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During his heyday – somewhere between all those arrests but some time before that ball bounced off his head – the one thing you didn’t do to Jose Canseco was throw him a slow pitch right over the middle.

If you were just stupid enough to try it, chances were that the burly slugger would slam the ball somewhere into the next county.

Well, now that it’s 2003, and now that he’s been sentenced to two years of house arrest for a 2001 nightclub fight, Canseco has lobbed humor-hungry sports columnists a home run pitch of his own.

I, for one, plan on hitting this one out of the park because, you see, Jose Canseco, 1988 American League MVP, butt of more jokes than the Detroit Tigers and Art Garfunkel combined, is auctioning an afternoon with him at his house.

According to ESPN.com,

www.josecanseco.com set the opening bid at $2,500. The site even offered some ideas as to how to spend the day with the former A, Ranger, Red Sock, Blue Jay, Devil Ray, Yankee, White Sock, Buccaneer, Grizzly, Sabre, Republican, Whig and Freemason.

The Web site suggests everything from private power-hitting instruction to a cookout by Canseco’s pool. And it got me thinking about what I’d do if I won the auction and flew down to the Canseco Compound in South Florida.

12 p.m.: I come in through the foyer and wave to Canseco’s Frank Stallone-like brother Ozzie, who’s laying on the couch. “Ozzie’s been staying in the guest house for so long that I call him Kato Kaelin,” Jose jokes to me.

2:30 p.m.: I pull out my ’86 Donruss Jose Canseco Rated Rookie and proceed to accost Jose about how stupid I was to pay $50 for it in 1988. “The people at Beckett Baseball Card Monthly wouldn’t take me off their damn Cold List, no matter how many homers I hit,” Jose laments.

5 p.m.: Jose puts on his old Texas Rangers uniform and we re-create the ball-off-the-head incident, finally succeeding in getting it just right on the 14th try. I get the feeling Jose thought house arrest would be a little more fun than this.

6 p.m.: I say goodbye to Ozzie, who’s still on the couch.

Man, if a C-list sports celebrity like Jose Canseco could be this much fun, imagine what it’d be like to win an auction and spend an afternoon with…

Anna Kournikova

12 p.m.: Anna: “I’ve got a very busy day of practice ahead, so we’d better get going. Hey. They told me you were a hockey player!” Me: “Oh. I am. Don’t worry. So – uh – do we make out now or later?”

12:30-12:35 p.m.: Tennis practice. Anna hits six backhands and nine forehands before toweling off. “My agent says I have to do this every day in order to pull off the whole ‘professional tennis player’ image,” she says. “What a bore.”

1-5 p.m.: Cosmo photo shoot. “I do so many of those meaningless promotional things that I sometimes lose track of my profession,” Anna complains. “It’s nice to finally do what I’m best at.” Me: “You’re right. We should probably make out.”

Phil Mickelson

4:30 p.m.: Phil shows me his trophy case, which is rather impressive. That is, until I see a crudely assembled mound of tinfoil that bears a vague resemblance to the Masters championship trophy. “Ah. This was one of my favorites,” Lefty says, smiling. “I got this baby when I shot a 65 in the final round to win the Masters.” I don’t have the heart to call him out. He seems too happy.

Jim Mora

1:45 p.m.: The hotheaded former Colts and Saints coach has been out of work for a year now, so I ask him if it’s nice to have a day off whenever he wants one. “Day off? DAY OFF?!” he screams. “I just want something to do!”

And finally, as it’s only fair…

Jeff Agase

1:20 p.m.: Agase has been talking for over an hour straight about his stupid loser Detroit sports teams.

2:30 p.m.: Agase whines about the Red Wings.

3:45 p.m.: Agase pulls out a Barry Sanders jersey from his closet and starts crying.

5:15 p.m.: Agase whines about the Pistons.

6 p.m.: Agase keeps talking about this stupid idea for a column, where he spends an aftern–

Through Monday, the Detroit Tigers had 34 runs in 17 games.