In the year 2050

I've been what you consider dead for a long time, of course, having spontaneously combusted when Brandon Inge was enshrined in Cooperstown, but I just couldn't resist coming back to let you know what's happening these days.

Pistol "Bam Bam" Palin, the great-great granddaughter of you know who, occupies the Oval Office as the President. Funny, or maybe not, how those things work out.

The Democrats and Republicans finally have some competition from a hybrid party called the Pubocrats. Alas, they haven't gained much traction, because it turns out they have aptly named themselves. All they seem to be interested in is going from bar to bar on a bus on Sundays during the NFL season. Yes, alcohol is still very much prevalent, and even though the technology has been upgraded whereby fans in such establishments can enjoy the thrill of being in the middle of the action as it's projected in 3-D around the room -- much like the aforementioned Pubs and Crats that you know now -- the never ending battle continues to rage. You know how that is. The NASCAR fans slug it out with the football fans over the viewing experience at such places. I mean, what difference does it make if one gets run over by a middle linebacking droid that can run the 40 yard dash in .217963 seconds, or NASCAR's latest edition of cars that travel at Mach 2? Either way, you're still left feeling virtually dead -- kind of like during the election season you are now experiencing.

Indeed, it was a rough transition for some a while back, when the NFL stopped using human players and replaced them with droids, but we got used to it. In hindsight, it made sense on a lot of levels. No more management-union strife haggling over collective bargaining agreements. No more ridiculous salaries for players. No more DUI's, crashing cars, paternity suits, positive drug tests, and all that nonsense. No more house payments missed to attend a game. No more shyster agents. All those guys that used to get hurt, go on the disabled list, and rack up millions of dollars worth of medical bills? Gone.

While you're still trying to figure out what's going on with helmet-to-helmet contact, concussions, pass interference calls, horse-collar tackles, and the league changing the rules every 5 minutes, we no longer have that problem. Replacement refs? We don't need ANY refs, because there are no more infractions committed. It's all in the software. You think the NFL is fast and hard-hitting now? You have no clue what these machines are capable of. Back in ancient times a human player named Dick Butkus once said the only thing better than watching an opposing player's helmet roll down the field, would be if his head was still in it. Butkus turned out be to prophetic. These days, the participants are not only quite literally expendable and easily replaced, but "body parts" fly all over the field on every play. If you can imagine watching two teams of what you knew as "Terminators" getting after each other in fast-forward, you get the picture. Great fun, watching those bots.

You Detroit Lions' fans might be interested in knowing that your team will still be confounding 38 years later. Sorry to break the news to you, but William Clay Ford still owns them. If that's not amazing enough, as the lone leftover human player in this age of the droids, at the age of 80 Jason Hanson is STILL kicking field goals for the Lions. Not so amazingly, the Lions have yet to make it to the Super Bowl. Alas, but hope springs eternal. (That's a little angel humor for you current season ticket holders. Nyuk, nyuk. Ernie Harwell still roars over that one when the subject turns to the Lions. It's a laugh a minute up there, I tell ya).

On a related note, back where I come from, there was a long discussion about Matt Millen several years ago. After a highly contentious debate, God (no, not Roger Goodell -- the REAL one), in an act of Supreme forgiveness, decided to bestow angel's wings upon Millen and put him in charge of the heavenly football department. Problem was, Millen had the whole place in a shambles after a few years, so the Boss (no, not George Steinbrenner or Bruce Springsteen, or even Jeff Kuehn -- the REAL one) gave him another assignment. You may or may not be happy to know that in 2050 Matt Millen can't fly anymore and continues his eternal task of talking into a microphone, while nobody's paying the slightest bit of attention as to what he's blathering on about. Everybody seems satisfied with that arrangement. I dare say that was an example of His infinite wisdom at it's finest.

It also saddens me to tell you what's in store for the Detroit Red Wings. A couple generations after owner Mike Ilitch passed on, the controlling heir, Ahduhknowathingolis Ilitch, having wearied of all the nonsense about hockey and keeping the books, got rid of the ice and, on a trillionaire's whim, turned the surface of  Joe Louis Arena into the world's largest pizza pie, with the former cooling system beneath converted into heating coils. It seems Ahduh had this bright idea about an all-you-can-eat business instead, but when former Red Wings' fans started exploding from the experience, he was forced to abandon it. Nevertheless, those Zamboni machines that dispensed cheese and pepperoni were a stroke of genius. But you know how it eventually goes with kids when they inherit a business. He had better things to do.

Like becoming the First Gentleman of the United States. Yep, you guessed it. He wound up married to Bam Bam. To make matters worse, a few months ago they both swore allegiance to the Pubocrats.

You think you've got problems in 2012?

Ha. You have no idea.

See you on the flip side. Ignore the droning in the background. That's just Matt.