What kind of things should one get ticked off about?

Unfairness of the BCS? Rising ticket prices of sporting events? More trash fish in our beloved lakes? Rigged draws for big hunts?

Sitting here fretting over the list, some carry more weight than others.

There are plenty of things to rank on a list, some are more meaningful, a few more global or national than others.

Some are more personal.

What ticks me off is hitting a nice approach shot to a plush green and, when I go to mark my ball, I find a trail of sunflower seeds scattered on my putting line.

Then, the seed shells are on the next green. Then the next, and so on.

Uggggghhhh.

I try to picture in my mind the kind of person who would do this. What would they look like? What kind of clothing do they wear, what kind of clubs do they carry, what is their age? Are they golfing solo, or do they have friends witnessing the seed dump?

Sure, I thought Michael Vick deserved jail time for operating a dog-fighting ring. Cruelty to animals is cowardly, but in sports, so are all those millionaire stars who punch wives and girlfriends but never pay the legal price.

Vick? He's not my QB and the dogs are now well-loved in Kanab.

RSL's road record is dismal, if not incredible. It's sad, a mystery and a real concern.

But I don't buy soccer tickets.

Sunflower seeds on a golf course? Can you imagine? These pesky shells that line the spit-entrenched bottom of baseball dugouts might hide their not-so-easy decomposing shells in a fairway, but on a green, where an old ball mark can easily change the line of an eagle or birdie putt?

Idiocy. Classlessness.

Cracking and spitting seeds on a golf green is a nasty, senseless, dumb act by a first-class nincompoop, who'd best be served licking the grooves off irons of the rest of the players on the course for punishment. Jackass, sap and doofus are labels too kind for this kind of dork.

Oh, there are worries over the Utah Jazz dabbling with the luxury tax to keep key elements of their team together.

But it's not my money.

I worried a little when the face of the Romulan terrorist in the new Star Trek movie, Nero (Eric Bana), reminded me a lot of Carlos Boozer. Maybe a subconscious thing, I dunno. But the thought soon passed.

Neither is my enemy, nor my issue.

But a seed-spitter roaming around on a golf green? The idea of somebody cracking and lip-dropping a moist-with-saliva, possible swine-flu-germ-infested shell on an otherwise groomed, smooth green for somebody else to pick up and dispose of?

Disgusting.