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Mike Tighe is the Tribune newsroom's senior citizen. That said, he don't get no respect from the cub reporters as he goes about his duly-appointed rounds on the health, religion and whatever-else-lands-in-his-inbox beats. Call him at 608-791-8446.

Oh, I’m a little verklempt, as Mike Myers used to say in his “Saturday Night Live” sketches in which he portrayed a female Jewish TV host so overcome with emotion she could barely speak.

Fortunately, I don’t have to talk, so my hysteria about my discovery of how to lower health-care costs once and for all won’t interfere with my revelation. Who knew that it could be so simple — so basic, even — that I can’t even trademark the diagnosis and make millions of dollars.

Even if it could be registered, I’d have to split the proceeds with Showtime, of all partners.

My epiphany came during an episode of “Ray Donovan” the other night, in a scene between others in which he was being beaten to a pulp and ones in which he was pounding the snot out of somebody else.

BTW, I detest the violence on the show. I watch it occasionally only to make sure that my Pollyanna-ish tendencies remove me too far from reality — from how things work in real life.

Donovan, who was being beaten within an inch of his life, opted to take a couple of whacks at his persecutors to give them the slip and jump through a closed window to an alley two stories below instead of taking his punishment like a man.

I couldn’t quite figure out how he avoided death at the hands of his gun-wielding pursuers, limping as he was, bleeding profusely and favoring what I imagined was a broken left arm. After all, he landed on a hard surface, not pillows.

But elude them he did and hobbled into a small diner, where he asked to use the restroom and grabbed a sugar container on his way into the john. I couldn’t imagine what he had up his sleeve — only MacGyver grabs odd things to build contraptions to escape from scrapes, and he’s no MacGyver.

As it turned out, when he took off his jacket and peeled back his shirt, the thing up his sleeve was a huge piece of glass buried deep in his left shoulder. Grimacing and groaning, he pulled out the shard, which left a gaping wound, pulsating a stream of blood.

My chin hit the floor when he unscrewed the top of the sugar container and he poured the contents into and around the wound, slapped on some paper towels from relatively unclean wall container and put his shirt back on.

I was surprised that he didn’t let out a scream that would have awakened the dead, because I can’t imagine that didn’t hurt like hell.

Sure, I’ve heard that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, but I’ve never seen sugar touted as a first-aid remedy for wounds — not even in Boy Scouts, where novel tricks are encouraged.

Imagine my surprise to discover that using sugar on a wound to block bacterial formation and promote healing really is a thing; what’s more, honey is too, and it’s touted as more effective and less painful than sugar. Who knew that honey could fix a boo-boo?

That’s still another reason to support efforts to save bees.

Lest you think I got this info from some quack peddling miracle cures and elixirs from the back of a covered wagon in a traveling medicine show, my source is none other than the National Institutes of Health. That’s about as credible as you can get, IMHO.

And I quote the results of research findings, as reported in the NIH’s U.S. National Library of Medicine. When that library publishes a study, you can make book on it.

So, imagine that: Big Pharma and Big Hospitals have pulled the gauze over our eyes, making them think we need them, when all we need is honey or, in a pinch, sugar.

I tried cursorily to get some medical officials to explain themselves, but got no takers.

Cue the music for the old Marlboro commercial from the ’50s, when Julie London sang the “Marlboro Song,” claiming you had to smoke Marlboros to be a real man. Ramping up the manliness, the Marlboro Man became the symbol of virility in one of the most egregious medical cover-ups of all time.

Why, back then even doctors touted the health benefits of smoking. Indeed, docs used to sweep down hospital halls, leaving trails of billowing smoke from their butts.

It says something when physicians pushed cigarettes but won’t extol the value of honey and sugar, instead writing scripts for opioids and other dangerous substances.

I don’t want to rub salt into any medical egos, but all their alibis for not being able to curb health-care costs are sheer, unadulterated bollix.

And I thank Sugar Ray Donovan for shining light on medicine’s dark secret.

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Mike Tighe can be reached at mtighe@lacrossetribune.com<mailto:mtighe@lacrossetribune.com>, or follow him on Twitter at @necktye.

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