A colleague, discussing the business decision just made by Mrs. Baird’s, mentioned that she didn’t like the bread.

Once fellow employees pried my hands off her throat, and after I was fingerprinted and booked, the thought occurred that, well, basically it’s just bread. It’s not worth assaulting someone.

But of course, Mrs. Baird’s is Waco’s own, or has been for nearly 50 years, casting a magical aroma across town from its 17th Street plant. Now the company says it is closing the factory.

So much for brand loyalty. One friend said that if it’s going to be baked in Fort Worth, Abilene and San Antonio, he’ll switch.

Hell hath no fury like a brainwashed customer scorned.

Like a dog that falls in love with a boot, mankind has a tendency to be abnormally amorous with objects.

A man will fight to the death to defend the honor of his brand of chewing tobacco.

If you substitute just mayo for Hellman’s Mayonnaise, well, people die for that deed.

And then there are the loyalties assigned because of where the products are produced. The commercial in which a twanging cowboy has a fit over his salsa being made in New York City masterfully plucks that string.

In Central Texas we have any number of products that now or at one time called for uniform obeisance under penalty of bodily injury.

Dr Pepper and Big Red are Waco’s own. We speak reverently of each. We drink each in near-mythical volumes.

It just so happened that I was partial to Dr Pepper before I came here. It must be a genetic trait. My youngest son was born here, just like Charles Alderton’s soda-fountain invention. The boy came out of the womb requesting a “Dopper Pepper.”

My wife hates the stuff. In Waco, she must excuse herself and stand among huddled bands of wheezing, exiled smokers to say what she feels.

Texans take their sense of ownership of Corsicana-born Wolf Brand Chili to evangelical extremes. When I was living in Southern Colorado in the ’70s, my Houston-based aunt, knowing I loved chili, sent me a case. Hated it.

Now? I’ll fight Mongol hordes to defend Wolf Brand. My cupboard is never without it.

A lot of this, of course, is acclimation. I developed a taste for it. Why hasn’t my bride over nearly 25 years developed a taste for Dr Pepper in the city with the world’s highest per capita consumption? Does she hate all that is just and true?

I must admit I have my own Central Texas brand loyalty problem. It has to do with the fruit cakes made at Corsicana-based Collin Street Bakery. Fruit cakes are the sweet potato of sweets, meaning not edible. I tried both once within, oh, the last 45 years. That is recent enough for me.

I have a friend who is a man of peace, but he would hurt me if I disparaged his fruit cake. Therefore, I take care never to bring the subject up. In fact, I’m going to hustle over to his house right now and get this issue off his lawn so I don’t get my neck wrung.

When you think about it, most conflicts are based on matters as nutty as fruit cake.

On what side of the tracks do you reside? On which side of the 36th parallel?

We root, root, root for our team — why? — because it’s our team, even if it’s an acknowledged band of thugs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the deputy is taking me to my arraignment. My defense: Your honor, the brand name made me do it.

John Young’s column appears Thursday, Sunday and occasionally Tuesday. E-mail: 757-5705.