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Golden years, indeed, for Bud Selig

According to ESPN’s Buster Olney, outgoing Major League Baseball commissioner Bud Selig will receive $6 million a year in salary in his new role of commissioner emeritus. The ‘‘job’’ basically means being available to take occasional phone calls from incoming commissioner Rob Manfred.

Uncle Bud was making $22 million a year at the end of a more-than-two-decade tenure and, according to reports, has a net worth of $375 million. Selig is 80, so you put your little actuarial cap on and try to figure out how much more he stands to earn in ‘‘retirement,’’ as long as MLB keeps paying him.

He’s in good health, it seems, so let’s say he doesn’t suddenly start smoking and drinking and skydiving and he lives to, mmm, 105. (I used to chat with oldest Cubs fan Mary Melberg at her retirement home in Plano, Texas, when she was 106, FYI.)

Twenty-five years times $6 million is $150 million. That’s just putting the pay under your increasingly lumpy mattress in the form of Krugerrands or $100 bills.

All of which leads me to ask: Is there not something wrong with this world? And, two: Is it true you can take it with you?

In the Saints-Bears game last Monday, the Bears received the opening kick.

Returner Marc Mariani, aka ‘‘The White Dude,’’ caught the ball five yards deep in the end zone and ran it out to the 17. Flag. The Bears’ Senorise Perry, a rookie running back, was called for holding, which moved the ball back to the Bears’ 7.

Thus, with six seconds gone in a key game on Monday night TV, the Bears were starting play 13 yards behind where they would have started if they simply had done nothing.

This, to me, is mind-boggling. Everybody knows what a hold is. Everybody knows the ball gets placed on the 20 if a kick is in the end zone and is downed.

Then there’s special-teams coordinator Joe DeCamillis, who is also the Bears’ assistant head coach, and what in the world does he do before such things occur?

Most special-teams players are backups who don’t see much game time. Can’t DeCamillis just hammer it into those players’ brains about proper play on ‘‘special’’ plays? Can’t those simpletons remember anything?

I won’t even mention the Bears’ pitiful fake-punt attempt in the second quarter, with the long snapper centering with one hand on the ball (a dead giveaway), only 10 men on the field and an illegal- formation penalty, to boot.

But I’d like to.

One concept floating around the wacky beehive of failure that is Halas Hall is that former Bears quarterback and current San Francisco 49ers coach Jim Harbaugh should be hired for any amount of money, given total control and brought home to fix everything.

I may even have used Harbaugh as a symbol of the sort of take-charge guy who maybe could lead the Bears out of the silliness. But I did not mean Jim Harbaugh, the actual human being.

For those who don’t remember him or have never dealt with him, he is one cocky, need-to-be-in-charge guy. He has been called by Sports Illustrated ‘‘a turnaround specialist whose freshness date expires after a few seasons.’’ That might sound wonderful to frustrated Bears fans, but the downside is pretty big.

Consider that after leading the 49ers to the last three NFC title games, Harbaugh has clashed openly with 49ers general manager Trent Baalke. And his star quarterback project, Colin Kaepernick, has regressed to below average.

The 49ers lost recently to the Oakland Raiders (who were 1-11 at the time), have lost badly twice to the rival Seattle Seahawks (scoring a total of 10 points) and — oh, yeah — lost to the Bears in the grand opening of opulent Levi’s Stadium in September. The thought of Harbaugh with his fiery temper trying to nurture Jay Cutler gives me visions of hair-pulling and UFC-style beatdowns.

Nor would the Bears even consider paying him something like the $8 million a year Michigan has reportedly offered.

Harbaugh-ish. But not Harbaugh.

Lastly, the American Kennel Club has added four more breeds of dogs to its official list: things like the Bergamasco and the Cirneco dell’Etna.

That’s great — you go, purebreds! But I would like inclusion of a pooch like my former dog, Leo. He was a beagle-basset mix, with some other spices thrown in along the way. He had a voice like a foghorn and a big black snout he kept in the wind or on the ground, sniffing. He was brown, black and white, and he had a great personality.

He didn’t look exactly like any other dog. Which is the beauty of mixed breeds — the American melting pot in fur, if you will.

Make an AKC show category called American Mutt, and let Leo-style dogs enter.

The winner, year after year, would be the greatest dog on the planet.