a fear -- aitchophobia, I suppose -- but it includes a fairly long list of things I hate. Horses. Hospitals. Hairpieces. Hyphens (just you try and figure out when to use one). Haunted houses. Hoodies. Hypnotists (Cree-py!). Hygienists. Haggis. Hypodermic needles. The list goes on.

So, what are you doing in exactly one year, three months and three days? Got any plans?

What? Couldn't even begin to hazard a guess as to what's on the ol' agenda for that date? Me neither. In fact, I'm not sure I could tell you what I'll be doing next weekend.

But, apparently, thousands of tweenyboppers know exactly where they'll be on that fateful day -- July 25, 2013. They'll be in beautiful, scenic West Valley City at the One Direction concert, swaying to the sounds of some as-yet-unwritten tunes.

He is risen.

No, wait. He's down again. And this time, it looks like he's out for the count.

Ah, yes. Nothing quite says "Holy Week" like guys with angry facial expressions and the occasional neck tats, beating on each other like they were rented mules.

Last night, on what many Christians refer to as "Holy Saturday," the mixed-martial-arts fight promoter Total Mayhem presented "We're Back II." The event, at The Gym in West Haven, offered a dozen matches of hardly-any-holds-barred ultimate fighting.