I took a field sobriety test and all I got was this lousy plastic tube

Last night, while driving through Neenah with a burnt-out headlight, I was pulled over and given a field sobriety test. I had just spent several hours playing Trivia Pursuit and talking about the unrecognized greatness of Gwen Stefani, so I knew this geek was in no trouble of getting busted by the fuzz.

This was going to be fun.

Well, maybe not fun. I had downed two bottles of Champagne of Beer about four hours earlier, and while I didn't feel drunk, being surrounded by four of Neenah's finest at 1:30 a.m. makes even a law-abiding fella like myself a little nervous.

Here's the drill for the unintiated: They make you step out of the car and stand on the sidewalk with your hands at your sides. Then an officer takes out his pen and has you follow the tip with your eyes for appoximately 47 minutes. It was 10 degrees at the time, and my hands felt like the chuck steak that's been in my freezer since July. But I kept them out of my pockets.

Next, the officer made me stand still with my left foot in front of my right. I'd like to see the Pope do that for a minute straight without stumbling. It's hard, especially when your legs won't stop shivering because you didn't wear long underwear because you didn't anticipate being pulled over. I took nine steps forward, and nine steps back, and me and the officer came together because opposites attract.

Finally, it was the Breathalyzer. They didn't show me the score, but out of the corner of my eye I saw in big red digits, .001. Boo-yah. One of the officers took off the plastic tube and handed it to me. A memento, she said. Great, but how about a picture, too?