Two seconds left, LT's panting on the other side

My baby is due in a little more than two weeks, which basically equates to 4th and goal with two seconds left — Lawrence Taylor panting and laughing at me from the other side of the line of scrimmage. Basically the thought of changing diapers is LT.

Regardless of my fear of the unknown, I also am thrilled that soon I'll be getting to know my son or daughter. While many people assume I am hoping for a boy whom I can share my sports fanaticism with, I truly would be ecstatic to welcome a baby girl into this world — as long as she doesn't turn out to be the type of person who thinks she can knock over Rick Mahorn.

Feminism aside, the recent WNBA scrum is a perfect example of why men and women should not play/coach sports together. Mahorn pulled the classic "Break it up!" move: When the fight heated up, he started herding people out of the middle. Unfortunately, Lisa Leslie did her best Samuel L. Jackson in "Unbreakable" impression, falling over as if a semi-truck had run her down. But the best part was seeing some 5-foot-nothing, 100-and-nothing player try to take Mahorn down moments later. This turn of events made one thing clear: Former NBA players — this goes for Mahorn and Bill Laimbeer, for example — need to stick their noses out of the WNBA's business.

Obviously, though, I would love my daughter no matter what she were to do. In fact, one of my greatest hopes is to be able to help protect my children from some of the most horrific dangers in this world. This includes natural disasters, "According to Jim" and the ESPYs.

Does anyone watch the ESPYs anymore? In case you don't regularly check espn.com, this irrelevant, celebrity-drenched awards show took place recently. Justin Timberlake hosted the event, which unfortunately become little more than a glitzy excuse for actors and rappers to meet pro athletes. But did you hear who was named the Best Male Athlete? Me neither.

Of course, if I ever get the itch to watch the ESPYs on rerun, I'm sure my soon-to-be topsy-turvy sleep schedule will oblige. My access to ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN Classic and Fox Sports Northwest will give the baby and I ample/depressing opportunities to catch sports entertainment such as:
— Poker. There's nothing like watching fat men get fatter, is there?
— Low-level boxing. I don't even like watching the real contenders, so imagine my excitement at watching two nobodies flail at each other for an hour.
— Horse racing. If the Triple Crown isn't at stake, this sport is about as exciting as Dino Radja's midrange game.
— Arena football: If I want watch football sans defense, I'll turn on a WAC contest. I don't care how cool Jon Bon Jovi is.
— "Best of" shows. How many times can you hear Daryl Dawkins say a fellow basketball player was an unbelievable dunker but definitely not in the same league as himself? 143 times, I unfortunately found out. Definitely not 144, though.

Obviously I know I'll have to cut down on the amount of sports I watch. My responsibilities are about to increase greatly. I'm keenly aware of this concept, but I also am dead set against becoming one of those sports fans who limits himself to the weekly Notre Dame game on NBC. I know myself better than anyone, so trust me when I say that watching the Jimmy Clausen-led Irish squeak out a win against Army won't slake my thirst.

An occasional Rick Mahorn vs. female basketball player battle could help fill the void, though.