CANON FODDER /KAN in FAH dur/ noun: Ambulatory commuters who end up in tourists’ photos as they snap pictures of Grand Central Terminal with their digital cameras.

Usage: I was late for my 9 a.m. meeting, and ended up being Canon Fodder for some German tourists when I bolted in front of of them as they took a group picture in front of the Information kiosk in Grand Central.

Past Words of the Week are here.

7 a.m., wake up, survey my outdoor surroundings, think I’ve woken up on Mars.

7:15 a.m., tune in to Fox 5 and see traffic reporter say Metro-North service is suspended.

7:30 a.m., traffic reporter says some service has been restored.

7:35, check email for Metro-North service alerts. Surely something in light of the snurricane/snowicane/snowbeaster? Nothing.

8:25, head out for 8:43 train.

8:26, attempt to hop over three foot snow cliff at end of walkway and get snow in boot.

8:30, almost wipe out twice while walking down Broad. “It’s not worth it!” yells a middle-aged woman shoveling snow. There’s 15 inches down.

As I said yesterday, the only way to get any service updates from Metro-North is to get on their press distribution list. That list offered up this snurricane tidbit today: Ridership was down 60-65% this morning, with Hudson Line down 79%, Harlem 66%, and the New Haven Line down just 56%.

Those New Haven Line riders are battle-tested for sure.

8:43, no train. Dozen people in overpass.

8:55, a train approaches from the north. Everyone descends stairs. Train keeps going.

People talk on platform. Several mentions of downed tree between Hartsdale and White Plains and ensuing delays.

8:56, Dad calls from Florida vacay, where it’s 48 degrees. Tells me to go home. He’s not the boss of me…anymore.

Lots and lots and lots of platform announcements regarding northbound trains. Nothing about southbound.

9:17, train pulls up. Two dozen people board.

9:31, pulls into White Plains.

9:32, anxiety about downed tree and fear of bottleneck.

9:34, Hartsdale’s in the rear view mirror.

9:52, Harlem.

10:03, Grand Central. Train was 34 minutes late, but made the trip in 46 minutes once it arrived. Not bad.

I’m chugging big-time for the 6:10 last night, cutting it closer than I normally do.

I see the lights a-flashing as I make my way down the ramp; it’s not a case of Thinkablinkaphobia, it’s the real deal.

I get on, and the conductor operating the door button, head out the window like vertical Whack-A-Mole, gives me the look.

I head toward the back where the seats are and, lo and behold, the mother lode of the seating situations: An empty six-seater. The coup de grace!

I ease into the six-seater the way you ease into a hot tub.

The train starts moving. But it stops about 40 feet down the platform. One man is standing on the platform, praying for a reprieve.

“C’mon,” I see him mouth.

Ten seconds pass. Another man is on the platform, and another.

They try telekinesis to get the doors to open. People on board pick up on the drama; will the conductors let them on?

The train has been stopped for 40 seconds. There are five men on the platform, then six. Hope is in their eyes.

Me, I’m trying to see how many of my six seats I can use: Rear in one, knees against another, bag on one, Times on another. Two to share spare.

The doors fail to open and the train pulls away. Three of the men on the platform laugh. Two frown. One grimaces and shakes his head; his pain is palpable.

I make like the three men and laugh, and try to figure out how I can use my remaining two seats.

Englishman James Willstrop, pictured above, slew the world’s top squash player in the Grand Central crucible last night, setting the stage for a dramatic final at 7:30 tonight. Yes, Willstrop defeated top-ranked Karim Darwish (Egypt) 11-6, 11-5, 11-8 in the plastic box yesterday to earn a berth in tonight’s final.

Ramy Ashour, meanwhile, toppled England’s Nick Matthew to earn the other final spot.

Willstrop and Ashour face off at 7:30 in the Vanderbilt Hall section of Grand Central Terminal.

Here’s a video clip of Ashour facing last year’s champ, Greg Gaultier, in the Grand Central box. One wonders how frequently these days take rackets to the head.

You can either buy a ticket or stand with the unwashed masses for free behind the box.

Don’t forget, the semifinals of the squash Tournament of Champions falls smack in the middle of your commute through Grand Central today.

The matches are held in the clear plastic squash court in Vanderbilt Hall, near the front entrance/exit of GCT.

The semifinals feature two Egyptians and two Englishmen. Egypts’ Karim Darwish, ranked #5, takes on Englander James Willstrop, who’s #7 in the world. That’s at 6:30.

Then it’s the world’s top ranked player, Egyptian Ramy Ashour, against England’s Nick Matthew, who’s the world’s #2. That showdown is for 7:30.

That’s right, the two best squashers in the world, facing off in Grand Central tonight. (What, no Yanks?)

The seats cost a lot of money, while standing room behind the cube–the balls whizzing right at your head–is free.

This is relatively weird. Our Mamaroneck correspondent G. Francis shared this spectacular photo from the train in Switzerland, en route to the World Economic Forum–known simply as “Davos.” (See, Trainjotting correspondents have their little side gigs.)

Then, 15 minutes ago as I was climbing out of the Track 110 bowels of Grand Central, I heard one of those Music Underground or whatever it’s called sponsored musicians belting out that “Climb Every Mountain!” song from The Sound of Music.

Good thing I wore my lederhosen today.

It’s 5:59 and I have to get from 26th and Park to my train in the basement of Grand Central by 6:10.

Sure, the next train is only 23 minutes later. But Little G has been hassling me about not playing enough of late; he was spoiled by the abundance of Dad-ness over the Christmas break, and then again with the three-day weekend earlier this week.

“Play with me, Daddy!” he’s implored me all week as I set out for work. If I don’t work, you don’t get Legos, I tell him. Hit ‘em where it hurts.

So I had to be on that 6:10 to give the kid an hour before bed.

Making a train in 11 minutes is, paradoxically, a bit easier than making one in, say, 14 minutes. If I have 16 minutes, I can walk the whole route at a brisk clip. If I have 11 minutes, I have to run the whole thing. If I have 14 minutes, it’s a nebulous mix of walking and jogging, and sometimes I get the mix wrong.

So I ran, and actually made the thing with about two minutes to spare.

The 6:10 doesn’t leave at 6:10. Maybe it’s that one-minute late rule the New York Times unearthed, I say. But the minute passes, and we’re still sitting.

The conductor walks by. I don’t take the 6:10 much but I always notice the guy on it. He seems like he’s drunk. I’ve never smelled hootch on him or anything, but he just has that look–the glassy eyes, the Weebles Wobble demeanor, the jaunty humor that doesn’t quite meet its mark, the layer of permascruff on his face that makes one think of hangovers, unnatural desires for bloody marys, and internal promises to quit smoking.

The conductor sorts out some sort of door trouble and we’re off.

But in Harlem, it’s a similar story. We close the doors at 6:22 and sit.

The wobbly conductor walks by again, talking to himself.

“Can we fasten the door down there?” he says to no one in particular.

I watch him pass through our car, then see him through the window of the next car, making his way up the aisle, looking for the faulty door.

Little G awaits at home, Legos in hand, looking toward the door.

C’mon, dude. Get this thing moving.

You may have noticed the giant clear cube being erected in the Vanderbilt Hall section of Grand Central yesterday, along with some silver bleacher seating in the back.

Yes, it’s almost time for that annual squash bacchanal known as Tournament of Champions (ToC), during which the best squash players in the world–hailing from the likes of England, Australia, and lots and lots from Egypt–convene on Grand Central to compete in elite-level squash.

The players dig the unique setting. “The ToC is my favorite tournament on the tour,” said defending champion Gregory Gaultier, a Frenchie. “My win last year was a dream that came true. The Grand Central Terminal venue is just amazing - it is the best way to show people our sport by setting up a glass court in a place where tens of thousands of spectators pass by every day.”

Gaultier came from an unranked position to win it all last year.

The competition starts Friday.

Here’s a seminal piece of squash journalism, titled “Trainswatting,” of all things, I wrote back in 2004.

From December 16, 2008

GRAND CENTRAL VERMINAL \GRAND sent rull VERR minn ull\ noun: The large masses of fresh-faced teens and vacationing Midwesterners and Europeans that assemble in Grand Central Terminal around the holidays.

Usage: I was running for the 5:17 to New Rochelle, and would’ve made it–if not for the Grand Central Verminal blocking the entrance to the platform as they stared at the holiday laser show.

From October 15, 2007

TRAIN COUPLINGS /TRAYn CUPP lings/ noun: Spouses who ride the train to and from work together each day.

Usage: I had to sit behind this cheesy train coupling who smooched and talked about their kids all the way from Mt. Kisco to Grand Central.