Everything Must Go

Also, they lay down those chalk lines every night, right? Why couldn't one of them read run to first (national bank)? And I don't want anybody sliding home. I want them sliding into a Richmond home.

We need to monetize those mascots, too. The San Diego Chicken? Why not the Perdue Chicken? And you say Mr. Met? I say Mr. Clean.

Same with football. Get ready, Al Michaels. He's across the 50! Past the Colt 45! What a move at the Century 21! To the 9 Lives line! The Motel 6! The One-der Bread! Do you believe in Miracle Whip? Yes!

Every crook and nanny must have an ad on it. I want Crest ads across the front of mouth guards and Gillette Fusion across chin straps. Every referee's penalty flag should be a Black Flag (because obviously there are bugs in the system).

There are plenty of opportunities in basketball too. Let's have UNICEF stamped on every free throw line in every arena. Make it a real charity stripe! (That'll get the do-gooders off our backs.) And let's sign up Sherwin-Williams to sponsor the paint.

We can make a lot of jack on everything, even the rule book. From now on, when the ref calls an offensive foul in the NBA, it's not a charge, it's a Discover charge. If a player walks, the call is " Kobe Bryant, Travelocity. Celtics ball." In the NFL, I want the refs to emerge from their cocooned TVs and announce, Upon further review, HDTV is the only way to watch the game!

We've got to think out of the box here, people! Any emotional moment can bring in large stackable dollars! When an injured NFL player is wheeled off the field in one of those carts, let's pay 50 grand to any one of them who'll look in the camera and say through his tears: "For the ride of your life, trust Michelin tires!" And when they haul a poor boxer out of the ring on a stretcher, it should say on the bottom of one shoe hope he has and on the other blue cross.

And golf could be a gold mine. From here on in, golfers will tap in for their Parkay, show up for their Lipton tee times and blast out of Denny's fried-egg lies.

The Masters alone is enough to make a Madison Avenue man drool. Blank white caddie overalls? Get a Cadillac logo on them! Beautiful azalea-filled golf course with no houses on it? Who wouldn't want a six-bedroom Tudor at 1200 Amen Corner? And at the end of the toon-a-mint, couldn't one of those old Southern gentlemen turn to the winner and say, "Son, it's my great pleasure to present you with the green jacket, part of the Sears Johnny Miller collection."

Hey, that's how things are now. I accept it. It's just part of the Life of Reilly (Insured by Northwestern Mutual).