Al Batt’s columns appear in the Tribune every Wednesday and Sunday.

I was trimming my eyebrows with a dull scissors.

I wasn’t doing it for me, it was for the good of all mankind.

I’d just returned from town where I’d gotten gas for the lawn mower. I’d filled a couple of gas cans. Here’s a tip for you youngsters. If you’re going to carry gas in your car, make sure you put it in a container of some kind.

I paused my trimming endeavors to answer the phone. It was a friend who had called in response to my email informing him of the death of a shared friend. The decedent was someone that we’d known more of our lives than not. We reaffirmed our beliefs that the deceased had been a good guy. One of those who never had a bad word to say about another. Calling him a good guy was not only a fitting tribute, it was the perfect eulogy.

As our telephonic discussion went on, the talk rambled across many diverse topics. He asked what I thought about the upcoming election. I replied that I thought it would take place in November. I admitted that I’d welcome shortened campaigns.

The caller confessed that he was considering not voting.

I asked if he planned on being too busy to vote or if he’d be unable to find the voting booth in a town with a population of 300.

He snorted, likely in derision, but I couldn’t be sure, before stating that he didn’t like any of the presidential candidates and he didn’t want any of them to win. It was to be a silent protest of both the candidates and the process.

It makes no sense for someone to run for office for four years. The election process, particularly the length, could certainly be changed. It would be surprising, but life is full of surprises. Anyone who has changed a diaper knows that. Baseball has as much tradition as our election process and baseball has changed. I don’t mean that politics should adopt the designated hitter rule like the American League did. That would be wrong. It is wrong.

Baseball made a big change regarding the length of its games. Prior to 1857, games weren’t just of an indeterminate time length, the number of innings wasn’t limited. According to the first set of baseball rules, the Knickerbocker Rules published in 1845, “The game to consist of 21 counts or aces; but at the conclusion, an equal number of hands must be played.”

Playing until 21 runs had been scored made for long games. It was clear that a change was in order. The decision to restrict the number of innings was made, but how many innings should make up each contest? It was determined that the number of innings would be tied to the number of players on each starting team — nine.

The caller added that he might vote, but only to write in his own name. That might be a little much for a Minnesotan. Guilt would become involved.

He said that the entire voting experience stinks.

I recall an episode from my boyhood when I’d signed up to sell some kind of soap. After an excruciating wait, the mailman delivered the many boxes of product. Untold riches awaited.

I didn’t know much about selling soap. I didn’t know much about anything. Because of that glaring glitch in my skill set, I didn’t sell any soap. To keep the soap company from threatening legal action, my family purchased all the soap. The soap company sent me a chintzy prize as a reward for my masterful salesmanship. It was a porcelain dog that looked like it was having a bowel movement.

I took an early retirement from the soap-selling business.

It was terrible soap. It cleaned hands if you could take the stench. It stunk to high heaven.

Despite the unpleasant odor, my family used the soap. It was a sin to waste money.

Thanks to that soap, you could smell a member of my family a mile away.

I threatened to see if I could find a bar of that soap for him if he didn’t vote. Then he’d realize that voting didn’t stink.

“OK, if they don’t change things, I’ll show them. I’ll vote anyway,” he said before concluding the call.

The final haunting line of the book, “The Great Gatsby,” goes like this, “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

I’d add, “And we vote for the future.”