Saturday 19th February 2000
Dak the Hamster talks to Scratch the husband of Ganjette

An eccentricity of his old age, they said. A slight deformity of the cranial vacuum where the brain sits, someone else said - didn't vacuum mean that the brain wasn't present? Me? Well, I try to remain objective whenever I interview someone and today was not going to be an exception. Ever since the Broncos' win in the Superbowl in 98 and 99, Scratch, the husband of the Presidential candidate, Ganjette, has been secretly working on a hamhat, a testimony to his undying support for the team he follows whenever they're doing well - I mean 'whenever they play'.

Pre-empted by Baxter just the other week as the Rams won this year's Superbowl, Scratch was feeling just a little out of sorts. Even so, I sat across from him, now, wondering what sort of twist of the mind would prompt hamsters to wear hats that - to be honest - don't do an awful lot for them.

I began by asking as direct a question as I could but, even so, the answer I got back was bewildering to say the least.

'Why do hamsters take delight in wearing team hats?' I squeaked.

'About ten thirty' came the reply 'And then only if there's plenty of water available'

This didn't make too much sense. While I could parallel the time with the sort of period of the day when hamsters wear them, having sufficient water available seemed, to me at least, to be a superfluous piece of information which bore no relevance to my original question. I tried again.

'What I mean' I gesticulated madly trying to bring home the meaning of the question 'is why have you got a hat on the top of your head which declares "Go Broncos" on it?'

'No, no' Scratch began 'You misunderstand. Just because someone said I was in a pickle, it didn't mean that they were referring to my adventure with the jar of vinegar I fell in to'

Doh! This was getting difficult...then it hit me like some wet sponge at a funfair stall. Scratch couldn't hear me! That hat - perched precariously as it was on top of his head - was obscuring any sound that might enter his ears - and so his brain, if 'vacuum' wasn't an accurate description.

I motioned with my hand for him to take it off - he returned my gestures with a hand signal of his own.

'No, no' I squeaked 'that's not what I meant! Take your hat off!!'

Scratch jumped with a start - 'Oh' he shook his head 'I thought...never mind, what I thought'

He pulled the hat gingerly off and placed it beside his seated position, his ears twitching, trying to grow accustomed to the air that was now circulating all around him.

'So' I began again 'What's with the helmet?'

'Don't shout!' he exclaimed 'Honestly! There's only two extremes with you - you either whisper or shout. Just like the others. When I wear the hat, they all want to talk so I can't hear them - then, when I take it off, they shout like words are going out of fashion'

I threw my paws up in despair - this was pointless! I turned to go as Scratch grabbed the hat once more and placed it on top of his head muttering 'Young 'uns. No respect for their elders'

'I waved him a friendly good bye and squeaked 'See you later'

'Potata?' he squealed excitedly 'Is it time for dinner already?...'

Dak the Hamster writes for the Rodent Weekly.
This article appears courtesy of that paper.
Ganjette's presidential web site can be found here