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	Wembley Stadium  Rui Viera/AP

I'd start my perfect sports day at Wembley Stadium in London, watching the first half of a Manchester United-Arsenal game. Though I'm not a huge soccer fan, I would love to see these two fierce rivals battle it out on the world's most famous pitch while the 'ooligans on both sides go at in the stands. After a quick pint at a local pub, I'd hop the Concorde to Boston, arriving in time to catch Frank Thomas and Nomar Garciaparra take BP at Fenway before a noon start. I'd sit in the bleachers, under the sun, and watch kids with mitts scurry around trying to pick up home run balls. Feeling a basketball jones, I'd hop a flight to New York City where I'd lace up my Chuck Taylors and get in a quick run with the skywalkers and ankle breakers on the legendary asphalt courts at West Fourth Street.

Next I'd fly to South Bend, Ind. to catch the 3:30 p.m. kickoff of the Michigan-Notre Dame game at The House That Rockne Built. The tradition. The helmets. The fight songs. Not to mention the fact that when these two college football titans meet, the game almost always seems to come down to a last-second field goal. Skipping the postgame celebration at the Linebacker Lounge, I'd head west (picking up two more hours) in time to play the 18th hole at Pebble Beach. I would like to play more, but I'd only have 12 golf balls in my bag.

With the sun setting on the Pacific, I'd jet to L.A., arriving fashionably late (but still ahead of Paula Abdul) to the Lakers-Clippers game at Staples Center. After watching Shaq and Kobe trade alley-oops with Darius Miles and Lamar Odom, I'd be exhausted but not yet finished. At the final horn, I'd put on my yellow velvet hat and red silk shirt for the evening's coup de grace: the all-night bash at Dennis Rodman's oceanside crib.