This is my first column of the year, but before I begin, a small warning:

If you have an exam this morning, put this down. This stuff's too frivolous for a time like this.

I am aware most of us (myself included) haven't been able to keep up with the doings of the sports world. The last few weeks have been rife with interesting, nay, bizarre, events from the sporting life.

But nothing wackier than this bombshell from the Major League Cabal: Oil Can Boyd is back as the first major-league scab, after crossing the picket line to sign with the White Sox organization.

Hey, recycling is in.

Imagine if the Can actually catches on (given the sorry state of pitching in the league) and gets to stick around even after the strike is settled.

"They [the White Sox] said if I don't make the team now, I can go to Triple-A and have a chance to make it back," reasoned the Can.

Is he crazy? How would you like to share the same locker room as an angry Frank Thomas?

Not me, thanks.

If anything, though, this is an indication of just how serious is the threat of replacement ball players for the 1995 baseball season.

But to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure how to react to the prospect of minor-league talent getting its uniform dirty on major-league diamonds.

Lots of fans are vowing not to go. But I'm not sure I wouldn't.

After all, I don't go to the game just to see the ballplayers. I usually spend as much time in the concession lines as I do watching the game.

In addition, the enjoyment and excitement of a day at the ballpark as an out-of-the-ordinary break from a busy life is not particularly enhanced by the quality of play.

Hey--some people go watch the Padres, don't they?