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Original Issue

One Hell of A Day

A WOMAN IN San Francisco e-mails, "Dear moron: Go straight to hell."

I already know exactly what it's going to be like there:

5:45 a.m.
Gently nuzzled awake in Motel 5 by Richard Simmons.

One-hour radio interview on Biloxi's most popular morning sports talk show, "Tuna and Dr. Fudge!"

Tuna: Buddy, we love you every month in the Sporting News!

Dr. Fudge: Screw that! Whatchu think of this new hoss 'Bama just got at tackle?

Nothing on hellavision except ESPN's World Series of Pasty Men Folding 2--7 Hands (tape delayed).

Only outfit to wear: Detroit Red Wings jersey, New York Yankees hat and Ian Poulter's pants.

Newspaper limited to columns by Larry King, "Love is ..." comics and an already completed Jumble.

Mandatory hot yoga with instructor Bobby Knight.

Go downstairs for hotel's delicious and free breakfast buffet just as it closes.

Now on Fox: endless highlight reel of Joe Torre excavating his left nostril.

Drive Hummer to meeting. Notice in rear-view mirror that rest of hair has fallen out. Smash into back of Tank Johnson's Bentley.

After leaving ER, race to rare one-on-one with legendary recluse and alltime Dodgers pitching great Sandy Koufax, who immediately reveals that he injected moose testosterone before games, once killed a drifter and dressed in Vera Wang on the road after midnight. Tape recorder won't work.

Nothing on ESPN2 but Thong Challenge. Today's semifinal battle: Notre Dame coach Charlie Weis versus John Daly.

12:15 p.m.
Lunch at Marilyn Manson's Mad Cow Café.

Haircut at the Oakland airport. While there, get phone call informing me that Barry Bonds has been elected tax assessor in my district.

Nine holes at The Experience at Overpriced Acres with Ann Coulter, Scott Hoch and Dr. Fudge. The "course facilitator" takes 39 minutes explaining to us about everywhere we're not supposed to drive the carts, reminds us we'll be ground into divot mix if we don't keep up the pace, then says he's got a group that's going to sneak in front of us on the first tee. It's the Manhattan Junior League Women's C Team Biannual Fiveball.

Back at the hotel, burly man named Sven arrives at door for mandatory Rolfing.

Deliver hilarious and often poignant keynote speech to AHWA (American Headphone Wearers Association).

Time to dress for dinner. Michael Irvin lays out suit.

Dinner in the corner booth at Whey to Go with three unemployed Raiders fans talking about their fantasy football drafts.

Nothing on but ESPN Deportes' Tribute to Scoreless Soccer Matches.

Arrive at Cleveland Browns Stadium during second quarter of Monday-night game, Bills versus Browns, and I'm seated between a 400-pound guy who hits his air horn constantly and a 300-pound woman who has to get up to pee 37 times in the first half. Directly in front of me is Yao Ming. The score is 0--0, the sleet is coming in sideways, and I can't see a single play, which is just as well because all the P.A. announcer ever seems to say is, "Jamal Lewis into the middle. No gain."

Turn in this week's column on hated-rival Nebraska's most heroic football victories. Throw up a little in mouth.

Only sports bar open is Cramps, where it's Tofu is TooFun Night, and warm, nonalcoholic beers are delivered by waiters with their thumbs in them. I'm sandwiched at the bar between a close-talker named Slammer wearing Light Guard deodorant and discussing the blog he writes in the basement of his mom's house and a close-talker named Amber whose left eyebrow is coming off and wants to know why I never write about her eight-year-old daughter's lacrosse team. "They're 18--3, and they work so hard!"

1:14 a.m.
Nothing on ESPN2 but World Cup Stacking Championships, live from Keokuk, Iowa.

Wake up being spooned by Chris Berman.

Start to enjoy it.

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Time to dress for dinner. Michael Irvin lays out suit.... Dine in booth at Whey to Go with three unemployed Raiders fans talking about their fantasy football drafts.