Just wait until hot dog contest adds absurdities from mainstream sports coverage

Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce!

Think of it: Joey Chestnut roasting on an open fire. A Retch Cam to show projectile vomiting in super slo-mo with reflux meters (RMs) to gauge exit velocities and projected projectile distance graphics attached.

“You can see Neil begin to gag in this shot here. Can you freeze it right there, fellas?”

“No replay challenge even needed, Carl. That’s the beginning of the end right there. And all over his new monkey-vomit yellow City Connect jersey! I think we’re looking at a delay for the grounds crew to roll out the tarp.”

Competitors wearing microphones for live interviews:

“When did you learn that you had this gift? You went undrafted out of college. I’m told that back then you ate like a bird.”

“Well, mmmf, fruff, shming, gorp, bletch!”

Live draft coverage: “Will you trade up?” “No, Neil, we just want to select the biggest available slob.”

Slaughtered-in-China Nike swoosh-branded hot dogs. Spike Lee, Charles Barkley and Jim Nantz commercials for Capitol Bun. “What’s molding in your pantry?”

As Eddie Andelman, the Boston sports radio host, said when asked by a vegetarian what he suggests she eat during her first game at Fenway: “Try the hot dogs.”

And more FanDrool bets than you can shake a sponge mop at: Over/Unders, up-chuck and pass-out parlays, prop bets on condiments — mustard pays even money, ketchup is 3-1, sauerkraut at 9-1, mayo not yet legal in most states.

As Doug Kelly, my ex-NBC Sports buddy in Sacramento, suggests: Think of the TV rights bidding war for the WWE — the World Weiner Eating finals! The great, great grandson of Supreme Court justice Felix Frankfurter will throw out the first relish packet.

Kelly thinks it would make sensational Thanksgiving Day family viewing, especially after a big meal and in anticipation of Roger Goodell selling the traditional Lions game, plus the two other NFL games, to the Hide & Seek paywall network.

But I think it would make fantastic Christmas Day alternative programming, starting this year now that Goodell and his never-enough band of golden goose-plucking team owners created then sold two Christmas Day games — it’s a Wednesday! — to Netflix.

Annual champ Chestnut, banned from this Fourth of July’s tube steak-cramming contest on ESPN for repping a brand other than Nathan’s, has already signed a deal with Netflix. Seriously. Netflix has scheduled Chestnut to compete in September. Seriously.

Back to Goodell’s “Home for the Holidays.” Come o ye faithful per diem parking lot attendants, is-this-worth-it? first-responder security personnel summoned to break up drunken brawls and underpaid peddlers of overpriced beer. It’s Christmas!

So hordes of report-or-else grunts must abandon their families and Yuletide logs to hit the road. And given that one game’s outdoors in Pittsburgh in a stadium formerly known as, of all things, Heinz Field, for heaven’s sake wear layered work clothing — and pack a shovel.

Perhaps they can arrive home in time to join the family in their traditional Christmas Late Night repaste. As Emperor Goodell would say of these serfs, “Let them eat hot dogs.”

Celts owners weirdly bailing right after title

What does it tell you when the majority owners of the NBA champion Celtics agree to renew Jayson Tatum for a record $315 million in addition to tens of millions in existing players’ salaries, the same week they place their stakes up for sale.

Does it tell you that the Celts’ primary owners have made enough money, thus it’s time to share?

Or does it tell you that, even in view of TV contract millions, they’ve reached the barely sustainable precipice, thus it’s time to get out before the financial chart, which has never pointed only straight up in any business other than drug-trafficking, makes its inevitable and likely steep decline?

What’s happening with the Celts’ biggest bosses almost certainly and inevitably will arrive at a team near you, big-time college sports included. A collision at the corner of Newton’s Law and Murphy’s Law.

Did you catch the video of last week’s no-holds-barred UFC lightweight championship between Alex Pereira and Jiri Prochazka as funded, sold and presented by ESPN?

First Pereira knocked what’s-his-name (so many quickly come and go) flat and semi-conscious with a potentially lethal kick to the head, then pounced on him to punch his unprotected head before the ref stopped it.

It’s not only all legal, such scenes are preferred by the promoters of this “sport” to excite and sustain the blood lust of the howling masses.

Though twisted and savagely dangerous — kicks to the head produce lifelong neurological impairment — it is, as is sports gambling, sanctioned in many states, while dog-fighting and cock-fighting are banned as inhumane.

In New York’s case, it became legal under Gov. Andrew Cuomo, who explained his official approval as a good way to boost tax revenues.

How about a ringside seat, Andy? Wear something blood and brain spatter-resistant.

Make loafers famous

By now, every ball hit into or over the outfield should be followed by video of the batter to see if he bothered to run to first, if he tried to make the most of it rather than the least, if he’s worthy of your good regard.

We don’t need pandering, “he thought” announcers to pass judgment when we can see for ourselves.

What’s the worst that could happen? Big leaguers shamed into playing smart baseball? Anyone notice that MLB is overloaded with mediocre teams that play as if they’re doing us a favor?

Incidentally, last Sunday the Nationals lost, 5-0, to the Rays. Five Tampa Bay pitchers struck out 16. The Nats’ Joey Meneses never had to run to first as he struck out in all four of his at-bats.

MLB is now stuffed with mediocre teams whose players nonetheless celebrate themselves upon reaching second base, perhaps realizing they’re unlikely to reach third.

It stood to reason that the minimalist, oblivious Nats last week split four games with the minimalist, oblivious Mets.

Goodell has a problem.

With rappers being shot dead (recently Julio Foolio), being nailed on video for kicking the hell out of a woman (P. Diddy) and being charged with felonies (Young Thug, 56 counts for gang racketeering), Roger Goodell’s list of Super Bowl halftime performers is thinning.

He may have to recruit from the farm team — “aspiring rappers” — before they, too, go down, and hard.

Gets late early out here, Yogi. Last week Ron Swoboda turned 80.