INDIANAPOLIS – Billy and wife Billie visited over the weekend. “Well, go ahead, tell him,” Billie declaimed as she slid into a rocking chair, glass of iced tea in hand. “I’m tired of explaining what he couldn’t be bothered to learn, bull-headed creature that he is.” “What’s the problem Billy?” I asked. “My boss,” Billy, who isn’t too generous with words, said. “His boss, my foot,” Billie interjected, obviously intending to be the color commentator to Billy’s play-by-play. “What about your boss?” I asked. “Cut our pay by 50%,” Billy said.