Dino Crocetti (aka Dean Martin) in Steubenville, put his right hand to the ground, long before he ever thought about warbling a song about the moon hitting your eye like a big pizza pie.

Hey pallies, likes inquirin' Dino-minds wanna knows where our most beloved Dino will turn up next on the ol' web.  There truly is an ubber unendin' marvelous mixture of wonderful ways that our Dino gets lovin'ly lifted up over the internet.  Today we shares with all youse Dino-philes a brief excerpt from a post from the online presence of the  Orlando Sentinel.  The post scribed by Dr. Thomas V. DiBacco is creatively tagged "Commentary: A great summer game ... except when you lose all your marbles."

Dr. DiBacco grew up as a child "just up the road" from our Dino's home pad in Stubenville and his post relates the fantastic fun he had playin' marbles as a child.  Likes of all the Ohio-ians contemporaries that DiBacco coulda chosen to relate to his fun prose, we, of course, are totally totally thrilled to see he coolly chose on our and only Dino!

Likes can't youse just see our Dino playin' marbles as a kid in Stu-ville....and we're  bettin' that our Dino probably as a tender child was already takin' wagers and bettin' while playin' this childhood game!  Wouldn't it be greatly great to return to days when our laddie Dino walked the street of his hometown playin' marbles with his pallies?!?!?!

We thanks Dr. Thomas V. DiBacco for this truly charmin' piece of neat nostalgia, and for namin' the name of our King of Cool.  To checks this out in it's original source and to read the prose in total, simply clicks on the tag of this Dino-report.

We Remain,

Yours in Dino,

Dino Martin Peters



(our Dino on the right with his bro Bill)

Commentary: A great summer game ... except when you lose all your marbles

by Thomas V. DiBacco

The game of marbles goes back to antiquity. Plato played marbles; so did Socrates. And every U.S. president beginning with Washington and ending at least with the Gipper (Ronald Reagan) cracked his knuckles every spring, got out the old marble bag and found a nice smooth spot on the land to put his rolling stones to the test. Just up the road from where I lived, Dino Crocetti (aka Dean Martin) in Steubenville, put his right hand to the ground, long before he ever thought about warbling a song about the moon hitting your eye like a big pizza pie. Marbles were cheap then, as they are now.