From The Surrey Shore . . .
The Newsletter of the Hated Rivals on the Surrey Shore Vol. 2, No. 5, October 2003
****A Scion Society for All Who Enjoy Sherlock Holmes in All His Manifestations!****
What? No, not our next meeting—nothing the Hated Rivals ever do is a “crime” (at least not to those with the right attitude). But the theme of our next meeting will be crime—Victorian crime, to be exact —as we bring to you . . . “Menace, Mayhem, and Moriarty!” Yes, the Napoleon of Crime will be among the subjects of November’s meeting, which will be held on Sunday, November 9 (a change in date from our earlier notices), from 1:30 to 4:30 p.m., at the Warren Library, at 9701 E. 21st Street, between Post and Mitthoeffer Roads, on Indianapolis’ Far Eastside (see the “Coming Meetings” section for directions). Our own Victorian expert, Bill Barton, will be giving a talk on Victorian crime, as well as related information about law enforcement in Victorian London—and will reveal the identity of the man on whom Arthur Conan Doyle based the evil Professor James Moriarty. In addition to Bill’s talk, you can expect some more great Sherlockian music (including a Canonical holiday sing-along!) as well as a couple more rare, short Sherlockian videos, plus refreshments—and it’s all for free! (We are, after all, the affordable Sherlockian alternative.) Plus we’ll once again be celebrating the joint birthday of two of our officers, Russell (our VP) and Amelia Peabody (Historian/Recorder). So if you have a free Sunday afternoon the second weekend in November—no matter what you may be doing the rest of the weekend—feel free to join the Hated Rivals on the Surrey Shore for a time so good that you’ll just think it’s a crime (against ourselves) that we’re not charging you for it.
I was running short on adjectives this month, so I thought I’d let you faithful readers come up with your own this time. (Be kind, please. And if you can’t, well, at least be clever.) Okay—through desecrating this missive’s title? Good. Please join me then, in a trip into the “darker pages” associated with the hobby of Sherlockiana . . .
The Horrific Sherlock Holmes (and A.C. Doyle)
October is traditionally a “spooky” month, with Halloween bringing up its rear, and a time when the Horror genre is at the front of everyone’s minds. Although most of the Holmes stories fall squarely in the mystery genre, a few do have their horrific elements. Hound of the Baskervilles, for example, started out as a horror story that Doyle based on a local legend; he added Holmes to the story only after deciding that using the Great Detective as a protagonist was more appropriate (and would engage readers far more readily) than creating a new hero for the tale. And, indeed, Hound appears regularly on lists of famous Victorian horror stories—it’s one of four featured in a book that I have that also discusses such 19th-century horror stories as Dracula, Frankenstein—even though, in truth, it appeared three years after the end of the century. Other Holmes tales also incorporate elements of horror—“The Devil’s Foot,” for one, comes readily to mind. And yet, some Sherlockians seem to disdain horror stories as somehow being “beneath them”—an attitude that would be quite foreign to Conan Doyle, considering that he wrote quite a few horror and ghost stories of his own. In these tales of terror, Doyle used many of what are now considered standard elements of horror—ghosts, resurrected mummies, and a host of other creepy, crawly things that go bump in the night. In his short tale “The Horror from the Heights,” Doyle even prefigured some of the lesser monstrosities that haunted the tales of such later horror masters as H.P. Lovecraft and even Stephen King. True, Doyle isn’t primarily remembered for his horror stories—but then, again, he’s not primarily remembered for his historical fiction or his science fiction, even though he wrote plenty of those as well.
Personally, I find it a bit hypocritical on the part of those who relegate horror to the status of a sort of subgenre, behind mystery—especially when they consider other types of tales that Doyle wrote to be so far superior to the horror genre. Now, of course, Sherlock Holmes is undoubtedly the greatest character that Doyle created—although to my mind, Professor Challenger isn’t far behind, and many others regard his Brigadier Gerard similarly. And it’s true that Doyle created no character of similar status in any of his horror stories. But he still worked in the genre, as in many others, and those who profess to honor Doyle himself, as well as his body of work, even in part, should be willing to admit that, if Doyle saw value to the horror story, it’s worth taking seriously—or at least as seriously as any other type of fiction. (Now, of course, anyone who considers Doyle merely a hack writer overall who somehow achieved greatness only in creating the character of Sherlock Holmes is exempt from any hypocrisy in disdaining his—and others’— forays into the horror field. And the same, as always, for those who merely don’t like the genre personally, but allow that, because others do, it’s not something simply to dismiss out of hand. At least the former, who are misguided, are consistent, while the latter are tolerant to—and tolerable by—those of us who do enjoy the genre to at least some extent.)
Okay—but enough soapboxing. Enlightened Sherlockians know that horror is just as valid a genre as mystery, whatever their personal preferences (and both genres have their gems and their drek, as is true of any such category.) As noted, some of Holmes’ Canonical cases do at least border on the horrific—and as those tales are fairly well-known, we need not dwell further on them here. Several of the Untold Tales also seem to have their roots in the horror genre—the implication, at least, is that the reason the tale of the Giant Rat of Sumatra, to cite but one example, is one for which the world is not yet ready is that it is far too horrifying to relate to Watson’s readers. (Perhaps because, unlike Hound, it really does involve what could be considered a “monster” to those not familiar with the elusive critter.) The twin untold stories of the cutter Alicia, which sailed into a mist, never to be seen again, and the loss of the barque Sophy Anderson both hint at the true story of the Mary Celeste, a ship found drifting in the Atlantic in 1871, its crew missing and their half-eaten meals still sitting in the galley. Although no signs of danger or distress could be found to explain why an entire crew simply vanished, many have attributed their disappearance to agents ranging from the mundane to the supernatural. Many a horror story has been written about the Mary Celeste—and more than one pastiche has used such elements to elaborate on these tales that Doyle himself left untold. (Interestingly, the captain of the Mary Celeste had a daughter named Sophia—perhaps a clue to the name of the Sophy Anderson and Doyle’s intentions as to its “actual” fate had he ever decided to commit the full story to paper?) And while we’re on the subject of the untold tales listed in the Canon, what about Ricoletti of the club foot and his abominable wife? These are characters who would not seem at all out of place in the early gothic and later horror stories of the Victorian Age. (In fact, I once used Ricoletti as a character in one of my own Call of Cthulhu game scenarios. He wasn’t actually a monster, but he scared the players into thinking he was.) I seem to recall one Sherlockian, picking up on the adjective “abominable,” musing that Ricoletti’s wife was actually a Yeti—the Abominable Snowman of the Himalayas—and that the tale had occurred during part of Holmes’ Great Hiatus, when he visited Tibet.
If we turn to pastiches now, the Sherlockian and horror genres intertwine again and again. Not only have we seen pastiches elaborating on the more horrific of the untold tales, but various writers have pitted Holmes against a slew of Victorian horror characters and creatures, including Dracula, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the Invisible Man, and even H.G. Wells’ Martians (who are pretty horrific themselves). In one series of pastiches by SF writer Fred Saberhagen, it even turns out that Holmes and Dracula are brothers! Holmes has also crossed paths with the alien gods and terrifying minions of H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos (and in more than my own role-playing-game writings). In a series published by Gryphon Books (www.gryphonbooks.com), not only Holmes but Professor Challenger as well face Lovecraft’s cosmic horrors and even visit his Dreamlands dark fantasy world. (A more recent book, Shadows Over Baker Street, from mainstream publisher Del Ray, also places Holmes squarely in Lovecraft land.) Most of these books can also be found new or used at Amazon.com and similar online dealers. But the protagonist that Holmes has most often faced in pastiches that cross over into the horror genre is also the most famous of Victorian figures of terror—the very real Jack the Ripper. Holmes has squared off against the Ripper in more than half a dozen pastiches that I know of—and probably countless more that I don’t. In fact, in one of the earlier Holmes/Ripper pastiches, The Last Sherlock Holmes Story, Holmes even turned out to be the Ripper! (Yes, I know—blasphemy. But also a story that evokes more than a little emotion from even the hardest of hearts.) As I intend to cover Holmes’ clashes with Saucy Jack in more detail in a future letter, I won’t go into further depth on the topic here, but such Holmes/Ripper bouts further illustrate how well the Great Detective fits into the horror genre.
So as you’re preparing for this year’s Halloween spookfest, let your thoughts turn also to Sherlock Holmes—and should any trick-or-treater show the good taste to haunt your doorstep in Inverness cloak and deerstalker, why not consider slipping an extra piece of candy or fruit in the young lad’s bag, just to show your appreciation for his own entry into the double H’s of Holmes and Horror. (And as for Barker’s trips down Terror Lane, we must leave those revelations to the future . . . at least for now. Just be assured that “The Sleuth is Out There!” . . . )
We recently learned that Hated Rival Sue Bradley had passed away this summer. Sue started attending our meetings with the first one this year and quickly became one of the family. I asked Mimi to send a short memorial, which follows:
“Our beloved friend and member, Sue Pyle Bradley, died on August 17, 2003. She was a true Anglophile and lover of the Sherlock Homes books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. She was a graduate of Indiana University Indianapolis Law School, Juris Doctrinate, in 1988. She was a great friend to Mimi DeMore (Russell) for more than 30 years. She will be greatly missed.”
Simply and aptly put. Sue wasn’t totally new to Sherlockiana, having once visited another scion in town but not finding it to her liking. But in the Hated Rivals on the Surrey Shore, she found a welcoming Sherlockian home. We will indeed miss her.
On that somber note, I will close until next issue. Till then, I remain, as always, ever yours . . .
—C. Barker, Esq.
It was a surprisingly warm and humid Saturday afternoon, September 13, when the Hated Rivals on the Surrey Shore met at Stately Sutton Manor (thanks to the generosity of Jim and Linda Sutton) for our first Canonical Cookout. Fortunately, the heat wasn’t as severe as it had been for last September’s meeting, so we were able to carry on despite a couple cancellations by members susceptible to higher temperatures (but we really missed you!). Still, it was one of our best attended meetings for the year so far, which bodes well for future such gatherings. The excess temperatures in South Indianapolis did, however, put a damper on the use of the Sutton’s backyard fire pit, as few members relished becoming as well cooked as the hot dogs. Fortunately, the Suttons own a professional hot dog roller cooker, so all our dogs were more evenly cooked than had we used the ol’ fire and spit method. And as their back porch is a fully equipped party area, we could lounge in the shade as we ate, fellowshipped, and conversed about all things Sherlockian (and other pertinent topics). We also welcomed three new, first-time members. As we ate, everyone got the chance to tell the rest who they are and what they do (and a varied group it was, indeed). Following the meal and all the discussions, the musical duo of Holmes & Watson (Bill Barton and Jim Sutton) offered Bill’s latest Sherlockian parody song, “Take the Train (with Sherlock Holmes),” a little ditty performed to the tune of “Last Train to Clarksville.” Following that, the duo reprised “A Three Pipe Problem” and “The ‘I Feel Bin Laden’s Fixin’ to Die’ Rag” from last November’s Afghan-themed meeting and jammed on a few other tunes, including a couple of Jim’s and Bill’s own compositions and a few old Beatles selections. Everyone had such a good time that the meeting ran almost an hour past its planned closing time. We again thank the Suttons for their hospitality and look forward to future Hated Rivals cookouts if they prove even half as enjoyable as this one did.
As our next meeting’s topic revolves around Victorian crime, this issue’s “Victorian Trivia” looks briefly at the “other side of the fence,” so to speak: the law in Victorian England. As today, lawyer duties in Victorian Britain were divided among two general classes—barristers and solicitors. Solicitors generally handled all the day-to-day legal business one may need to engage in: signing contracts, writing up wills, and other noncriminal affairs; barristers, on the other hand, formed the highest of England’s legal class. Barristers studied for the bar (a term still used today, even in America) at one of the four Inns of Court: Gray’s Inn, Lincoln’s Inn, and the Temple (which itself formed two of the inns). Only barristers were qualified to argue criminal cases in the highest courts of the land. But should one require the services of a barrister, one first had to hire a solicitor, who then engaged the services of a barrister to plead one’s case. (And the barristers, as today, appeared in court in black robes and the little white wigs that look so strange to those of us on this side of the pond.) Victorian London—much less all of England—had a bewildering series of courts where one’s case could be heard or pleaded, far too many to mention here, from debtors’ courts to Doctor’s Common to police courts, to the Assizes (periodic court sessions presided over by superior court judges) to the Central Criminal Courts in Old Bailey. And unlike in America, one was not considered innocent until proven guilty. (Fortunately, none of us today has to ever fear facing the complex justice of a Victorian court.)
And while many of those who faced hearings in the criminal courts of Victorian London were scoundrels nabbed by the inspectors of the CID (Criminal Investigation Division) of Scotland Yard, the majority were brought in by the average London police constable (or PC, for short) on the beat. London’s Metropolitan Police Force (MPF) was first organized in 1829 by Sir Robert Peel. As a result, London PCs came to be known by two nicknames derived from Peel’s names—the familiar bobbies (from “Robert”) and peelers (from “Peel”—and sorry, no, that nickname did not derive from any tendency on a constable’s part to peel off a criminal’s outer garments in search of ill-gotten loot or weapons, despite one modern-day definition of the term). London’s criminal element had additional, more colorful names for their blue-suited adversaries: coppers (from the police uniforms’ copper buttons), esclops (pronounced “slops”), and even pigs (so, no, despite what many believe, that wasn’t a term first coined in the radical 1960s). Although most people think of the famous blue uniforms and high hats seen in many Sherlock Holmes and other period movies, the PCs of the MPF began their careers in long coats and top hats. And despite their being mainly restricted to truncheons later in their career, earlier they often patrolled with cutlasses—or even more lethal weaponry. It wasn’t until the early 1880s that the MPF fully adopted the ubiquitous police whistle, the tones of which peeling out from the fog are also so familiar to those of us who’ve seen countless Victorian-era movies. Until then, the constables carried rattlers for use in summoning aid—although they were more in nature like those Halloween noisemakers that twirl around on a stick and make a ratcheting racket than what we now think up as a “rattler.”
The MPF was not London’s only police force, however. The City of London (the square-mile financial district) had its own police force, the City Police, although they and the MPF customarily cooperated with each other on criminal matters of mutual concern. The MPF, as it had assumed the duties of such other London police forces such as the famous Bow Street Runners and the night watch, also incorporated other police units across the Victorian era, such as the River Police, which became the Thames Division of the MPF (one of 22 administrative districts in the MPF). Scotland Yard itself was named for the first building that served as its headquarters: Great Scotland Yard, so named because it was where the kings of Scotland stayed when visiting London. When the headquarters moved to its new digs, the name stayed, although that building was now known as New Scotland Yard. Despite what many may think from reading Victorian mysteries or viewing such movies, Scotland Yard’s authority was limited to London itself, as well as parts of the surrounding counties. CID inspectors, however, were free to hire themselves out privately to other local police forces, which is really what was happening when a rural constabulary “called in Scotland Yard” to handle an especially taxing investigation. (Although we all know that they’ve have been better served by calling on the services of a certain pair of private investigators, one residing in Baker Street and the other on the Surrey Shore . . .)
And with that, our brief survey of the law in Victorian London and England ends . . . for now. We shall take up the topic in greater depth at a future time, perhaps as the topic of a future meeting. Stay tuned!
I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere!
Those who missed the Jackie Chan movie Shanghai Knights during its theatrical run may want to rent (or buy) the video or DVD, as it’s full of Sherlockian references (as well as historical inaccuracies, but then, it is a comedy and not something you’d see on the History Channel). When Chan and co-star Owen Wilson run afoul of Scotland Yard, they meet an Inspector “Artie” Doyle, who is developing a new way of criminal investigation through observation and deductive reasoning. (After Doyle is fired from the force for supporting the two’s antics, he declares that he really wants to be a writer.) When scamming their way into a reception by a British lord (who, incidentally, is the villain of the piece), Wilson takes a name off a wall clock to be introduced by—so he becomes “Brigadier General Sherlock Holmes.” On the run again later, the duo show up at Doyle’s door for help, Chan in a bowler and Wilson in deerstalker, Inverness, and pipe so that their silhouettes through the glass of Doyle’s door appear to be those of Holmes and Watson. (The story, by the way, takes place in 1887 before the first Holmes story appeared.) After saving the Queen from the villain’s plot, the three are knighted (making Doyle Sir Arthur decades before he actually received his title). And Doyle asks Wilson’s character if he can use the name Sherlock Holmes for the detective that he plans to write about. (Wilson agrees, confiding to Chan that he gave him the name only because he knew it wouldn’t pay off well enough to keep.) A silly flick, overall, but amusing enough, especially with all the Sherlockian references, even with all its historical flubs. (Jack the Ripper, for example, is stalking the East End a year before the real Ripper did so, and, anticlimactically, is dispatched into the Thames with a single kick—and not even by Chan but by his screen sister.)
More on the historic side, the Discovery Channel ran in early October a series of “true stories” about the men who inspired certain literary classics. One of these hour-long shows was “Sherlock Holmes: The True Story” and focused on Dr. Joseph Bell, Doyle’s original inspiration for Holmes. Through a series of re-enactments and interviews with experts on Doyle and Bell, it described Bell’s own methods as a pioneering forensic pathologist and how those methods evolved in Doyle’s fertile mind into those of the Great Detective. Not only did it document how Bell solved the murder of an Edinburgh woman, but also revealed that Bell was called in by Scotland Yard as a consultant on the Ripper murders. Bell supposedly named a suspect as the Ripper after studying the Yard’s file on the killer. Unfortunately, his conclusion had disappeared from the file by the time it was opened a century later, so unless it’s somehow found again, we will never know who the “real” Sherlock Holmes named as Jack the Ripper. (Although Ripperologist Donald Rumbelow, who was also interviewed, believes that Bell named Montague John Druitt as the Ripper. Not surprising, since Rumbelow himself apparently believes Druitt the culprit.) Although the show preceding the Bell bio was listed as being available to purchase from the Discovery Channel (for $19.95), no such ad followed the Holmes “True Story.” If we learn that it is available, we’ll provide the info in a future newsletter.
While we’re on the subject of Joseph Bell, the latest issue of the revived Strand magazine (#10) features a lengthy interview with Ian Richardson, who played Bell in the Murder Rooms series on PBS a while back. Richardson ironically had already played Holmes himself in two movies filmed in the late ’80s, and he discusses these briefly as well. (For my money, Richardson was a far better Holmes even than Jeremy Britt, in that he captured Holmes’ softer side as well as his frenetic side. Three more Holmes movies had been planned with Richardson, but the success of the Britt Holmes series sank Richardson’s change to reprise the detective—a great loss to Sherlockiana, in my opinion.) The issue also carries a Holmes pastiche (with Mycroft) and is available locally at Borders Bookstores ($6).
The last issue of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Vol. II (No. 6), finally hit the stores the first week of September, closing the series and, in effect, ending the career of the current League. It was a bit anticlimactic in that, as in Wells’ original story, the Martians were defeated by terrestrial germs (albeit with a twist, which clever readers can probably discern from the involvement of Well’s Dr. Moreau). Mr. Hyde met a fiery end following his single-handed destruction of one of the Martian war machines. Captain Nemo quit the League in disgust at the collateral damage caused by the release of Moreau’s creation, and Mina left for some long-overdue rest and contemplation, leaving only Allan Quatermain. (The Invisible Man died at Hyde’s hands in issue 5.) Rumors are that a third League series is in the works, this one devoting two issues each to three different Leagues—one earlier than the Victorian League and two later. (One of the latter two may be an Edwardian League mentioned in the book’s travelogue, which includes Mina and Quatermain’s “son,” while the earlier is probably the one described therein as including Lemuel Gulliver and other early literary creations.) The Travelogue text essay at the end also wrapped up this issue and included Mina’s less-than-flattering impressions not only of Mycroft but of Sherlock Holmes as well (although the latter wasn’t actually named.) Expect the hardback compilation by the end of the year.
And while we’re on the topic of Wells’ Martians from War of the Worlds, Dark Horse Comics has produced a hardback graphic sequel to Well’s classic novel. Scarlet Traces, by Ian Edginton (writer) and D’Israeli (artist—no first name give), picks up about a decade after the Martian invasion—a period during which England has managed to “back-engineer” the Martian technology, creating cabs that crawl on spider-like legs and hand-portable heat ray weapons for the military. But not all is well, as women begin to disappear in London, their corpses found drained of all blood. The work of a vampire? The return of Jack the Ripper? Or something more ominous? Captain Robert Autumn, retired soldier and gentleman adventurer takes up the case—one that leads to a sinister secret festering at the heart of the British Empire. The book includes a number of period in-jokes—for example, on the wall of a cell are written the names of women who’d been incarcerated there, among them Mary Kelly (a Ripper victim) and Mary Reilly (maid of Dr. Jekyll in the novel and movie of that name, and is well-written and drawn. (Though one wishes to see how Holmes may have fared in such a case.) The novel ends with the launch of a British counter-invasion of Mars, using Martian launch technology, and a warning that far worse things than the Martians who invaded earth await them there. Portents of a sequel? No word yet. Scarlet Traces is an 88-page hardback (including artist and writer notes and outtakes) retailing for $14.95—a bargain compared to similar hardback graphic novels on the market. Available to order through most specialty comic stores and probably online as well.
Fans of Ruse, the very well-written and excellently drawn CrossGen comic featuring the Holmes-like detective Simon Archard, are in for a disappointment. CrossGen has announced that Ruse will cease publication with issue 26. It’s a great loss that, in a field that sees so much garbage published (and this admission comes from a fan of the genre), such a well-written and fascinatingly conceived series is being suspended. Those who wish to protest the series cancellation can write to email@example.com (putting “Ruse” in the subject line). We can only hope that the publishers either change their minds or relaunch the title at a later date. In the meantime, Ruse 24 just hit the stands, and three compilations of the series’ first 15 issues are available in two different formats. Check with specialty comic book stores or search for Ruse at the online bookstores.
Engle Matrix Games, from Hamster Press (at www.io.com/~hamster), offer a number of books containing Sherlockian mystery game scenarios, written by our own newest member, Chris Engle. Each of the three books, Cthulhu On Campus, Arkham Terror, and NYC 2055, contain one installment of The Great Detective’s Casebook, Nos. 1, 2, and 3, respectively. (Each book contains two other scenarios as well, plus the basic rules for all Matrix games and examples of play for each type of scenario in the book.) The first two casebooks involve mysteries in London, while the third, “The Fenian Murders,” takes place on an English country estate. Although Holmes is not mentioned by name, the identify of the “Great Detective,” who lives in Baker Street and whose companion is a doctor, is quite clear. The games themselves are not quite role-playing games and not quite story-telling games, but a unique system in which it’s the players themselves who create the story, based on the background, characters, and beginning situations in each book, with a referee determining the likelihood of each potential action (or “argument”) that the player devises. Whether a player’s argument becomes part of the game’s storyline is then determined by a dice roll. Each book sells for $14.95 and is available from Hamster Press, which you can contact through the Web site or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org. (Or see Chris at a future meeting.)
Following are the details of our upcoming meeting, plus the dates and tentative information about our remaining meetings for 2003. (Check our Web site or our Indianapolis Star Web page for updates.) So set these dates aside to join the Hated Rivals at the following soirées:
Menace, Mayhem, and Moriarty!
Sunday, November 9, 2003, 1:30-4:30 p.m.
9701 East 21st Street
Directions and Details: To get to the Warren Library, take I-465 to the I-70E. exit on the Far East side of Indianapolis. Take I-70E. to the Post Road exit, which is the first exit after getting onto the highway. Turn right (south) onto Post Road, but get into the left lane, as 21st Street is just south of I-70. Turn left (east) on 21st Street and continue east past the Marina Lake apartments on your left. You’ll come to a traffic light, and immediately on your right east of the light you’ll see the Warren Library. (The next major intersection east of the library is Mitthoeffer Road. If you reach it, you’ve gone too far.) Look for a great time, with our talk on Victorian crime, new Sherlockian music, a couple rare short Sherlockian videos, refreshments, and congenial Sherlockian fellowship—and it’s all for free! (You could always pay $100 or so elsewhere if you want, but remember—we’re the affordable Sherlockian alternative!) For a map showing the location of the library or additional information about its location, check the Indianapolis-Marion County Public Library Web site’s Locations page at www.imcpl.org/location.htm; scroll down till you find the Warren Library entry and click on the Map link.
And don’t forget to mark your calendar for next year’s great meetings . . .
Sunday, January 4, 2004 (tentative): A Victorian Tea, Reprised!
Sunday, March 14, 2004 (tentative): The Game’s Afoot! (Literally!)
And many more . . .
For more information, contact us at P.O. Box 26290, Indianapolis, IN 46226-0290; or send us e-mail at email@example.com or at firstname.lastname@example.org. (And don’t forget to venture online to check out our Hated Rivals Web site at http://surrey-shore.freeservers.com or our Indy Star Web page at http://community.indystar.com/928/ for recent updates.) See you again in two months, back on the ol’ Surrey Shore, where the game’s always afoot! (But you knew that anyway—right?)