Is this too much to ask of 2024?

Now that the year 2023 is about to be sent off for frequent flagrant fouls, here are some of the things I would like to see in 2024.

Winning World Series manager Dusty Baker, 73, thank White Sox owner Jerry Reinsdorf for showing faith in septuagenarians, just the wrong one.

I would like to see the Big 10 learn how to count.

The Industrial Strength Fatback SM&G Metric Socket Wrench Bowl, though Northwestern winning the SRS Roofing and Siding Las Vegas Bowl works, too.

The “Tush Push” join the “Flying Wedge” in the museum of troglodyte football.

I would like to see Senior Gymnastics (anyone over 14).

DeMar DeRozan doing anything.

Zach LaVine do something.

I would like to see a kid ask for an autograph without first checking its resale value.

A Stairmaster that leads down.

A saucer that can fit under the Stanley Cup.

I would like to see athletics redefined for modern times. How about, "If performance enhancers don't help, it can’t be a real sport?"

I would like to see Tiger Woods as good as old.

The Heisman Trophy go to a high draft choice.

I would like to see ESPN do an inside sports special that demonstrates the joy of games and all the reasons we care.

Like Christmas trees, wedding dresses and coffins, I would like to see instant replay used only once and only when the occasion is special. I would like to see a field official fire his pistol at the instant replay camera, just a warning shot, but break some glass.

A placekicker with bruises.

Any weightlifter, or paint remover, stronger than truck stop coffee. Anyone, even a Texan, shed a tear for Bill Belichick. Fewer tattoos, more bounce passes.

Justin Fields sweep up, turn out the lights and plow the roads while he's at it.

I'd like to see the Heimlich maneuver as part of the White Sox' spring training drills.

LeBron James act his age. Giannis Antetokounmpo put his shorts on one log at a time. A reason for Arizona.

I'd like to see Jose Altuve declared baseball’s official hood ornament. Whale watching become an indoor sport. I'd like to see a bowler with his own sports poster.

I would like to see the Bears get what they deserve, another Super Bowl, a real quarterback, flea collars.

Pete Rose get on the ballot, any ballot.

The pitch clock have a snooze alarm. The cell phone become an endangered species. The extra inning ghost runner have to wear a mask.

I would like to see the end of sports that need music, the 3-point shot, collections of slow-motion misplays and I’d like to see both pickle ball and poker not treated as spectator sports.

Wonder children Connor Bedard and Victor Wembanyama have to play hockey and basketball in those jerseys they swapped.

An answer to the riddle of whether Matt Eberflus is a better coach than a finger-puppet, just as soon as Ryan Poles gives him a football team that does not need excuses.

I’d like to see multimedia scoreboards just shut up and show the score.

Taylor Swift cheering. Why fight it? She’s the best thing to happen to the NFL since the point spread.

Revenue sharing called by its proper name, cutting up the loot.

Fewer celebrations for making a first down, fewer choreographed end zone antics, fewer Mannings. The last great brother act was the Smothers.

DJ Moore make another catch.

I would like to hear everyone say, “Thank God,” the next time an athlete insists he is no role model.

Fewer sports agents, more sportsmen.

I would like to see somebody check the bindings on Draymond Green’s straight jacket.

The Los Angeles Dodgers explain to a working teacher, night nurse or fireman why one pitcher/hitter is worth $700 million and another pitcher is worth $325 million.

Some locker room missing link or accessorized clubhouse beauty thank newspaper reporters, or just the press in general, for coming.

Somebody try giving just the ring to the next jock who insists that the money doesn’t matter.

I would like to see Phil Mickelson just go away and count his money, sports washed but entirely legal.

Which of these words that Bulls center Nikola Vucevic does not understand, “up” or “tempo.”

Sympathy to the sports fan — and you know who you are — for putting up with another year like this last one. We live in hope.