FD wish list: seven games and doody-free evenings

Considering the tight budget at the FK(T)B household this year, I don't want much for my first Father's Day.

Besides, expensive stuff is wasted on a simpleton such as me. I order a plain cheeseburger 90 percent of the time, no matter how fancy the restaurant; I wouldn't know a fine wine from a low-end wine cooler; and impressive suits make me a nervous wreck (I'm the guy who moves like a robot when wearing sweet togs.).

Here are a few affordable things I really want:

• A seven-game NBA Finals series. I'm not ready for the high-drama 2009 playoffs to end.
  
• More moments of shared laughter with my son. When I get my 10-month-old boy cackling with my variety of juvenile-yet-effective maneuvers, I forget about everything that ails me — for example, the NBA referees.
  
• Pau Gasol's nasty hair on a platter. No, I wouldn't donate it to "Locks of Love." I would bring it to local junior high schools as a personal hygiene motivator — much like all those photos of the gross lungs that people develop from smoking. Believe me, between fits of greasy-tendril-induced vomiting, the children would get the idea.
  
• Coupons for poopless evenings. Hey, moms always get "free massage" IOUs from their cheapskate kids, so I don't think this request is out of line. Now that my son is downing copious amounts of formula and other foodstuffs, the value of doody-free has expanded like Charles Barkely's [insert your word here — anything from waistline to blood-alcohol content to rap sheet].
  
• To see the first pick in the MLB Draft actually become a Hall of Famer. Is there a more inexact science than predicting big-league baseball performance? For once I'd like to see a super-hyped No. 1 pick actually fulfill his expectations. Is that too much to ask? B.J. Surhoff and Phil Nevin evidently think so.
  
• 6-foot tall EVERYTHING. Coffee table. End tables. Couches. Stools. Desks. Entertainment unit. I mean the works. I'm so sick of moving stuff out of my paper-eating son's reach. If it were up to me, we would move to a land of giants, buy a slew of well-made ladders and call it good.
  

If none of these ideas are doable, I'll settle for a ghastly tie covered in pastel-colored basketballs.