It’s been estimated more than 40 percent of Americans make New Year’s resolutions. But research from the University of Scranton indicated only eight percent follow through with them. Showing even less willpower, U.S. News reported, 80 percent fail by February.
The key is not resolving to do the impossible. Make the resolutions easy, like vowing always to put the new roll of toilet paper over the spindle and not under. The guy with the 48 waist whose goal is a 34 might knock off a few belt notches before resuming the inevitable Twinkie bench press.
Remember, keep them simple, stupid.
Never a problem for yours truly.
In 2018 I resolve:
• To never again buy into the preseason hype, however microscopic, that portends success for our Tampa Bay Bucs. To never believe they are a playoff team until that little mark appears in the newspaper standings next to the Bucs’ name indicating they’ve qualified. To always believe Jameis Winston will continue treating the football like a strand of used dental floss until he demonstrates otherwise. To continue wondering whether head coach Dirk Koetter had compromising photos of the Glazers, ensuring his return for 2018.
• To immediately turn off the recorder any time a player or coach utters one of the following clichés: “Need to look at the tape before making any comment.” “I thought we were ready to play today.” “My teammates know they can count on me.” “Man, it was nothing they were doing. We shot ourselves in the foot.” And about a gazillion more.
• To keep believing Stu Sternberg still has every intention of making MLB a success in the Tampa Bay area, despite a stadium better suited for tractor pulls, despite a payroll equaling the walking-around dough in Mark Cuban’s wallet, despite a fan base wondering if a roster teardown will be followed by a meaningful rebuild. You have to believe. Las Vegas has really, really deep pockets.
• To channel surf with even more blinding speed past all those gabfests that break down in excruciating detail the blocked punt in the first quarter that resulted in a touchdown in a game decided by 28 points. Four guys standing around earnestly and eagerly recapping action from days earlier shouldn’t be the best part of waking up. Folgers, anyone?
• To avoid with every available molecule ESPN hosts and hostesses who have been either allowed or instructed to make themselves the focal point of the show, and not the highlights. Many reasons exist why the four-letter network has lost a lot of its luster. Blow-dried wannabe comedians is just one.
• To have even more empathy for the high-school trumpet player who tries but fails to hit the high C at the end of the national anthem. Forty years ago, I was that young man with a horn with a lip that often quit.
• To accept with resignation that spring training never will return to that time when players actually considered it part of their job to sign autographs. When taking a few minutes to make a fan’s day didn’t seem like undergoing a colonoscopy.
• To not get all bent out of shape when the second baseman on my favorite baseball team can’t get the bunt down, or the shooting guard on my favorite basketball team can’t knock down the open 15 footer, or the sweeper on my favorite soccer team doesn’t, you know, sweep. That one will be tough.
• To continue remaining cognizant that what’s written in a newspaper doesn’t automatically demand that eyes follow. Always the challenge. Getting attention spans shorter than ever to stay with the writer until the end.
• And that’s here, with one more. To wait a couple years before penning another cheesy New Year’s resolution column.