THE RETURN OF MMMMMM. (SLURP) (SLURP) (GULP): Will The Next Joe Millionaire be any good? I have no idea.

But I do know what were the real things that made the first season so damn irresistible, so let me set forth what I think are the necessary preconditions to Season Two being a success:

1. A likeable 'Joe'. For the show to work, we have to have sympathy for the guy. Evan Marriott worked really well because he was uncomfortable with the whole enterprise, that he wasn't crazy about lying to the women about his background. Also, he wasn't that good at lying in the first place. Remember when he couldn't make up a fake middle name?

This was also a guy who could toss of lines like "She looked like a million dollars . . . not that I know what a million dollars looks like," and be endearing as heck doing so.

2. Who are the real sadists? Only the producers. For the show to work, we can't see our fake millionaire enjoying this at all. The moment he starts taking pleasure from deceiving these Eurobimbos is the second our sympathies shift and it all starts becoming something less than entertaining. We're all better off if our cowboy had no idea what he was getting into, just like the women.

3. Cheeky editing. Tone is crucial. Remember Zora's Disney montage? I knew you did. Perceptive editors with a sense of humor, more than anything else, made that first season so great.

4. The butler does it. Again, it's all about the tone, and Paul Hogan set the table last season by bringing the right mix of snark and sweetness to his part. To the extent that anyone on-screen was "the bad guy", he took the role without being cruel about it. Alex McLeod, of course, is gone. She has been replaced. (She seemed to leave the chateau halfway through season one once the producers realized what a good thing they had in Hogan.)

The only thing I'd like to see more of? "Millionaire training". I loved the whole "which wine?" session from last season's pilot, and I want to see more like it.

Season Two can work, but it's by no means guaranteed. The first season invited us to laugh at all the contestants, including Joe M. himself, by finding the right balance between seriousness-within-the-relationship-seeking versus spoofing the people caught up in the game. (MoJo! The poem!)

So sit back, catch up on the TWoP recaps from last season to remind you of what fun we had, and let's hope for the best Monday night.

"EVERYBODY KNOWS TODAY IS THE CULMINATING, CLIMACTIC GAME AGAINST EVIL CAMP TIGERCLAW. WE'VE PUT TOGETHER AN UNLIKELY TEAM OF MISFITS, AND WE'VE BEEN TRAINING LIKE CRAZY ALL SUMMER. YES, WE'VE PUT TOGETHER A MOTLEY CREW YOU'D NEVER THINK WOULD BE ABLE TO WIN A SINGLE GAME. WE HAD A KOOKY TRAINING PERIOD WHERE IT SEEMED LIKE, WELL IT SEEMED LIKE NOTHING WAS GOING TO GO RIGHT, BUT GUYS, SOMEHOW WE MADE IT TO THE FINALS. SO I SAY, WHEN THOSE ANONYMOUSLY EVIL CAMPERS FROM TIGERCLAW GET HERE, WE GIVE IT OUR BEST SHOT, THEN WE TRY TO COME FROM BEHIND AT THE LAST MINUTE WITH SOME WEIRD TRICK PLAY THAT WE'VE MADE UP, AND WE WIN THE GAME! WHAT DO YOU SAY, TEAM?" Do I like the movie Wet Hot American Summer? Hell, yeah. A lot.

Do I like it enough to enter a contest where I'm dressed like one of the characters? Um, no. But if you're ever in the mood for a mood-perfect parody of early 1980s summer camp movie cliches, with some absolutely priceless scenes (the trip to town, everything with Amy Poehler or Michael Showalter), then it's worth the rental.

(If you get the DVD, be sure to catch the deleted scene where Paul Rudd and Marguerite Moreau recreate, line for line, move for move, the Donald Sutherland-Karen Allen sweater scene from Animal House).

Most critics missed the point, treating it as a straight, crappy movie rather than a witty, loving homage to a specific subset of crappy movies. I think you have to be between the ages of 25 and 35 to really get it -- but if you're in the target group and saw the movies it's referencing, this is one you'll want to seek out.

IN THE INTERESTS OF EQUAL TIME: William Grady Little, 53, works in a managerial capacity for the Boston Red Sox, a sports franchise based in the Kenmore Square area of Boston. Little, a 1968 graduate of Garinger High School in Charlotte, NC, makes his off-season home in the Pinehurst, NC area.

GRADY LITTLE GOT MUTILATED LATE LAST NIGHT: No, you don't leave a pitcher in for 123 pitches when you've got a bullpen that's allowed one run in 16 1/3 innings at the ready. Pedro Martinez shouldn't have started that inning, and he sure shouldn't have stayed in as the run of doubles started.

"What Johnny Pesky did for relay throws and Bill Buckner did for routine ground balls," writes Thomas Boswell in the WaPo today, "Grady Little did for managing Thursday night in Yankee Stadium."

It's not just Little's fault. Boston's 1-4 hitters -- Damon, Walker, Garciaparra and Ramirez -- batted 3-for-20 on the night, no walks, no extra base hits, no runs.

Also: if you're a cursed franchise, don't start painting the World Series logo on your field until you're actually in the World Series. Is that too hard to ask for?

Yes, all the credit Mariano Rivera, Mike Mussina, blah blah blah, but this was not a game the Yankees could win until Grady Little let them. Both Dusty Baker and Grady Little rode their horses too long in their respective game sevens, and both paid the price.

And so Red Sox Nation, Scratchy to their franchise's Itchy, join the good people of Chicagoland starting tomorrow night to watch the World Series matchup that America didn't want. Or not watch: hey, new episodes of "Hack" and "The District" on CBS this Saturday!

This is why it's better to be a fan of a team that generally gets the heart-breaking over by the end of July.

BONIN, J., CONCURRING IN PART AND DISSENTING IN PART: With all due respect to my left coast colleague, I must disagree with his take on the Sun-Times' decision to "out" the fan in question.

Is it newsworthy? Yes. Millions of people were watching the game, and the fan's interference with the game was the big story. His picture was on the front page of newspapers across the country. He was already deemed the latest goat in a city's history of futiliy from Mrs. O'Leary to Leon Durham to Dan Rostenkowski to Mel Reynolds. Everyone wanted to know who he was, and why he did it.

(He has now made a statement apologizing for his actions, but, of course he might not have had to, or had to attach his name to it, without the Sun-Times' publishing his name.)

Had the Sun-Times guessed about his name, had they used surreptitious or deceitful means, that'd be one thing. But both his father and several of his friends confirmed his identity, and that's enough for me. They're all adults, and they understood (or should have understood) the consequences of their speaking to the press.

This isn't like publishing the name of a rape victim, or like websites that publish the names of doctors who perform abortions. This gentleman chose to insert himself into the action, and I do not predict that he will actually suffer physical harm as a result. The Sun-Times article does not attempt to incite violence against him, and, hey, if Mitch Williams, Bill Buckner and Ralph Branca can still walk the earth freely, so will this guy. Heck, Fred Merkle lived to the age of 68, despite his massive boner.

Where I share Mr. Spaceman's concerns is when it comes to publishing the name of this guy's employer, or of his home town, or of any other identifying information that does make it easy for lightly-motivated troglodytes to harass him. It wasn't necessary to print that information, even if the company was dumb enough to confirm his employment to the press. That's their fault, but there was still no need for the Sun-Times to risk his losing his job now.

Bottom line: don't screw up in public in front of a national audience, and if you do, get a cool nickname like "Soy Bomb" so people don't find out your real name. I trust the good people of Chicago to nevertheless behave themselves with regards to him, and we'll see.

One final question, based on all the Fox broadcasts I've seen: is his father the district attorney?

NEXT UP: SUPPER CLUB, ANOTHER KIND OF WONDERFUL, AND SHE'S HAVING HER SECOND BABY: They're making a TV-movie sequel to 'Sixteen Candles' (working title: 'Thirty-Two Candles'). No word on whether Ringwald or Cusack will appear, but my guess is that Anthony Michael Hall and Gedde Watanabe are available.

CITY OF BIG SHOULDERS, MEET FACE OF BROKEN NOSES: Forget your Bill O'Reilly-Terry Gross-Al Franken dustup. Forget your Geraldo troop-movement disclosures, your dancing around the identity of Kobe Bryant's accuser, and your unmasking CIA operatives. In my opinion, the most gratuitously irresponsible piece of journalism I've seen this year is the Chicago Sun Times's naming (followed by the inevitable pickup by other organizations, including ESPN.com) of the Cubs fan who took the foul ball away from Alou last night. We've all had momentary lapses where we commit seemingly small acts that have large repercussions -- poor choices of words, mis-addressed emails, the decision to try to get a free soda by rocking the machine back and forth. Most of us, though, don't have them in ways that interfere at critical times with the success of teams synonymous in the sports world with "long-suffering" and in places where even predictably happy events (Bulls championships, New Year's Eves) cause gleefully violent riots. Just deplorable.