The 12 steps to success

I need an addiction, man. I need it bad, real bad. Got to get me one.

Amy Winehouse allegedly was/is addicted to something or other, but what’s she up to now, five Grammy Awards? Charlie Sheen certainly seemed to be addicted to something or other, but how many Emmy nominations does this year’s make it? (Sorry, Charlie, I’ve lost count.) Robert Downey Jr. (no relation, but he did phone me a couple of times from prison) clearly was addicted to something or other, but who’s one of the hot Hollywood heroes of the year? Why, it’s mighty, middle-aged “Iron Man.” I’ve got 10 bucks that say my man Downey in that heavy-metal suit of his could whip Batman’s leather butt.

I need a dark night or two of my own to overcome. I need motivation. I need humiliation. I need redemption. I need a bad habit and a good agent.

Josh Hamilton of the Texas Rangers sat out season after season because of a drug addiction, but this summer he is being treated as a heartwarming “comeback story,” his name even chanted by a Yankee Stadium full house -- “Hamilton! Hamilton!” -- while winning a home run derby there on the eve of baseball’s July 15 All-Star Game. Ah, how New Yorkers love a “hero.”

New York Times reporter David Carr admittedly was addicted to crack and treated more than one woman horribly and then the mother of his children worse, so where is he now? On the cover of the NYT Sunday Magazine, promoting his new tell-all, that’s where. Neil Steinberg got arrested for a spousal tussle and had his Chicago Sun-Times editors very concerned, but instead of going from bars to behind bars, the thirsty columnist quickly labeled himself “Drunkard” and turned his flaw into a nonfiction book, which the Sun-Times has been only too happy to help him toast.

I envy them. Oh, how I want to make a mess of my life so that I can profit by it. I long to tell my story, if only I had a story to tell.

But what do I have? I do drink, but I have never been busted as officially drunk. I eat, so perhaps this could be the addiction I could pitch to a publisher. “One Too Many Hot Dogs in the Press Box,” a true story.

Hey, I am married. I could describe a few terrifying nights of abuse between us, if only there had been some. The most abuse to which I have subjected her is the mandatory viewing of Chicago Cubs games on our TV. I could possibly land a lucrative book deal out of this if the Cubs fail for the 100th year in a row to win a World Series, whereupon the wife charges me with extreme psychological torture.

Anyhow, that’s my story -- I need a story. I need infamy. I need insobriety. If only I could acquire an addiction to overcome, I could really get somewhere. If I made it down the Yellow Brick Road, I wouldn’t annoy the Wizard of Oz for a heart, courage or brains. I would have him make me a drinking, drugging, recovering success.