And as if to demonstrate, we immediately cut to a Speedo-clad gentleman dashing out of the Central Park Pool, with Sam, Hunt, Carling, and Skelton in hot pursuit. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Sam is dressed as a life-guard, Skelton is wearing water-wings, and Carling is in a bathing suit himself. Clearly, this was either an undercover investigation or some sort of role-playing thing gone horribly, horribly wrong. Hunt also has on a pair of swim trunks with his shirt unbuttoned -- frankly, I think his cover should have been as the bikini-clad girl from the Coppertone ads. Anyhow, they're running through Central Park after this guy, and given the amount of foot chases they've had on this show to date, I think I need to come up with some clever shorthand to designate such a chase scene. Run-tage? Chase-Fu? Yet another goddamn chase scene? Anyhow, I'm tinkering with it -- if you've got a suggestion, drop me a line.

Our chase-o-rama -- nah, still working on it -- ends as so many chases often do on this program: with Sam tackling the perp. And just to remind us of their very different approaches to law enforcement, Hunt runs up and shoves the suspect right into Central Park Lake. Glug glug, goes the suspect, who, as it turns out, cannot swim. So you were at the pool... why exactly? For your health? Because you love the smell of chlorine? Because when you wear your Speedo to the Guggenheim, the other patrons just stare? Anyhow, the non-Sam detectives are quite amused by the sight of the guy drowning, figuring that, if nothing else, it will at least make him more talkative. Then again, it's hard to talk when your lungs are rapidly filling with water. Anyhow, when the suspect sinks below the surface without bobbing up again, Hunt figures that yeah, maybe it's time to fish him out after all, ordering Skelton to dive in and get him. Only problem with that: Skelton can't swim. Neither can Carling, apparently. "Jesus, was swimming not invented until after 1973?" I ask. "Actually," my wife says, "given that all these guys grew up during the era that polio was a possibility, it's likely that they didn't learn to swim at an early age." "Well, don't I feel like an asshole," I respond after a lengthy pause.

At any rate, an exasperated Sam dives into the lake and uses a rather impressive sidestroke to drag our sinks-like-a-stone-and-therefore-is-not-a-witch suspect to dry land. For this kindness, the gasping suspect repays Sam by sucker punching him square in the jaw. And that commences the police-mandated beatdown, which, really, runs a close second to footchases as this show's most frequent occurrence. Eventually, the uniforms arrive to take the properly tenderized Speedo-clad suspect away -- "What's your hurry, Mark Spitz?" Hunt sneers at SpeedoMan while kicking him in the ribs -- and the other detectives tend to a still groggy Sam. And by "tend to," I mean "laugh at his pitiable mental condition" since Sam is starring up dreamily at the clouds and saying, "I miss you, Maya." "He looks like one of them cartoon characters who got hit over the head with a frying pan," Carling observes. "Yeah, he does," a chuckling Hunt agrees. "Like in the funny papers." "Like in the funny papers," a still off-kilter Sam agrees. Yes, brain trauma was apparently quite the knee-slapper in 1973. Now, help him up, fellas, and be sure to jiggle his spine around as much as possible.