It’s part of their local news show, “First Coast Connect,” and here’s a link to the whole show — you’ll need to fast forward through about 3/4s of the show until you hear the nasally-sounding guy — http://www.wjct.org/mp3/weekly/fccm.mp3

WJCT is planning on airing one of my commentaries every third Thursday of the month. So tune in.

That Kahlua piece, by the way, was one of three columns that recently won a Florida Press Club award for commentary.

I can’t say why it happens — a longing to be a child again? — but I just get in the mood and go a little nuts. And it’s fun … or at least until I start losing teeth.

We have some good friends in Jacksonville whose son, Jack, just celebrated his fourth birthday. They had one of those inflatable bouncies that are about the size of the White House, and invited over enough kids of various shapes and sizes that they could have launched an assault on a mid-size country.

It started out calm enough — me playing with my three-year-old daughter in the bouncie, kicking a soccer ball around, calling a couple of kids “cootie heads” — you know, the normal stuff for a birthday party. And then, clear out of the blue, I heard, “Tackle him!” They meant me! I hadn’t done ANYTHING. Yet, all of a sudden they came swarming after me like a heard of buffalo, a mighty cloud of dust roaring up into the sky behind them. I made a run for it, and did a pretty good job eluding them.

I zigged and zagged, dodging and weaving through the crowd, all the while nimbly escaping their grasps. But I got cocky and probably egged them on too much with things like, “you’ll never catch me, squirrel patooties” or “you smell so bad, you burn holes in concrete.” And they finally cornered me. I was out of breath and in desperate need of one of those chocolate strawberries I had seen inside.

“Bring him down like a tree,” they yelled. “Jump on his back.”

They pounced on me like lions felling a wildebeest. I tried to swing my body to dislodge them, but they were too smart and too well organized. Some had my legs, others had attached themselves round my neck, and still more had swiped my wallet and were already inside ordering things on the Internet with my credit cards. We’re talking total team effort here.

After an epic struggle, I finally came toppling down. Must have been, I don’t know, maybe 80 or 90 kids. And they proceeded to hop up and down on my spinal chord while shouting things like, “see if we can bend him in half!”

I had no one to blame but myself.

Thank goodness for my daughter — she stuck by me. She’s a tough little 3-year-old, and one-by-one she peeled off these kids who were twice her size while screaming, “don’t touch my daddy. He’s old!” I was proud — embarrassed, yes — but very proud.

Other parents stared mesmerized, and asked later if I was OK.

“I was just watching you as more kids piled on,” one father told me. “It was actually impressive how many you had on your back … well, until you collapsed under their weight.”

Another father told me he thought about helping me out, but realized the pack would just turn on him next.

“That’s OK,” I said, popping my dislocated shoulder back into joint. “I only lost consciousness there for a little while.”

Once you wind kids up like that, they see you as one of them. They follow you around for the rest of the party, eyeing you, looking for just the right opportunity to scream, “Get him.” You’re no longer an adult in their eyes. You’re just a big kid with five-o’clock shadow and a mortgage.

Other parents were of course grateful. They patted me on the back and remarked on my agility. “I loved how you hurdled over that lawn chair when they tried to ambush you from the tree. You’re quick!”

Why wouldn’t they be grateful? I had just burned off three nuclear reactors-worth of energy from their kids. They’d sleep for an entire week. Why hire a clown when you can get “The Human Punching Bag” for free?

And I’ve got to admit, it was fun … well, if you don’t count spending the last week popping discs in my spinal chord back into place.