I Have A Dream

I dream of an NBA game without trash talk and tattoos. I also dream of an NBA season that doesn't last until June. The NBA is played indoors because it began as a winter sport. I wish the NBA postseason would end well before that time of year when I sport my tank top underneath my half-shirt mesh jersey that reads, "Myrtle Beach '87" and head to the fireworks outlet to get ready for my Fourth of July party.

I dream of a baseball player who's okay with earning -- er, making -- only a few million dollars a year for playing the game he's loved to play since he was in little league. Now, I know those guys who make $10 million to $20 million a year claim it's not about the money. I have a news flash fer ya: It's about the money. They just love to say it's about respect, or that now they'll be able to take care of their families. Yeah, 'cuz they were really struggling before. Please.

And by the way, respect from whom? Respect from the other nine people in the world who make that kind of money? Or respect from John Q. Sucker who can't take his kids to Myrtle Beach this summer because the price of his season-ticket package has gone up for the third straight year? Ballplayers love to appear on the obligatory Major League Baseball commercials (for which they're paid) and feed us the usual, "Gee, thanks fans, thanks for your support. We love you. You're why we play the game." If you and I are why Manny Ramirez and Alex Rodriguez play the game, then why are there scripts for those commercials?

I dream of a family-minded professional athlete who doesn't get caught snorting lines of white off "freelance" models at 4 a.m. in a hotel room. A friend once asked me, "Why is society so hard on athletes who party when we love hearing about the exploits of rock stars?" Somebody in the group tried to reason that athletes are supposed to be the epitome of physical fitness, healthy, blah blah blah something or other. That's not it at all. My reason is this: Rock stars can go to Hell too.

I dream of boxing becoming a sport again. I dream of Don King, and then I wake up screaming.

I dream of soccer getting the respect it deserves.

I dream of matching Tiger Woods' 18-hole average score ? just for nine holes. I've played that game for about 15 years and I still just suck at it. And just like most of you, I can't wait to play this season.

I dream of watching an NFL game that doesn't include the Dodge scoreboard, the Domino's Halftime Report or the AFLAC Trivia Question. I dream of a Super Bowl played outdoors in the cold, where grass-stained players get dirty and muddy. Fans see the breath of athletes steaming through their facemasks, as the world's most-watched event goes down somewhere other than a climate-controlled dome on an artificial surface. I dream of halftime not consisting of 45 minutes of just terrible, terrible music.

Does anybody who buys a Super Bowl ticket care who performs at halftime?

I dream of the XFL. Just kidding.

I dream of a championship coming to Cleveland, and it better not be those silly little Rockers from the WNBA. Is that league still around? Where's Rebecca Lobo?

I dream of a world where the first question at the water cooler isn't "Dude, did you see SportsCenter last night?" I dream of Stuart Scott reporting a story the way it's supposed to be done: As if he's not part of it.

And speaking of ESPN, I dream of Suzy Kolber coming over to my house for, uh, forget it.

I dream of actually winning my freaking March Madness pool one damn time. And speaking of one damn time, can Jim Tressel beat Michigan, please?

I dream of Bob Huggins sitting down and not microcoaching one damn time. Come to think of it, a one-way flight out of Cincinnati wouldn't be problematic for me, either.

I dream of mid-April. Baseball's Opening Day, right? Hardly. That's when the Stanley Cup Playoffs begin. I'm an Ohio native, as you might have guessed, so I don't care who wins the thing. Maybe that's why I like the NHL so much. Earnest Byner can't fumble away my trip to the Super Bowl, Charles Nagy can't serve up the World Series game-winning hit to the Marlins. The Marlins! And the Cavs? Well, go Cavs!

Oh, I just remembered; how 'bout them Blue Jackets!

I dream of the college football season ending the night of the Ohio State-Michigan game. See ya at the Varsity Club, eh? Because when bowl season needs a month to determine that they didn't determine anything, you need to do something else. Those bowls are tired, the names suck and the New Year's Day games take 4½ hours each. Worse, eyeglassed dorks with 15-inch necks like me and my colleagues invent computer programs to determine the sport's best squad. Is there no greater paradox?

I dream of no more movies in which Keanu Reeves plays a former Ohio State football player. He can't even get his own profession right, so why am I going to buy that that non-acting fool could lace up the scarlet and gray?

I dream of more guys like Jay Johnstone and Bill Lee. Players who were gifted enough to make it to the top of their profession, smart enough to remember to keep it fun and despite their partying ways, lucky enough to get out alive to tell some good stories about it.

I dream of Hollywood never making another sports movie like "Any Given Sunday," and more like "Major League," "Slap Shot" and "Bull Durham." (Don't tell anybody, but I thought "All the Right Moves" was good, too.)

I dream of March Madness never changing. Ever.

I dream of another NBA rivalry like the Celtics and Lakers. Actually, I dream of a rivalry in any sport that matches Bird-McHale-Parrish vs. Magic-Kareem-Worthy.

I dream of Major League Baseball adopting a revenue-sharing plan so somebody other than the Yankees can the win the World Series in my lifetime. I'm 30.

Bring back the Major Indoor Soccer League. And Intellivision while you're at it.

I dream of playing one more Intellivision World Series with my old dude Barry and telling him, "Second place ain't too bad."

John Wise is a news editor and resident sports nut at TheLouisvilleChannel. Feel free to give him your take on his musings, which will appear here on a regular basis.