Okay, so here’s the deal. Yesterday, I did a rundown of three sports reporters who need to be silenced, guys who are below average at their jobs and make every fan out there question how easy it is to break into the business of journalism. Regrettably, I erred in creating that list, committed a gaffe, if you will. My faux pas was so egregious that I had to go back to that one episode of Family Guy where Peter calls a professor to get the definition of “faux pas,” and reference exactly how to use the term in its correct manner. I also had to Google “egregious” to make sure it made sense in the previous sentence. The egregious faux pas-gaffe I committed was in omitting ESPN’s Skip Bayless from that very list, a tragedy if there ever was one. So to atone for my mistake, I bring you this column, a featured look at the man who personifies the frowny face, who can make even the brightest day cloudy, who makes you question your love of sport every time he speaks. Without further ado, ladies and gentleman, I give you Skip Bayless.

I have a dream. In that dream, I am sitting across the table from Skip Bayless on the set of ESPN’s “First and 10.” I am providing a plethora of insightful knowledge on some meaningless topic that pertains to the day’s news. As soon as I finish my point, an unseen audience begins cheering wildly, a dove flies by, a Palestinian hugs an Israeli, all is well with the world for that brief moment in time. Then Skip Bayless speaks. As if by some divine force powered by the sound of Bayless’ voice, the crowd groans in unison, the flying dove is shot down by Elmer Fudd sporting an AK-47, the Palestinian and Israeli begin fighting again, and the world stops spinning as productivity reaches an all-time low. But this is no nightmare. Before Bayless can tell me about how great Tim Tebow is, or how overrated Lebron James is, or dare I say how much he hates black people (because let’s face it, he does), I reach across the table, grab him by his buttoned-up shirt collar and cold-cock him across the grill, knocking out all but one of his teeth in the process. As soon as my punch lands, a message flashes across the vision plane: “Finish Him.” Except all of a sudden, my legs cannot move and I am frozen in place. Desperately seeking answers, I am saved when Ryu from Street Fighter walks on stage, places a hand on my shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, brother. I’ve got this.” With a groggy Bayless stirring from the knock-out punch, Ryu walks over to him, yells “Haroken!,” shoots an electric blue flame of disaster right at his target and connects, sending Skip flying backwards in slow motion where he lands on the other side of the stage. It’s a great dream.

Skip Bayless is what Spencer is to The Hills, or Voldemort to Harry Potter. He’s pure evil packaged in a tightly-wound Poindexter frame. Each time I see Bayless, I see a kid on the playground being ostracized by his peers; if nothing else, it explains the bitterness which he carries with him like a loaded briefcase. Bayless hates everyone, and has been given a half-hour show in the form of “First and 10″ to vent his hatred. The show’s premise is simple: a moderator presents topics for Bayless and his counterpart to debate. About 90% of the time, Bayless’ opponent is a black man, leading many to believe that Bayless must hate blacks. For one half-hour, Bayless uses these topics to undress his opponents, tearing them down on a personal level, insulting their mothers, criticizing their appearances, and generally just being a big, flaming a-hole. Even if you take the time to listen to Bayless’ analysis, the words rarely make sense and only serve to legitimize the show as an actual debate about sports. For example, earlier this week Bayless had rapper Lil’ Wayne in the seat opposite him (after all members of the media rejected offers to be on the show, ESPN turned to musical artists for help). Wayne out-debated Bayless simply by not doing anything out of the ordinary. The rapper sat there and spoke when spoken to, making safe predictions about the week ahead, and letting Skip embarrass himself from start to finish. Bayless, for his part, picked the Chargers to beat the Steelers in Pittsburgh, among other things.

I hate Skip Bayless. He’s an insult to his profession, and moreover an insult to humanity. He takes life and puts a negative spin on it. He takes a smile, flips it on its ass, and turns it into a frown. Skip Bayless shouldn’t be allowed on air and definitely shouldn’t be allowed into the wonderful world of sports. Bayless is the bug in your cereal, the stain on your t-shirt, the bad apple that invaded Utopia. We all dream of a perfect reality, but until Skip Bayless is no more, we will always just be chasing a dream.