…I’d be joining the other owners in Paradise Valley, AZ for their quarterly meeting on Wednesday and Thursday. What will the 30 MLB owners be doing between rounds of golf and dry martinis? They’ll be hashing out rules having to do with post-season rainouts and one-game tiebreakers. Exciting.

The problem is this: All the owners are men. Take a look at some of these guys.

Seriously. I’m sure they’re all stellar human beings, but why isn’t there one single female owner among them? In the 21st century? A woman would know how to make the meetings productive, instructive and downright entertaining.

Yes, there was a woman in charge once upon a time – the only one to buy a team rather than inherit it.

But I’d do things a little differently than Marge and Schottzie, starting with the meeting in Arizona. My agenda would include:

Where it is written that women have to wait in long lines, missing all the action, while men do their thing and are back in their seats in no time?

2.) Salads at the concessions.

Sure, it’s fun to scarf down hot dogs, chicken tenders, even nachos with cheese. But how hard would it be to put something healthy on the menu. Something green. (And I don’t mean six-week-old pretzels.)

There I was, enjoying myself at a Yankees-Orioles game at Camden Yards, when this girl tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Could I sit in the empty seat next to you? A guy just threw up on the seat next to me and it smells.” Air-sick bags (team logo specific) would take care of that problem.

I’ve been to a lot of ballparks and I’ve seen enough races between Ketchup, Mustard and Relish to last me a lifetime. I’m not wild about the “Kiss Cam” either. I propose more games involving the players. At Kauffman Stadium in KC, they have “And the Oscar Goes to…” where three Royals players act out the same scene from a movie and the crowd votes on the one they like best. It gives the fans a sense of the players’ personalities.

5.) Ushers who know what they’re doing.

I realize that men hate asking for directions, but women don’t mind a bit. If we can’t find our seats, we go, “Excuse me. Where’s section 17, row LL?” So how about ushers who actually know the answer.

I stood in the pouring rain for two hours at Comerica Park waiting for someone – anyone – from the Tigers organization to tell us if the game was canceled or not. A little communication goes a long way.

The Yankees had the nerve to hand out Hideki Matsui mouse pads that fell apart in five minutes. And no more of those foam hands with the finger sticking out. I hate when people wave them in front of me and block my view.

I’m not saying every park should hire Beyonce. Amateurs are fine. So are little kids. But they must know the words and they must be able to hit the high notes.

I don’t mean to single out the Angels, but come on.

A radical idea, yes. Expensive, too. But haven’t you ever had a meltdown at the ballpark when your team lost? Blow-out. Pitcher’s duel. A loss is a loss. Wouldn’t it be great to talk to someone about it? Let it all out? Work through your issues so you don’t bring them home?

More to come when I’m an owner and can vote at these meetings.