Missing: 2009 Woolly Bear Trophy

If anybody finds my "Wooly Bear" trophy, turn it in to the bartender at Rudy's Bar located across from the library in downtown Vermilion. As a matter of fact, maybe it's already in Rudy's Bar. That's where I last saw it when I was drinking with Little John Rinaldi, Kim Goddard and some of the Vermilion regulars after the Woolly Bear Parade Sunday.

I'm told that because of the economy some aspects of the Woolly Bear Parade were somewhat down. For example, there were fewer marching bands. Some school districts did not have the money to send them. These schools were regular participants in previous years.

But in other aspects it was bigger and better than ever. I must take issue with the crowd estimate of 100,000. It had to be bigger than that. It was like St. Patrick's Day in downtown Cleveland, which reminds me that Sept. 17, my birthday, just a few days ago, is exactly the midway point to St. Patrick's Day.

I've never seen so many dogs, all of them well-behaved. For a dog it must be like going to Cedar Point. There's just an awful lot of things to sniff. For kids, there were camel rides and dozens of cloven-hoofed animals to pet, including dwarf horses, goats, pot-belllied pigs and others that have not been named yet.

And if you like a carnival food court, the Woolly Bear's is the best. It's corn dog heaven.

Now, for the most important point of this piece.

The day before the festival I got a phone call from an old pal, Johnny Wells, who is retired and lives in Vermilion. He had noticed that I would be the grand marshal of the Woolly Bear Parade.

"It's the biggest drinking day of the year in Vermilion," he said with pride. "I'll be waiting for you in Rudy's Bar right after the parade."

And so it was that I was the guy in charge of the biggest drinking day of the year in Vermilion, quite an honor. I could learn to like that job. I snuggled up to the crowded bar right after the parade and Johnny Wells bought a round. Little John bought a round. Somebody I just met bought a round.

Round and round we went. It's easy to lose a trophy that way. Even the Stanley Cup has been misplaced.

Next thing, I was in somebody's back yard only a block away cooking perch.

As for the trophy, it was handed to me as I passed the reviewing stand in my white Buick convertible to commemorate my exaulted position as Parade Grand Marshal. The trophy was engraved with the words, "Woolly Bear 2009." It had no name. It didn't even specify "Grand Marshal." It was a "one size fits all" trophy. Presumably, it goes to the grand marshal if he or she shows up. If not, it goes to somebody else, such as the person who came the farthest, the oldest marcher, the youngest, the biggest dog, the smallest dog, etc. Or maybe it was just an extra trophy.

Nevertheless, I want it back.