Yes, last night was New Year’s Eve. Party hats, crab dip, tortilla chips, chocolate-chip meringues, pictures of guys whose names you don’t remember. Emphasis on last night. That’s all over now. That whole Thanksgiving-to-New Year’s calorie fest, O – V – E – R. My God, people, the Iowa Caucuses are Thursday. New Hampshire is in one week. If you haven’t seen Juno yet, forget it. The time for sweet-faced, sharp-talking pregnant-girl feel-good movies is over. It’s going to be Wolf Blitzer, Wolf Blitzer, Wolf Blitzer for the next eleven months. And that’s not all, it’s not just that we have a President to elect. Oh no. Hardly.
You heard me. Give me 100 right now. NOW! That’s right. 2008 is going to be the year of pilates. We’re not talking no zen and serenity sports like yoga. We’re talking about down on the mat, squeeze those glutes (and everything else.)
Of course, there were whiffs of it last night. People who stood around the food table talking about their diets. Well, starting here, starting now, deprivation is in. For everybody. Get with the program.
Deprivation and accomplishment! Time to finish that novel, sell that house, patent that invention, set that alarm clock. Sure, if you were the MVP for the American League three times, you can rest on your laurels, like Yogi Berra, and set your bar real low for the coming year.
But if your initials are not Y.B., it’s time to suck it up, suck it in, get going. Go jog in the rain. It’s 2008, folks. The party’s over.