’Tis the season to make predictions for the coming year. So, in honor of that slovenly, disheveled patron saint of sportswriters – Oscar Madison – I’ve put on a ratty, old sweatshirt and cleaned the mustard and pizza-sauce stains off of my crystal baseball, football, basketball, golf ball and hockey puck in order to get a clearer view of the future.
Please be forewarned that my tongue has been planted firmly in my cheek for many of these prognostications.