This little clip from a recent Steve Rushin editorial in SI will explain a lot about many of us: Some minds are steel traps. My mind is a lint trap, retaining only useless fluff, so that I know why .406 is important, but not why 1066 is. If you were to remove, with a flourish, the top of my head--like the silver dome from a serving tray--what you'd find underneath is potluck: batting averages, song lyrics, palindromes, advertising jingles, trivia questions, jersey numbers and movie dialogue. They're all strewn about the ransacked room of my brain . . . . I can't tell you the atomic number of magnesium, but I can tell you the uniform number of Manny Saguillen (35), who hasn't played big league baseball in 24 years. The only poetry I've committed to memory is a Hormel hot-dog jingle from the Metrodome that goes, "Great for lunch, great for dinner, You will be a wiener winner. . . ." My brain, in short, has made bad choices, and those choices now define me thusly: Can't quote Kerouac, can quote Caddyshack.