My aging home is full of sacred spots

 Here's an underrated part of living in the same place for a long time: Sacred places.

Not sacred in a religious sort of way. More like in a "remember when we used to . . ." way.

Spots that look like a backyard or entryway to someone else.

Mrs. Brad and I have lived in the same house since 1992. That's the month that George Bush and Boris Yeltsin decreed the Cold War was over. Bill Clinton wasn't president yet. Our oldest son was just learning to walk. Our youngest son wasn't born.

They're now 24 and 21. (Our sons. Not Clinton.)

In addition to the obvious benefits of staying in one place – paying down the mortgage, knowing your neighbors, not going underwater during the Great Recession – there are a growing number of places that harbor great memories around Casa de Stanhopes. Maybe it's because the boys are older and the memories come easier. Maybe it's my getting older and more sentimental.

Whatever it is, I find myself looking at our mature California pepper tree and remembering when it was a stick and served as the backstop for kickball games I played with the boys during my dinner breaks.

I look at the corner of our house and remember when our dog, the beloved Vida, used to sit on second base during those games. Second base is now the corner of our house after we added a second bathroom.

I look at our driveway and remember our oldest son staggering down it as he learned to keep his balance while our neighbors (who were the age Mrs. Brad and I are now) stood and laughed.

I see the bathroom, which we turned over to the boys after adding the one off our bedroom, and wonder how four people shared that one toilet and shower for 15 years. I also wonder about when Mrs. Brad remodeled the bathroom: We thought a day without a toilet could go smoothly.

I look at the aforementioned entryway – which is about 6 feet deep – and remember games of dodgeball and a made-up game called "entryway ball" that I played with the boys as they learned to duck, dodge and discovered that Dad could create a complicated scoring system that assured that he would always win.

I see the full backyard and remember when Vida tore our new store-bought swimming pool to pieces and then raced around the yard when we came home to find it littered with plastic.

I see the basketball hoop – now bent and beaten by years of abuse – and recall when Mrs. Brad and I huddled in the early April wind to assemble it after our youngest son's birthday as both boys eagerly watched through the sliding glass door.

There are plenty of bad memories – when we all got stomach flu at the same time, when the ceiling fan slapped me upside the head at full speed, when we dealt with unpleasant, scary issues. But that's the thing, at least for me.

After more than 20 years living in the same house – in a neighborhood, by the way, where there are a few people who have been around longer – the good memories outweigh the bad.

We expanded our house, put on two new roofs, added flooring and changed out our dishwasher about five times. We bickered, laughed and complained that it was too small. But it's our only house, the place where our sons grew up and the only home in which our youngest son has lived.

For a 1,200-square-foot tract home, it's sure full of memories.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Want to look younger? Shave!

 In an era when many young men grow beards that make them look like Civil War soldiers and others work hard to maintain a look that suggests they lost their razor three days ago, I take comfort in this fact: Facial hair makes you look older.

Clean-shaven men, rejoice!

The end of Movember – the made-up monthlong event where men supposedly grow facial hair to show support for men's health issues (no need to see a doctor, contribute money or change your lifestyle. Grow a beard! That will draw attention to men's health issues!) – is an appropriate time to point out the science: Facial hair makes you look older.

Here's the science, or rather "science": A recent study in Britain – performed by Crown Center, the nation's leading hair-transplant center – revealed that the 300 people were shown pictures of various celebrities who occasionally have facial hair and were asked how old they were. According to the survey, people said a beard made the celebs look up to 10 years old.

This is a good reminder.

If you're 20 or 25, it doesn't matter much if you look three, five or 10 years older. Most guys in their mid-20s don't want to be 30 or 35, but they don't mind if someone thinks that they're that age. It gives them gravitas.

However . . .

If you're 40 or 50 and grow a beard or goatee, you run the risk of looking 60. (Not that there's anything wrong with being 60. I write for a newspaper! I'm talking about our readers!) If you're 60 and think it's time to bust out a mustache that flashes back to the Tom Selleck-style 'stache you had in 1983, it may make you look 65.

And if you're 55 and decide to grow a stubble, realize . . . well, it will make you look like a homeless guy on an old movie.

I have no problem with facial hair. I wore a goatee for several years, starting in my late 30s. I think guys should do whatever they want with their facial hair. And you can make the case that a guy who has maintained a mustache or beard for decades shouldn't shave it off at age 50, just to look young.

But keep the "facts" in mind: A group of British people said that George Clooney and David Beckham looked older with facial hair. (Although, no surprise, people thought Brad Pitt looked younger than he is both with and without facial hair.) Facial hair has a good run, but research indicates a down side.

If you don't believe me, think about this: All those guys who started growing facial hair on Nov. 1 are now a month older – and might look several years older.

Think also about this: December starts Monday. It's the month where we will see the most celebrated icon of any holiday over and over and over.

And over.

We see Santa Claus, the bearded icon of Christmas.

Did you know he's just 35? It's the beard.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Time to start a local hall of fame

 I don't mean to brag, but I'm in a hall of fame.

At least I think I am.

The honor came several years ago at an annual banquet for the Fairfield Expos baseball program. I was the emcee and we announced the newest members of the organization's hall of fame – primarily former players. Either someone didn't show or there was a mistake, but there was an extra cap with "Fairfield Expos Hall of Fame" stitching.

Brad Hanson, the king of the Expos, gave it to me and acted like I was in the hall of fame.

No one took back the hat.

I still have it and I occasionally mention that I'm in a baseball hall of fame.

Such as I did in this column.

That being said, today I debut the Fairfield-Suisun Hall of Fame.

It's simple: A collection of  people, places and events that hold a special place in the area. I reserve the right to revisit it occasionally, adding new members. Once you're in, you remain, unless I decide to make a change.

The initial class? It's several people and a restaurant.

The actual hall of fame will be in my imagination (kept under my Fairfield Expos hall of fame hat. Did I mention I'm in a hall of fame?)

Here are the initial inductees:

Captain Robert Waterman and Captain Josiah Wing. They get the credit for founding Fairfield and Suisun City, although there were already people living here. Waterman, also known as "Bully Bob," founded Fairfield in 1856 and named it after his former hometown in Connecticut. Wing founded Suisun City a few years earlier, then brought his family from Massachusetts and named Jim Spering mayor (I may have the timeline wrong). What good is a hall of fame if the city founders aren't in it?

B. Gale Wilson. Newcomers may know him only as the namesake of the school and boulevard, but he's more than that.

Wilson was the city manager of Fairfield from 1956 until 1988 – the man in the top seat when Fairfield added the Budweiser brewery and the Solano mall. Fairfield grew from a few thousand people to nearly 100,000 under his watch and went from being a sleepy rural town to a significant Bay Area and Sacramento Valley city. Like him or not (and there were plenty of people in each camp), he was a difference-maker.

Joe's Buffet. The first entry that's not a human, it's the iconic downtown Fairfield sandwich shop that's been here since 1949, existing under the leadership of three owners – only one of them named Joe. Decade after decade, downtown workers (including those from City Hall and the county Government Center) pack this place daily. It's a Fairfield landmark.

Alicia Hollowell. The most-decorated athlete in city history, the Fairfield High softball pitcher was the national player of the year in 2002 and set a gazillion state and national records. She's still among the top five nationally in most pitching categories. And then? She played at Arizona State University, where she was a four-time All-American, NCAA champion and Olympic alternate. She's simply the greatest athlete in Fairfield-Suisun City history.

Brothers Wade. Let's see, there's Tony and Kelvin, who write columns for this paper. Then there's Scott, O.T., Groucho, Harpo, Peyton, Eli, Marlon and Tito (the last six are guesses). The Wades moved here in the 1970s and nobody loves Fairfield more than Tony. Nobody also writes two columns a week like Tony nor is as consistently engaging as an opinion columnist as Kelvin. The big flaw? They're Raiders fans. And Tony is my arch rival. He's in this hall of fame, but not the Fairfield Expos' version.

Reach Hall of Famer Brad Stanhope, a former Daily Republic editor, at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

It's not my fault the shower broke!

 There I was, facing a great moral dilemma: Do I tell someone the shower is still running?

Sure, it seems obvious now. How could I keep quiet? We're in the middle of a drought and, well, the shower was running, unchecked. At my new job.

But . . . I'm the new guy. And, how can someone be unable to turn off a shower? I could already hear Mrs. Brad laughing at me: "These kinds of things only happen to you!"

They don't.

I don't think they only happen to me, at least. I'm sure someone else has been unable to turn off the shower at my office, right?

Maybe not.

Let's go back to the start.

A few weeks ago, I started a new job in another city. One of the coolest things about the gig? It has a full gym and two modern shower rooms.

(I already hear the jokes: "A gym? How do you use a gym? Look at you!" Well, smarty pants, it has really nice benches and a big-screen TV!)

On the day in question, I completed my workout (seriously!), then hopped in the shower to avoid being the stinky, sweaty new guy.

When I finished, I turned the knob.

Water kept coming.

It is one of those ultra-modern showers, like the ones hotels often have these days – with multiple, concentric knobs to control water flow and temperature.

(Oh, for the days of hot-water and cold-water knobs, both of which turn off to the left!)

I tried the main knob again. Nothing. I turned the second knob. Nothing. The water kept coming.

I turned both of them all the way to the left. Water kept coming. Both to the right. Water got hotter.

How could this be happening? Especially to me?

I turned them both back to the left, got out and hoped the water would slow to a trickle.

It didn't.

What was I supposed to do? There are five floors in my building! Who do I even tell that the shower won't turn off? And how do I explain it in a way that prevents them from thinking I'm a moron who can't operate a shower?

I got dressed, hoping it would magically turn itself off. No luck.

I considered my plight.

Do I slink out and let someone else figure it out? Do I tell my boss, who will be shocked by my incompetence?

The water kept coming.

Fully clothed, I reached in and tried again. Nope. Just got my sleeve wet.

I walked upstairs toward my office . . . sweating enough to offset the value of the shower.

Magically, I ran into one of the guys who is in charge of all the extra stuff in the building (I'm pretty sure that's not a job title: Guy in charge of extra stuff). I told him the story, emphasizing that I'm not an idiot and (barely) avoiding the claim that I've successfully operated showers.

He graciously acted like it happened before and said he'd take care of it.

I slinked upstairs, hoping he'd keep it quiet, but knowing that he'd likely regale coworkers with the story of how the dopey new guy couldn't turn off the shower.

Then I sent an email to Mrs. Brad and told her.

She said she couldn't see her computer screen because she was laughing so hard. Then she pointed out that those kinds of things only happen to me.

They don't! Right?

Plenty of people can't turn off a shower!

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Email him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Correction: I may regret this column

 Once you get past the crazy crime stories, Dilbert comics, Tony Wade columns and the sports-on-TV listings, the most interesting thing in any daily newspaper is the corrections.

That's where editors hang out their dirty laundry, admitting they had the wrong starting time for that City Council meeting or that flour was left out of the recipe on the food page or that President Obama's first name was misspelled on the front page (I did that once, by the way). It's a modern version of humiliations of the Middle Ages, when people were put in stocks and had bad fruit thrown at them.

Correction: In the previous paragraph, stocks were described as a Middle Ages punishment. Those punishments actually were used as late as the 19th century and were not limited to bad fruit being thrown at those kept in them.

See? They're amusing, while allowing you to feel superior to whomever made the mistake.

My most difficult correction came after a writer who didn't work for the paper "covered" spring training for the Daily Republic in the late 1980s. He wrote about a woman sportswriter kissing San Francisco Giants manager Roger Craig, but he used the wrong name for the writer – identifying the woman by the name of a male writer who had one of those difficult-to-tell names. A few weeks later, the male writer contacted me and demanded a correction.

I first wrote that "(Writer's name) isn't a woman, but is actually a man," which made the problem seem worse. Then I tried "(Writer's name) didn't kiss Roger Craig. It was actually a woman who did," which similarly confused the matter. Finally, I came up with "(Writer's name) was misidentified in a story."

See? Corrections can be funny. They also are cleansing in a way – in how many other areas of life do people publicly admit they made a mistake?

With that introduction, I'd like to take the rest of my space today to set the record straight on previous columns I've written in the Daily Republic:

In a June 5, 1971, column, I wrote, "Richard Nixon will undoubtedly go down as the most honest president in United States history." I regret the error.

In a Nov. 16, 1993, column, I identified George Lopez as "the father of our country and the first president of the United States." Lopez was actually the third president.

In a Feb. 22, 2007, column, I referred to the Oakland Raiders as "a once-great franchise that is now in competition to be the worst team in professional sports." That sentence should have excluded the phrase "in competition to be."

Despite what I wrote in an Aug. 3, 1984, column, there actually is an "I" in Daily Republic.

In a Jan. 10, 1996, column, I wrote that Mickey Dolenz and Davey Jones were members of The Beatles. They were not. They were members of The Rolling Stones.

In a March 18, 1987, column, I quoted the lyrics to the Canadian national anthem as being "Oh Canada, we stand on cars and freeze." The real lyrics are, "Oh, Canada, we stand on guard for thee."

Finally, in the first paragraph of this column, I wrote that Tony Wade columns are one of most interesting things in newspapers. It should have said Kelvin Wade. I regret the error.

Oh, and go ahead and add a cup of flour to every recipe we've ever published. Just in case.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

It's time to make elections more interesting

 Tuesday is Election Day, which means we get a chance to vote on all kinds of things that we don't know much about (who can tell me what the difference is between the state controller and the state treasurer?). But we love voting – we vote for people on American Idol, we vote for baseball All-Stars and we vote in the Daily Republic weekly pulse poll. Or we should.

But isn't it time we vote on things that really matter? (By saying that, I'm not diminishing the importance of the pulse poll. Or the initiative about the state reserve, as if I know anything about that.)

Still, I'm ready for something bigger. I'm ready to suggest some initiatives that will make us care.

Don't you think there would be a bigger voter turnout if the ballot included things like:

Grocery store item relocation initiative. Forbids grocery stores from rearranging items more than once every four years – and that can't be done without advance notice and public input. They're allowed to set aside two aisles per store that can be used experimentally – but they must be the aisles now being used to push Christmas items or Raiders and 49ers gear. They're already experimental.

The you-can't-change-it-so-stop-complaining initiative. Mandates that adults over 50 can't complain about things that won't change and have been around for a long time. The two most obvious items: That young men's pants sag (it's been happening for more than a decade) and that homeless people have cellphones (It's 2014. Get used to it. Everyone has one). The exception is for things that bug me.

Election mailer limitation. Makes it illegal for political candidates to send multiple mailers to every home in their district on the same day. You can't stop them from doing mailers, but this will limit them to no more than one per day per candidate. Multiple mailers on the same day is ridiculous. That's right, Jim Spering and Pam Bertani. I'm talking about you.

Dumb sports graphics elimination. Requires TV networks to quit using stupid graphics during sports events, especially ones like the pitch-tracking graphic used by Fox during the World Series. Yes, a pitch leaves the pitcher's hand and sails downward until it hits the catcher's mitt. We don't need a yellow line to see that, Fox. A companion bill would limit replays to three per play during sporting events (did you see the World Series? Each close play was shown a dozen times).

Daylight saving time provision. Allows individuals to opt out of the daylight saving time program, keeping the same hours year-round. It allows the rational people among us to retain daylight saving time all 12 months and also allows the Flat Earth Society folks, who hate daylight saving time, to continue their old-timey lifestyles all summer long while riding their mule-drawn carriages to their jobs. It would require employers and all transportation services to adapt a flexible plan and publish schedules using some universal (daylight time!) standard.

Corporate voicemail maze elimination act. Requires all voicemail systems to give you an option of pressing a number to speak to a human within the first two minutes and that the discussion with the human beings occur within five minutes. The penalty for failing to follow law? The company's top executives must spend a full day navigating the phone system of a business in another industry, only to have their calls dropped several times.

Giants win every other year law. Oh, never mind. We don't need a law. It just happens.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Some scary opinions about Halloween

 Friday is Halloween, which means one thing: You need to remember to buy candy – and get something you enjoy, because there aren't nearly as many kids who come to your house as used to, right?

But there are two other things you need to decide – the two burning questions of the holiday.

• Should you dress up?
• At what age should kids stop trick-or-treating?

First things first: On Friday, plenty of people will dress up for the big day – in nearly every workplace, there will be witches, baseball players, Maleficent, characters from "Frozen," and human bananas . . . and some of them won't even know it's Halloween! They're just people who dress strangely.

Seriously, some of us face a question of whether we should dress up for work.

My favorite dressing-up-at-Halloween story involves a former Daily Republic sports writer who, while working at another paper before coming to Fairfield, covered a high school football game for both the local newspaper and a radio station on a Halloween Friday night. He dressed as Aladdin, with the billowy pants, sleeveless shirt and pointy shoes – running up and down the stairs between the field and the press box.

The unfortunate thing? He was, by his account, the only person in the entire stadium dressed up for Halloween. So he was the target of smart-aleck high schoolers the whole night as he ran up and down the stairs in his costume. It makes me laugh to just think about it.

That's a funny story, but it also illustrates an issue for whether you should dress up Friday. You should wear a costume only if you're prepared for the worst-case scenario. Will it ruin your day if you're the only person dressed as Bruce Bochy or Wonder Woman in a workplace filled with people who are otherwise experiencing "casual Friday?" If not, go ahead.

Just be ready for eye rolling from those who ignore the holiday.

That's answer No. 1.

The other question has roiled society the past few years: When should kids stop trick-or-treating?

Is it when they reach a certain size or grade in school? When they get a driver's license? When they start voting? When they qualify for Social Security?

Many of us have answered the door, expecting to see a little bug or fairy costume, to be greeted by a horde of teenagers who look like they're heading to the club. The deep-voiced man-boys say "trick or treat" with an implied threat: We wouldn't like the "trick."

We have two choices: Pretend there's nothing wrong and give them candy or call them out for being too old. Most of us simply give in to the implied threat to avoid them coming back to vandalize our house and perhaps setting it afire in some horrible Halloween ritual.

So what's the answer?

You may not have a choice of who comes to your house, but here's some unsolicited advice for parents: When your kid leaves sixth grade, he or she should stop trick-or-treating. Let them dress up. Let them go to a party or help you hand out candy.

But no trick-or-treating. Your neighbors will thank you.

Although if your kids want to go to a high school game dressed as Aladdin, they may have a great story to tell co-workers in a few years.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

How to write a killer obituary for yourself

 You probably know about funeral planning.

It’s a good idea for you to determine your final arrangements, rather than leaving it to your grief-stricken family member. Or to that nephew who they had to track down to identify your body among all those boxes and old magazines in an apartment where neighbors only knew you as “that old guy who listened to the TV really loud."

Whatever.

Funeral planning is a good idea. So is obituary planning, its oft-ignored cousin.

I spent a good chunk of my journalism career reading obituaries. I recognize great ones from those that aren’t. You want a great obituary.

Don’t you want a great obituary? If someone does a Google search of your name 20 years from now, don’t you want it to be interesting? Don't you want it to make you look accomplished, likeable and worth mourning?

I do.

Obituaries are important – even if we don't combine them with apartment-for-rent notices, as suggested by Billy Crystal's character in "When Harry Met Sally" – so as a free service with your Sunday paper or website, I will provide some instruction on writing a really good obituary:

1. Tie your birth date or death date to a famous event. I’m a fan of obits that say “Larry was born Feb. 5, 1964 – four days before the Beatles' first appearance on the 'Ed Sullivan Show' " Everyone will marvel at it and you will become linked to it. I was born during the Cuban Missile Crisis, by the way.

See? You just linked JFK and me.

2. Include more than just jobs. Many obituaries have something like this: “Joan graduated from Armijo High School, worked at the Fairfield-Suisun School District for 25 years, then for Solano County for 15 years as a mosquito abatement investigator.” I’d much rather read, “Joan worked for the Fairfield-Suisun School District and Solano County, but was best known for her ability to juggle three lemons. She knew all the words to 'Love Will Keep Us Together' and cried every time she watched 'Beaches.' ” See? That’s a much fuller description. I can juggle lemons, know the words to every Captain and Tennille song and cry during "Beaches," too.

See? I've intrigued you.

3. Think about your surviving relatives. I’ve seen lists where someone is survived by “their favorite grandchild, Henry, and five others” or that sort of thing – and presumed that Henry’s mother or father wrote the obituary. I don’t need my family fighting after I’m dead (I want them to talk about how great I was, with Mrs. Brad wearing a mourning veil for the rest of her life), so I will list everyone equally.

See? I'll be fair, even in death.

4. Go ahead and be creative, adding flavor to the "facts." (Editor's note: This suggestion is not approved by the Daily Republic.) If your pre-written obituary claims you were an original member of Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes or that you had a walk-on role in "General Hospital" in 1973, who will check it? If you say that you were the Wyoming state champion in "rock-paper-scissors" or were on a team that field tested the first cassette tapes, who cares? It just makes you more interesting. I, by the way, helped invent the Slinky. Don't check, just believe me.

See? I'm more interesting.

So get busy – write an obituary and tell someone where to find it. That's what I did, back when I worked on the Slinky while singing along to "Love Will Keep Us Together."

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com. See?

Giants success would surprise 12-year-old me

 They were one of the worst organizations in sports, a terrible team with awful management, playing in the worst stadium in America in front of an indifferent fan base.

Losing. Always losing.

Now they’re one of the best organizations in sports, with a spectacular stadium and a devoted, loving group of fans who expect the best while selling out every game.

Had you told the 12-year-old version of me that the San Francisco Giants would be anything like they are now, he would have considered you as dumb as John Travolta’s character, Vinnie Barbarino, on his favorite TV show, “Welcome Back, Kotter."

But here we are.

If you’re following the San Francisco Giants – and this time of year, after their championships in 2010 and 2012, who in Northern California isn’t? – realize this: You are living in the golden era. Enjoy it, because it won’t likely last, although stranger things have happened.

Stranger things? How about this: Having the team sold to owners who planned to move it thousands of miles away (to Toronto in 1976, to Tampa, Florida, in 1992), only to be saved at the last minute by civic-minded businessmen willing to lose money.

Or this: Being unpopular enough that the radio station in my hometown dropped them in favor of the Oakland A’s, leaving the Giants on a station that went off the air when the sun set.

Or even this: Going from when I was 8 years old and discovered that I liked baseball until I was 25 and the sports editor of the Daily Republic without making the postseason. Ever. While having a winning record in just four of those 17 years.

That the San Francisco Giants are now a prime franchise in sports, with a beautiful waterfront ballpark filled with 40,000-plus devoted fans every game while the nation’s fans watch every game on TV is beyond what anyone could have expected in 1975. Or 1985. Or even 1995. This is the equivalent of waking up one day and seeing President Kardashian and finding that Yugos are the most popular luxury car in America.

When I became a Giants fan – around the time I lost my first bet, a $1 wager with my dad that they would win their division (he got the other five teams) – the idea that someday the team would have a group of likeable star players and that Giants T-shirts and caps would be evident all over Northern California was unthinkable. That baseball experts would shake their heads in wonder at how they always shine when the pressure is the biggest was beyond possible.

As the Giants play the St. Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series, much of the region will nervously sit in front of TVs, hoping that Buster Posey, Madison Bumgarner, Hunter Pence and Pablo Sandoval can do it again. Fans will trust that the team is destined to win a championship every other year. Games at AT&T Park will present a thrilling postcard to the rest of the country of a city that loves its team.

I’ll enjoy it all. And shake my head that the team I saw with 1,500 other fans in miserable Candlestick Park several times in the 1970s is now the gold standard in baseball.

I still quote their team motto in 1984, when they lost 96 games with a roster that included  journeyman players Mike Krukow and Duane Kuiper: "C’mon, Giants, hang in there!"

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Greatest dinosaur ever found in Argentina

 The most awesome creature in world history was uncovered recently in Argentina.

"Most awesome” after David Hasselhoff, that is.

The new discovery is an 85-foot-long, 65-ton dinosaur that is one of the biggest – probably the biggest – land animal in history, surpassing former Chicago Bears defensive lineman William “Refrigerator” Perry. Its weight equaled that of about a dozen African elephants and it had a 30-foot tail.

All those are great. But here’s what’s really great: The name.

Dreadnoughtus.

Perfect.

Is there a better name for an intimidating beast as long as two tractor trailers and that had a tail that could knock over your fence without knowing it (presuming it wandered your neighborhood)?

Dreadnoughtus!

I love the name.

It brings to mind the massive battleships of the early 20th century: Dreadnoughts, the massive vessels that all sides tried to rapidly build and deploy during World War I, partly to instill fear in the opposition, but mostly because military leaders liked saying the word “dreadnaught.” If you ever had the opportunity to listen to a discussion involving Marshall Philippe Petain, Gen. Black Jack Pershing and Gen. Erich Ludendorff, you would have heard the word “dreadnought” at least two or three times, followed by knowing chuckles. Because the word sounds so cool.

Dreadnought.

Now we have a massive dinosaur named dreadnoughtus – and scientists say they’ve located more than 70 percent of one animal’s bones (meaning it retains more of its original bone structure than Tom Jones or Kenny Rogers), which is more than most dinosaurs.

It’s huge and scientists say it was still growing when it died – kind of like James Dean. This dreadnoughtus was a teenager!

They also realized it was a teenager because it had acne, slouched a lot and spent far too much time texting and playing video games on his prehistoric cellphone (since the dinosaur was found in South America, we presume he used an Amazon phone).

Here’s what we know about dreadnoughtus, other than his teenager attitude problems and massive tail: He most likely spent most of his life eating – and he was a vegetarian, although it was reportedly more of a moral choice than a health choice.

If there’s one problem with this dinosaur with the greatest name in dino history (previous top five: Fukuisarus, Irrator, Khaan, Pantydraco, Supersaurus), it’s that his full name is Dreadnoughtus schrani, with the second name honoring the benefactor Adam Schran. It’s bad enough that stadiums and arenas have sponsors’ names on them, now dinosaurs do.

Full disclosure: It all started with the DailyRepublicasaurus back in the late 1990s, but still . . .

So what’s the takeaway? What’s the local angle? It’s this:

Scientists now suspect that there are plenty of other places where dinosaurs could be discovered. They thought they’d found the largest dino ever, before the team found dreadnoughtus in Argentina – so who is to say that there isn’t an opportunity for a larger animal (Super-dreadnoughtus? Mega-dreadnoughtus?) to be discovered in say . . . Rio Vista or Suisun City.

If we can find one – or suggest that we may have found one – people will come.

As they said in “Field of Dreams,” “People will most definitely come.”

When it comes time to name our dino, I’ve got the only name that would be better than dreadnoughtus.

We could find the Hasselhoffasaurus!

Reach Brad Stanhope at 427-6958 or bstanhope@dailyrepublic.net. Follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/bradstanhope.