Baseballhead:
You Say You Want A Resolution

Michael Cox

Oooh, it's good to be back -- I'm not sure when "the holidays" started getting crazier than "the ordinary days," but I'm not sure that's such a valuable feature.

For the first time in five years, folks wrote in during our holiday break wondering why the last two weeks of stories were "old." While I admit I was briefly tempted to question their reading skills, I realized that this means we're still growing, even as other dot-com "properties" stagnate and fall like gnats in a zapper. Thanks for joining us, and you can rest assured that it's all new material until either next winter or someone else gets married.

I usually tend to avoid the "year in review" syndrome that hits each December -- just have a look at our archive pages for all the retrospective you want -- in favor of a good look ahead. I also eschew New Year's resolutions, but oh, how I enjoy making them for others. People on the streets of this city run in fear when I approach in January, because they know I'll be making promises they'll be hard-pressed to keep. Either that or I should reconsider my decision to wear the Old Spice my dad gave me for Christmas.

The past MLB season has left us with plenty of folks who should be making solemn vows, if they have any idea what's good for them:

Bud Selig: Screw with team finances at will, try and impose a salary cap, hell, field a Brewer squad of janitors so you can keep all the revenue, but if you want to avoid the wrath of fans, do not let the All-Star Game end in a tie.

Fans: Remember that the All-Star Game is only an exhibition. Try and remember that before you place any calls to your bookie.

Jeff Kent: Use the drive-thru car wash.

Barry Bonds: Lose 75 lbs, get the Michael Jackson skin bleaching and learn to play shortstop. Then you'll start getting respect.

SI columnist Rick Reilly: Understand that the last person we want to hear harping about overpaid, spoiled players is a sportswriter. And ditch the new photo that makes you look like the doctors have given you six months to live.

Peter Gammons: It's subject, verb, object. Conjunctions are your friends. Also, it's just an All-Star Game, and not worth risking The Big One over (at least not without looking to the sky and shouting, "I'm comin', 'Lizbeth!").

David Eckstein: Enjoy it while you can, and remember Scott Brosius. You know, he played for the Yankees. Brosius. B-R-O...Honestly. I wouldn't make something like that up.

Pete Rose: Sign the damn confession, then shut the hell up.

Selig: Resist the urge to also make Rose sign a confession that pro wrestling is fake.

George Steinbrenner: Realize that the Yankees stopped winning World Series about the same time you stopped butting out of player transactions. (Oops, too late.)

Edgar Martinez: Try and hang in there a few more years. If you can't compile the stats to convince the BBWAA that the best DH of all time shouldn't join the greatest defensive shortstop in the Hall of Fame, maybe the older writers who remember the "good old days" will retire before you're eligible.

Jayson Stark: Next time you want to use scouts for "inside information," remember that there's a reason they're scouts and not managers or GMs. And either lose the fuzzy mustache or try a bow tie.

New York Tabloids: Next time Steinbrenner tells you someone's throwing chairs, try actually finding a corroborating source. You know, like real newspapers do.

New York Tabloids: The same goes for drug rumors.

New York Tabloids: And Mike Piazza's gender preferences.

Mike Piazza: Even if you make more for those long-distance commercials than Derek Jeter and Joe Torre's endorsements combined, remind yourself that even Carrot Top doesn't have to hang with Hulk Hogan and ALF.

Fred Wilpon: Remember how stupid Steinbrenner looked in the '80s when he threw money around at random.

Jim Thome: Must...not...punch...fans.

Alex Rodriguez: Must...not...punch...agent.

Cub fans: Realize that it's better to have a manager who knows enough to pull a young pitcher than an entire rotation with torn labrums. (Unfortunately, you didn't get a manager like that, but one step at a time...)

Jason Giambi: Realize that of all the stupid superstitions in baseball, the stupidest of all may be the concept of "lucky pants."

Hideki Matsui: Resist the urge to pretranslate the phrase, "fat toad."

Tim McCarver: Maybe try the Sanka.

Joe Buck: See if you don't have enough stroke to convince FOX to get you a new partner.

Harold Reynolds: Don't ever change, man.

Mike Macfarlane: Stop trying to be Harold Reynolds. And see if McCarver can't spare some Sanka.

Frank Thomas: This is the year to rebuild your legacy. The easiest way would be to punch Reinsdorf.

Billy Beane: Stop making the other GMs look so bad. And try to not lose it when people at the hotel confuse you with Billy Bean (not that there's anything wrong with that).

New Red Sox GM Theo Epstein: Realize that you may have to bond with other GMs in ways other than burning them CDs of hard-to-find White Stripes stuff.

Tony Womack: Realize that you're only one more collision with Gonzo away from a one-way ticket to Detroit.

Jose Canseco: Be glad that at least you're not Randy Moss.

about the author

Michael Cox's current resolution is to consume delicious food. Ask for a progress chart at mc@strikethree.com.