I’m writing this on New Year’s Day, and as I type (on my second Bloody Mary, by the way) I hear the sound of a thousand empty beer kegs each time I hit the keys.
Need everyone to keep it down, all right? I also need a cold compress and a neck rub. Get on it.
They wanted resolutions for other people in the world of sports, but I’m not about to tell other people how to live their lives. I say, “Let those poor saps fend for themselves.” Won’t the editors be surprised when they get this list, then.
And here now, my resolutions for the year ahead (although I reserve the right to declare July a resolution-free month).
– I resolve not to party with Jeremy Shockey, Matt Millen or either of their boyfriends.
– I resolve to be more didactic in my NFL picks and to look up words before I use them in my columns.
– I resolve to watch more public television so long as that means all I have to do is watch more television in public.
– I resolve to lay off the Cool Ranch Doritos unless there’s a ballgame on. And don’t get cute and say, “Hockey uses a puck, not a ball.” It goes for ballgames and puck games. Also, anything involving cars.
– I resolve to make more quality time available to Steve Spurrier, but only if his wife says it’s OK.
– I resolve not to put money down on any kind of All-Star Game.
– I resolve to put ESPN’s Stuart Scott back on my Christmas card list. Bygones, Mr. Scott. You have your style, I have mine, and we’re both pros, so let’s live together in peace and harmony. I also resolve to take that Christmas card list and shove it right up Mr. Scott’s nose.
Yes, nose.
– I resolve to finalize my divorce from Anna Nicole Smith. It’s not easy.
– I also resolve to get kissed by Joe Namath. That should be pretty easy.
– I resolve to finally figure out this whole HDTV thing.
– I resolve to give up cigars, cigarettes, dip and chew. I started last night, actually, so GET OFF MY BACK!
– I resolve to never again utter the phrase, “Cade McNown never got a chance to show his stuff in the NFL.” And if I break this resolution, you must resolve to spank me, especially if your name is Mandy Moore.
– I resolve to stop crank calling the White House and asking for inside information on any NFL games the Saturday night before. It was kind of funny the first time, but when the FBI got involved, I realized I had crossed a line.
– I resolve to give the Bulls and Blackhawks another chance . . . to leave town.
– I resolve not to get another tattoo.
– I resolve never to go to the bathroom at the stadium unless it’s halftime or between periods, and only if somebody in my aisle brought a pooper-scooper.
– I resolve not to cough up the dough to watch the pay-per-view Lingerie Bowl during the halftime of this year’s Super Bowl where scantily clad models will play touch football. I will keep this resolution unless, of course, somebody wants to float me the money. I’m good for it, I am, really.
– I resolve to support the BCS championship and not keep telling the tired old joke about how you can’t spell “BCS” without “BS.”
– I resolve not to protest at The Masters this year. In conjunction, I resolve to protest organized protests, and since this is the United States of America, I will not discriminate which protests get protested.
– And finally, I resolve to take all of your angry e-mails at ritaredeye@tribune.com, print them out, fold them up neatly and wedge them under that one patio table leg on my deck.
Drive safely.
