Attention, Mr. Family Values: your crotch is right where you left it.(TRICIA GARNER--YOUNG AND RESTLESS)

In news that rocked the sports world to its very core last week, the NBA unveiled its new dress code. No sleeveless shirts, no do-rags, no diamond-encrusted numbers dangling from players' necks ... a nation of throwback jersey manufacturers weeps.

In honor of the mandate that almost surely will earn David Stern a Nobel prize, some other sports rules I'd like to see:

Pick a career and stick to it

I'm still haunted by the well-intentioned outing with my baby brother to see Shaquille O'Neal in Kazaam. You don't see me indulging my secret fantasy of being a backup dancer on the Backstreet Boys' reunion tour. No, I save that for the privacy of my bathroom. So why, oh why, must we see Brett Favre engaging in awkward kissing scenes and Tony Parker rapping unintelligibly ---or is that just French?--with Fabolous?

Close the locker rooms

I don't care how many hours a day an athlete works out or how many women have commented on his "glistening, rippling muscles," the rest of us do not need to see him naked. At least not without a nice dinner first.

And on a somewhat related note, enough of the constant "adjusting." Yes, baseball players, I'm talking to you. Your crotch is not going anywhere.