After the hockey game, I spent a couple of days, sightseeing, in New York City. But I quickly got tired of the hustle and bustle atmosphere in the “Big Apple.” I wanted to visit a less hectic, less crowded town in rural America. I decided to travel to Crawford, Colorado—a scenic little ranching community. The town, with a population of about 200 people, was nestled in the colorful hills on Colorado’s Western Slope.

I stopped at the Needlerock Inn in Crawford to have a couple of beers and to play some darts. I entered the building, which was a restaurant and bar under the same roof. It was a cozy little place with a country atmosphere. I walked up to the bar and said, “Bartender, I’ll have a bottle of Zapmeister.”

“We don’t stock that brand. How about an ice-cold bottle of Coors®?”

“Okay, that’ll be fine. And can I borrow a set of your house darts, partner?”

“Sure!”

I drank my beer, and then I decided to play a game of darts. As I began shooting darts, a cute little cowgirl walked by, right in front of me, just as I was about to throw another dart. She said, “Pardon me! I don’t mean to interfere with your dart game. But all of these tables and people in here are blocking my path to the restroom. Some tight arrangement, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is crowded in here. My lady, you’re not disturbing me in the slightest!” She continued on her way.

When the young woman came out of the bathroom, I unintentionally tripped her, as she had once again walked directly in front of me. “Excuse me!” I exclaimed, as she tumbled to the hard, oak-wood floor. “I didn’t see you coming. Are you okay?”

The slender dark-haired cowgirl bounced back on her feet. She quickly responded, “That’s quite all right. I realize it was an accident. What’s your name?”

“Sir Wansalittle More—”

Before I had a chance to finish telling her my last name, the offended cowgirl interrupted me and said, “Mr. whoever-you-are, it’s a good thing that my boyfriend, who is sitting over yonder, didn’t hear what you just said to me!”

Unfortunately, her boy friend had overheard me. He jumped off his bar stool and rushed right over. He said, “Hey there, little metal man, you should watch your step!”

I thought that I was being challenged. I “lost my cool” and swiftly threw a roundhouse right hook. The tall, lanky dude never saw it coming. My wide-sweeping punch had caught the red-headed cowboy totally by surprise. Up to that point, I hadn’t been able to “hit the wall” with my darts. But I managed to “hit the bull’s-eye” with my fist, when I smacked that local cowpoke square on his nose! The punishing single blow knocked the starry-eyed cowboy for a loop. Then, of course, I spent the next twenty-four hours in the local slammer.

When I woke up the next morning, I found myself dressed in a faded-orange prison gown, which the town marshal had pulled over my suit of armor. Then I noticed that my ankles were collared to a big, heavy, black ball and chain. The marshal, not wanting to take any chances with his strange, mean-looking guest, had shackled me to a jail-house cot, sometime during the night.

The next morning, I woke up and asked myself, “Where am I? What have I done to deserve such punishment? I’m so lonely that I feel as though I’m locked up in a dungeon. Lord, how can I break these chains of loneliness?”

For the first time since I started my journey, God didn’t immediately answer my call. The few minutes that it took Her to arrive seemed like an eternity. While I waited, my knight blues left me singing the “Jailhouse Rock,” one of Elvis Presley’s first “hit” songs.

When the Lord visited me in my cell, She wasn’t wearing a prison gown. And She wasn’t there to bail me out or to bust me out of jail.

God wore a sheriff’s uniform, much like that of the local constable who had arrested me. The Lord just glared at me for a few seconds. She never so much as blinked. Finally, with Her big, dark-brown eyes still fixed on my face, God said, “I’m sorry that I’m late. I had another most important matter that required My personal attention. . . . If you’re lonely, Wantsalittle, it’s probably because you turn people off. Are you selfish? . . . Hard to get along with? . . . Overly critical of others? . . . Egotistical? . . . Do you generally wear a frown or a smile? . . . Wantsalittle, if you want to break out from feeling imprisoned by loneliness, start by chipping away at your poor self-concept. Stop imaging yourself as being unpopular. Instead, visualize yourself as a new, cheerful, fun-to-be-with individual.”

“Lord, at home in Camelot, I live alone. But I rarely feel lonely. During this journey, although I talk with others every day, I really feel lonely!”

“There’s a clear distinction between living alone and being lonely. Many happy people enjoy solitude. They like themselves, and they stay active with their personal interests. Nevertheless, if you would prefer, like most people, to socialize more often, begin to look at yourself in a more positive, brighter light. To make new friends, first become your own best friend. Then become genuinely interested in people.”

The Lord hesitated for a moment. She stared at my silly-looking, orange-and-white, striped, prison garb and giggled. Then She concluded, “Wantsalittle, if all else fails, you still don’t have to be lonely. Jesus said, ‘I am with you always, even unto the end of the world’ (Mathew 28:20). Wantsalittle, as you think with loving, cheerful feelings and keep in close contact with your God, you should never experience undo loneliness. Try to improve your self-image. And learn to view others with higher regard.”

Right before God left, She said, “By the way, Wantsalittle, I sure hope that your little ‘altercation’ at the Needlerock Inn, and your having spent a night behind bars, has taught you a good lesson with respect to overcoming your aggressive behavior!”

Still in jail, I introduced myself to my cellmate. “I’m getting out of here in a few minutes,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Nick Castle,” the masked inmate replied. (Author’s note: Nick Castle played the “bad guy” character of Michael Myers in the first Halloween flick.)

“I’m glad to know you, Sir Nick. My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. It’s nice to meet a new friend.”

“Likewise! I’m going to be in this joint for a while. Do you like rock concerts?”

“I’ve never been to one. What did you have in mind?” I asked.

“The cops picked me up at a place called the Mad Dog Restaurant & Fountain Cafe, just down the street from here. The place is owned by Joe Cocker and his wife Pam. The guy’s a pretty famous singer and musician from way back when—around the time of Woodstock, I think. And he still tours the world doing concert gigs.”

Nick stopped to light up a “Demerit” cigarette. Then he said, “Before some cowpoke recognized me and called the law, the restaurant manager—I think that her name was Trixie or Tracy or something like that—anyway, the cute little manager gave me a couple of tickets to Joe Cocker’s upcoming concert in Denver. I guess that I’m not going to be able to go. Do you want the tickets?”

“Sure! Thanks a lot, my new friend!”

I took the tickets. Later, I attended Joe Cocker’s concert in Denver. The experience was most enjoyable. I didn’t have to attend the concert alone. Tracy, the manager at the Mad Dog Restaurant & Fountain Cafe in Crawford, went with me. At least for that special evening, Tracy helped to free me from my chains of loneliness.

(The moral of this episode: If you feel lonely, work to build your self-concept and character, overall. Visualize yourself as a fun-to-be-with, cheerful individual. And become truly interested in others!)

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