I have no time or patience for sentiment. But it occurs to me that there's a little 6-year-old in all sports fans -- or at least there should be. Six-year-olds don't worry about drug tests or collective-bargaining agreements. They don't care about Scott Boras' counteroffer, or what the presiding officer has to say about blood-alcohol levels.
Six-year-olds just want to win, baby.
Here, according to a 6-year-old boy I know, is how various sports would differ if you turned them over to the kids. Call it sports rehab:
If 6-year-olds ran Wimbledon . . .
The championship trophy would have candles on it. And gobs of chocolate frosting.
After you won, the crowd would stand and sing, "You are the champion, you are the champion. . . . "
Then everyone would open gifts.
If 6-year-olds ran Major League Baseball . . .
All players would have to do at least one impression.
When you passed second base, the shortstop would throw water balloons at your head.
Dogs could run out onto the field any time they felt like it. You could call timeouts just to play with them.
On high fly balls, the baserunners could tackle the outfielders.
The moms would have the best seats, close to the field, but they could never holler: "Hey Derek, stand up straight!" or "Tuck your shirt in, sweetie. Grandma is trying to get a nice picture."
The players' dads would coach first and third.
If 6-year-olds ran the PGA Tour . . .
There'd be camping.
If you hit your ball in the water, the other players in your foursome would get to dunk you, then everyone would go for a nice swim.
Golf bags would be filled with licorice and Silly String.
If you sliced your tee shot into the woods, you could stop and build a tree fort.
If 6-year-olds ran pro football . . .
Out of bounds would be the hedge along someone's side yard. The touchdown would be anything past the big sycamore tree.
The best play would be: "OK, you guys go out and I'll throw it to you. Break." Excessive celebration would be mandatory.
Games would last seven hours. Then you'd go to someone's shady front lawn, drink three Pepsis and spit a lot.
If 6-year-olds ran Major League Soccer . . .
The goals would be humongous, bigger than a house. Everyone would carry squirt guns. No one would wear shirts.
