On Sunday night, ESPN debuts its newest reality TV show, "Dream Job," in which 12 unknowns try to win a year-long gig as a SportsCenter anchor.

The Writers' Bloc figured, "Hey, why not take this opportunity to ingratiate ourselves with the people who sign our paychecks?" So, today several politically savvy WB writers reveal the job of their dreams.

My "shrinking" responsibility | From Robert Lipsyte
When I grow up, I want to be the Jock Doc, the go-to shrink who evaluates anyone in sports facing censure or punishment. No action can be taken until the sicko, er, patient, makes a pit stop at my couch.

For example, after just a few sessions, I would have decided that Kobe should be tried as a juvenile and that, even if he were guilty of rape, he honestly thought the sex was consensual. How can we blame him after all those years of people saying he could do whatever he wanted, so long as he scored?

Before Bud OK'd the A-Rod trade, he would have referred Derek Jeter to me. I would have found all the anxiety, paranoia and resentment leading inexorably toward an early-season injury, a sort of suicide on the installment plan. I would have talked Derek into becoming the greatest second baseman in history and one-half of the cosmic double-play team.

As for coach Gary Barnett, he clearly needs to be taken out of his environment for a few years of community service, healing himself through helping others. Jock Doc's prescription? Working with the boys on Michael Jackson's ranch.

Jock Doc would be my dream job! Only drawback, because of doctor-sicko confidentiality, I couldn't tell you guys about it.

I'm going to the dog | From Chuck Hirshberg
Family Dog, owned by humans who are philosophically opposed to the "fixing" of domestic animals.

The occupation of Family Dog has only two requirements:

  1. Learn to "do your business" in the out-of-doors; and

  2. Be as cute as the dickens, or cuter.

Aside from that, it's all Liva Snaps and gravy, so I'm in training. I've just about mastered requirement No. 1, but No. 2 is a problem. I'm told I need to develop a pointier snout (though not a larger one), a lot more hair and some sort of a tail. I'm seriously considering surgery, because here is a typical day on the job, near as I can make out:

6 a.m.: Wake Mr. and Mrs. Family. Hit the park for a constitutional.

6:30 a.m.: Return home, enjoy a healthy breakfast of crunchy, expensive Science Diet kibble. Nap.

7 a.m.: Wake up, stretch. Awaken kids. Lick 'em and enjoy their saltiness. Amble to kitchen and assume your place 'neath the breakfast table. Nibble stray Sugar Pops as sleepy human children dribble them steadily from above.

8 a.m.: With kids gone, resume nap. Dream of bitches.

Noon: Wake, stretch wander lazily to window, bark at bluebird. Nap.

2:30 p.m.: Wake, stretch, consider barking at postman. Only tough decision of the day. Choose one of the following:

    Option 1: Bark at postman. Your family will pretend that you "do a great job guarding the house," though, in truth, if a burglar ever entered your domicile, you would probably sniff his butt, lick his knees and then curl up for a nap.

    Option 2: Don't bother to bark. Your family will praise your "zen-like" disposition and brag to visitors that you are "great with kids," which is true, but only because their hands are generally covered with jelly.

2:31 p.m.: Nap. Dream of snacks.

3:30 p.m.: Greet family kids arriving home from school. Share their snacks.

3:45 p.m.: Accompany kids to park. Chase frisbee, chase chipmunk, chase bitches. Have scalp and belly massaged by parade of floppy-hatted senior citizens who comment on your adorability and give you caramels.

5 p.m.: Return home, enjoy a cooling beverage from the toilet. Nap. Dream of Dinner.

6 p.m.: Enjoy your dinner of Science Diet gourmet blend dog food, which costs less than filet mignon, but more than sirloin. Nap beneath the humans' dinner table.

7 p.m.: Enjoy fatty scraps from humans' dinner plates

7:30 p.m.: Settle down for an evening of television and receive massages to the belly and scalp from each member of your family in turn. Doze.

10 p.m.: Insist on a nighttime stroll before bedtime. Enjoy the argument that breaks out among family members about who's turn it is to take you. Snicker to yourself as the loser, always dad, grumbles moodily, slipping on his raincoat and rainboots. He is annoyed at you, but you couldn't care less. What's he gonna do? Fire you?

(I have just read the above, aloud, to a 4-year-old acquaintance who has pronounced it "stoopy." In about 10 years, I'll get his opinion on my other dream job: a brassiere.)

Clear skies and 85 degrees | From Eric Adelson
Two words, my peeps:

Honolulu weatherman.

I plead the fifth | From Jim Caple
At the risk of jinxing myself, I already have my dream job. For crying out loud, I write about sports! I travel to events like the World Series and the Olympics, drive around the country on road trips, ask people questions and tell everyone my opinion. And not only do I get paid to do this, I don't have to pay for parking at stadiums.

Speaking of which, my assignments last year included going to many major-league and college stadiums, watching the games and eating as much food from the concession stands as possible and then writing up a review of each.

I could go on, but as Albert Brooks says in "Broadcast News" when William Hurt asks him, "What do you do when your real life exceeds your dreams?":

Keep it to yourself.

I wanna be Famous | From Ralph Wiley
My dream job would be to become Wally Amos, founder of Famous Amos cookies, who sold out to Sara Lee or somebody like that for gajillions. Now he lives in Maui, goes around smiling and telling kids how wonderful it is to be healthy. He smiles for a living, and I just got off a plane with him, and he was dressed in clothes with a red-and-green watermelon motif, including shoes and hat and carry-on luggage (I am not making this up) and what's more, he brought it off. My dream job is to be absolutely secure within myself and not care who knows it. Full-time work.

A Vin Vin situation | From Eric Neel
The phone rings. The voice on the other end says: "Eric Neel? This is Vin Scully." It seems he has decided the time has come to step down. It seems, miraculously, as if he has known all along what I've been dreaming of, that he's decided I'm the guy to replace him. Next thing you know, it seems I'm the lucky guy who gets to look out at the pink sunlight dancing through the palm leaves beyond the center-field pavilions and say, "Well, hi again, everybody, and a very pleasant good evening to you wherever you may be." For 45 years or more.

You look "maaaahvelous" | From Dan Shanoff
Does anyone know of any openings to be part of an entourage? I don't need to be a right-hand guy or anything -- just one of the minor constellations who revolve around some sports or Hollywood superstar.

Preferably, they'll have lots of money and little idea of how to manage it, other than by spending lavishly that night. It doesn't have to be Cristal; free is free. Just as long as I'm allowed in the VIP room, with no questions asked.

And it would be nice if they had a sick house, where I can live rent-free in my own wing and host my own mini-segment when "Cribs" or "Entertainment Tonight" comes around.

My sole responsibility will be to support my star with a few minutes of enabling each day, just to reinforce to them that they are (a) the greatest thing going, or (b) being unnecessarily and inappropriately criticized.

As far as I can tell, it doesn't get much better than posse living.

One question though: If you're not paid, does it still qualify as a "job"?

Meet Dean Grant | From Alan Grant
Effective immediately: Alan Grant, Dean of Admissions, Roger Williams University

I've got writer's block | From Patrick Hruby
All I really want is a chance to scribble uninformed, sophomoric, half-baked opinions about folks who actually do something for a living. If I can make someone -- preferably myself -- laugh in the process, well, then mission accomplished and put me in a flight suit.

Oh, and I'd like to get paid for it, too. And only work five days a week. No weekends. No updates. Also, I'd like this to take place in a group environment, so someone else can do the heavy lifting while I play XBox and pretend to think big, important thoughts.

Anyone know where I can find such a sweet gig?