He just wrote what everybody else was thinking.

-- Furman Bisher

Almost half a century ago when my sixth-grade class was asked to stand and announce what we wanted to be when we grew up, I rose from my seat near the teacher's desk and said, "I want to be a sportswriter like Furman Bisher."

And who wouldn't?

Mr. Bisher, whose final newspaper column ran last Sunday in the Atlanta newspapers, got to go to all the big sporting events and then tell people what he saw.

They even paid him to do it.

I thought then that working for a newspaper must be the best job in the world, and 46 years later I have not changed that opinion.

I also have not changed my opinion of Mr. Bisher, now in his 90s, whose company at the Masters Tournament was almost as delightful as his writing.

It's a shame he has to retire. Maybe we should bring him back in April with honorary starters Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus .

As honorary correspondent, he could file Thursday's first news bulletin from the course.

SIXTH-GRADE SPORTS: If Mr. Bisher was the inspiration for my professional choice, my father certainly helped it along.

After my elementary school declaration, he thought I should see what real sportswriters do.

So he used his executive clout and considerable persuasive skills to secure me a seat in the press box of the Oct. 5, 1963, Auburn-Kentucky college football game at Cliff Hare Stadium.

I covered it for my sixth-grade newspaper, and it was a great game.

Auburn won 14-13 when Kentucky, going for the win, failed to convert a two-point conversion.

The professional sportswriters were tolerantly amused at my efforts, but I discovered they didn't talk like the adults I knew at church.

TODAY'S JOKE: Speaking of church, a minister was out riding his bike one day and encountered a small boy sitting in front of his house with an old lawn mower.

The preacher stopped to chat and asked the youngster what he was doing.

The boy said he wanted a bike and was trying to sell the lawn mower but so far had been unsuccessful.

The minister thought for a second and decided to help the young fellow out.

"Listen," he said, "I'm sort of tired of this old bicycle I've been riding. What if I trade it to you for your lawn mower?"

The boy said he'd like to try out the bike first, rode it quickly up and down the street, then returned to say, "I think we've got a deal."

The minister said he thought he might try out the lawn mower, too, and began to pull its starter rope.

After many minutes of frustration, he gave up.

"I can't get this mower to start," he told the boy sitting on his bike.

"Well, preacher," the boy said, "I have found that mower won't start unless you cuss when you pull the rope."

The preacher was not amused.

"Young man," he said firmly. "I am a man of the cloth. I cannot remember the last time I uttered a swear word. Why, I don't even think I know any profanity! "

"That's OK,'' the boy said. "If you keep pulling on that rope, it'll come back to you."