The Perfect Day

The Perfect Day
I turned 23 last week. And when I was asked what I wanted, I replied, “The Perfect Day.”
•6:15 a.m.—Alarm rings.
•6:16 a.m.—Smash alarm with pool cue.
•9:02 a.m.—Wake up on own.
•9:06 a.m.—Heidi Klum brings me breakfast in bed—wearing only the sports page.
•9:07 a.m.—Open sports page.
•10:07 a.m.—Read sports page. See that Ray Lewis and Derek Jeter hospitalized after freak revolving-door accident.
•10:30 a.m.—Enjoy wholesome breakfast of nachos, spicy BBQ chicken wings, chili-cheese fries, and Guinness. Take one Tums to ease colon.
•10:42 a.m.—Get out of bed. Don’t shave. Don’t do crunches. No push-ups. Take one-hour shower.
•11:42 a.m.—Put on San Francisco 49’ers sweatpants, favourite ratty Chicago Bulls sweatshirt, and prized MONTREAL EXPOS WORLD CHAMPS hat.
•11:45 a.m.—Doorbell rings. Answer door. Gentleman from Ferrari dealership says “You’re car is ready, sir” in one of those posh accents. Sign papers and see that address is wrong. Don’t say anything. Smile. Grab keys. Slam door.
•11:48 a.m.—World polo championships canceled.
•12:22 p.m.—Beautiful drive to airport on highway patrol’s “National Give a Warning Day.”
•12:30 p.m.—Board private plane for flight to New York. Met on board by commissioners of major pro leagues.
•1:10 p.m.—Satisfying accords reached onboard. LeBron James to be called for traveling every time he touches ball, cheerleaders banned from all athletic events, clichéd dumping of Gatorade on NFL coaches outlawed, Gary Bettman to be fired, no player to make over $2 million a year (endorsement deals deemed as free-enterprise), players to publicly thank fans before every game, and no ticket to ever exceed $35.
•1:47 p.m.—Commissioners praise wisdom. Parachute out.
•1:48 p.m.—College football adopts playoff format.
•1:49 p.m.—Baseball shortens regular season to 78 games.
•1:55 p.m.—Greeted at airport by Donald Trump. Booked his entire day off to take me around town. I smile.
•2 p.m.—Go for lunch at Rocco’s. Order nachos, spicy BBQ chicken wings, chili-cheese fries, and Guinness. Take one Tums to ease colon.
•2:16 p.m.—Wipe face on Trump’s blazer. After awkward silence, both laugh hysterically. Never laughed so hard, he says. Buys restaurant as a gift.
•2:32 p.m.—Get to Madison Square Garden. Knicks practicing for night game. Decide to join.
•2:45 p.m.—Trump pays $1 million to head coach Lenny Wilkens to let me try out. Warm up beside Stephon Marbury. Tell him that he better have life insurance, because the pain is about to come. Doesn’t laugh at joke.
•2:50 p.m.—Scrimmage begins. End up scoring 16 points in eight minutes of play. Decide to take myself out of game. Head to locker room with arm over Trump’s shoulder. Tell him my shot was a little off. We both laugh.
•2:52 p.m.—Wilkens catches up and offers NBA contract on the spot. Look over contract. Deal worth $15 million over three years. Rip contract in half.
•3:15 p.m.—Arrive at Yankee Stadium. Throw opening pitch. Almost not allowed because of MONTREAL EXPOS WORLD CHAMPS hat. Yankees lose to Red Sox. I smile.
•6:30 p.m.—Head to one of Trump’s fine hotels. Get relaxing casaba-oil massage from Katarina Witt; then take a nap.
•7:36 p.m.—Wake up refreshed and relaxed. Head to Knicks-Lakers game. Get courtside between Trump and Spike Lee.
•7:45 p.m.—Shania Twain sings national anthems. Invite her to take a seat. Push Spike out of his seat. Introduce myself to Shania. Both fall in love.
•8:32 p.m.—Have lucky seat, swish million-dollar half-court shot, sign day contract with Knicks worth $25, and suit up immediately.
•9:15 p.m.—Make move that twists Kobe Bryant into Gumby, then nail jumper to win game. Crowd fills the court. Streamers and balloons all around. Ask Shania to marry me. She says yes. I smile.
•10:05 p.m.—Go to dinner at “21” with fiancée and Trump. Order nachos, spicy BBQ chicken wings, chili-cheese fries, and Guinness. Take one Tums to ease colon.
•10:23 p.m.—Trump wipes face on my sweatshirt. After awkward silence, punch him on the shoulder. Trump falls over chair. I start laughing. He starts laughing. Shania starts laughing. Buys restaurant as wedding gift.
•10:25 p.m.—Howard Stern cancelled.
•10:30 p.m.—Meet Marbury for post-game relaxation with teammates. Events still remain hazy.
•11:45 p.m.—Gretzky comes out of retirement. Signs with Oilers.
•1 a.m.—Head to airport. Thank Trump. Board plane with Shania by side.
•1:05 a.m.—Plane departs. Mike Modano sucked into engine upon take-off.
•1:15 a.m.—Open two bottles of Crystal. Take one sip and then open cans of Sprite. Shania suggests we play Monopoly. Tell her I’m not very good. Play anyway. She lets me win.
•2:30 a.m.—Arrive home.
•2:35 a.m.—Watch highlights of Jimmy Johnson going bald in a single day.
•2:36 a.m.—Forget to brush teeth.
Suggestions? Comments? High arches? E-mail me at emoutsatsos@fortfrances.com

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