I’ve asked for help with this column from you guys for a while now, and the results have been less than overwhelming.

The problem is I’ve run frightfully low on printable material from my sports-filled past. The old memory bank is teetering on empty. And that’s not good.

In light of that, coupled with some annoying age and health concerns, I’ve decided to cut back. From now on I’ll be writing this column once per month.

Originally I was determined to try and write as many as a year’s worth of columns. This is column No. 56, so that benchmark has been thankfully and successfully surpassed.

In the 1984 mockumentary “This is Spinal Tap,” the band becomes hopelessly lost after leaving their dressing room and heading for the stage.

I had really hoped more readers would have shared their favorite sports-related stories with me by now. You know, the ones they deliver at the end of the night that usually begin with, “You probably aren’t going to believe this, but did I ever tell you the time we …”

I mean, they didn’t even have to be mostly true. A little bit of exaggeration never hurt a good sports story. Especially how well I can retell them.

But those priceless submissions haven’t been coming on a regular basis, so change is necessary.

I don’t have that many significant memories that I can turn into a column any more.

I mean, the time I had to stand outside during a snowstorm in Clymer when the popcorn cart caught on fire during a varsity basketball game I was refereeing is interesting. But it won’t fill an entire column.

Or the time in Fredonia a young fan deliberately burst through a door to distract a foul shooter and I, as referee, took off in futile pursuit of the young punk and laughter ensued. Most of it was directed at me. That’s a paragraph at best.

How about the first JV boys basketball game I ever refereed at Maple Grove? I was terrible and the fans let me know it.

In the game’s final seconds, I was about to hand the ball to a player out of bounds.

That’s when a fellow baseball umpire I respected climbed out of his seat just to tell me, “Stick to baseball. You suck at basketball.”

See. Two or three paragraphs, tops!

How about the time my officiating partner and I once got lost trying to return to the basketball court in Falconer High School after halftime. It was thanks to not paying attention when we were directed through a reconstruction zone in an unfamiliar part of the school. “This Is Spinal Tap” had nothing on us.

We were only late by a few minutes, but it was terribly embarrassing and our entire board eventually heard of our misadventures.

I really don’t know if basing a column on mildly entertaining anecdotes would work or not.

Would someone really be interested in hearing about the referee who showed up one night for a game without his uniform bag but did remember to bring his cooler full of beers he called “travelers?” Maybe, maybe not.

They might be interested to know about the time I tried to conquer the steep Woodrow Avenue hill between Fifth and Sixth streets on the way to the Dunkirk Little League Field on my less than modern bicycle.

I decided to put my head down and really go for it one afternoon while I was running typically late for a game or practice.

That move helped my momentum problem, but just as I was building up the necessary speed to conquer the troublesome stretch of road, I blindly crashed into a parked car.

I ended up sprawled on the car’s hood, shaken and stirred but uninjured. Remarkably, my bike survived as well.

I’m not quite as sure about the elderly gentleman who was sitting on his porch and viewed the whole thing. He appeared to be dying from laughter that followed me for the entire block. I hope he was OK.

Another of my biking to the Little League Field adventures involved a taxi cab.

Late as usual, I was racing down Plover Street when my brakes began to fail. Did I tell you my bike was an antique from the 1940s?

Anyway, as I neared Sixth Street in front of the new high school, I began skidding through the loose stones. I couldn’t stop in time and ran right into the right front wheel of a vehicle operated by a stunned taxi driver.

I survived. My front wheel did not.

My mother was surprised to receive a letter from the taxi cab company days later inquiring about my health. They wanted to know if they could pay for any necessary bicycle repairs or hospital bills.

This was all news to her and she wondered why I hadn’t mentioned anything to anybody about it. My totally inadequate answer has been lost to history.

See what I mean? These brief anecdotes are mildly interesting but far from top-quality column material.

So until I can come up with some more of the good stuff, from my soon to be 75-year-old brain, or you, my dear, neglectful readers, I’ll be seeing you once monthly. It’s been a good run, but Pop Pop needs a little vacation. See you in September.

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HAVE a favorite memory of playing, coaching or officiating? Drop me a line at mandpp@hotmail.com.

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Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor.