As we all know, thanks to the History Channel, the world will end ... sometime Friday.

Unfortunately, we still don't know if our finale will come via an asteroid, a super-virus or a rise of the planet of the apes. The ancient Mayans didn't specify.

But listen-up, Syracuse: Certain matters must be resolved before we march -- or, in case of a zombie apocalypse, lurch -- into doomsday.

Yes, folks, it's time to start padding our obit and tie up a few loose items.

We gotta hurry. We may only have a few hours ...

1. Formal proclamation forgiving Keith Smart

An official City Hall parchment must be written in official City Hall mumbo jumbo, with several "whereas-es" and a "therefore." It should be signed by politicos, religious leaders and, most importantly, Syracuse University basketball coach Jim Boeheim. The end will come nearly 25 years since Smart's jump shot propelled Indiana University past SU in the 1987 NCAA men's championship. Let's not cling to bitterness. In fact, let's offer Smart a "Doomsday Key to the City:" He gets meals, drink, a car -- anything he wants. Too bad the world's about to end, eh, Keith? Hey, ask us how it feels.

2. Pick up the traffic cones

Yes, we're done fixing the highways. In fact, let's announce that everything is finished -- everything. No more cleaning the lake, expanding the mall, boosting the downtown, saving the neighborhoods. We're finally done. This is it, everybody: What you see is what we got. The roads are the roads, the lake is the lake, Syracuse isn't Manhattan, but neither is Rochester. It was never our destiny to build the world's largest mall. Who needed a shopping center with its own area code? Cut the ribbons, everybody. Gather the dignitaries, including Keith Smart. We're done. (And not a moment too soon.)

3. Welcome home, Tom and Richard

A true e-Hollywood factoid says Tom Cruise was born in Syracuse, before his family headed to Canada. His daughter, Suri Cruise, rhymes with his home town. (What's with that, anyway?) Plus, Richard Gere grew up in Liverpool. So quick, here's our mission impossible: Whisk them home for the last act. In the movies, that's how it happens -- the big chase scene. They can even serve as Keith Smart's chauffeur. (Nobody else will.)

4. Reopen -- then re-close -- Manley Fieldhouse

We cannot forget John Thompson's famous 1980 taunt: "Manley Fieldhouse is officially closed." It came after his Georgetown men's basketball team beat SU in the final men's game ever played at Manley. .. until now. SU must reopen the arena for men's hoops and play one last intersquad game and -- this is critical -- win! Then, quick, close the place! For good!

5. Universal pardon of winter

Let us formally absolve the season of winter for its criminal involvement in every fender-bender, travel delay and frozen body appendage that ever prompted us to scream its name in vain. Even with global warming on our side, we shall declare an end to hostilities. Winter will go into the books as just one of the four seasons -- the others, of course, being "Still Winter, Almost Winter and Three Months of Bad Sledding." (That's a 40-year-old Syracuse joke, by the way.) Keep in mind that if the world ends Friday, we avoid winter. Even doomsday has its bright side.

6. Bump the borders

For the last century, the city of Rochester has enjoyed the smug, self-importance of being New York's third largest city. Let's wipe that Kodak grin off its face. In a matter of minutes, the city of Syracuse should annex Auburn, Cortland, Oneida and Fulton and become No. 3. Or maybe annex Rochester itself, and knock Buffalo off its winged "Queen City" pedestal. Or let's secede from New York State and declare ourselves the People's Republic of Syracuse. We must work fast, though, so Albany cannot launch a counter-move. And let's not turn our back on Utica.

7. The Saltine Warrior

Generations of SU traditionalists still pine for the courageous warrior on horseback who graced the peak of SU's football history. The greatest player ever, Jim Brown, led the Orange into an era that included the likes of Ernie Davis and Floyd Little. But where is the Saltine Warrior? Baby boomers see Otto the Orange as little more than an Alfred E. Newman face sewn into a pillow. For the final glorious hours, put somebody on a horse and bring back the Warrior. And if we can find a private jet, bring back Jim Brown. For the finale, let's bring back the greatest player ever.

8. State fair attendance record

Let's face it: In the final meltdown, two places will draw the masses. First is the fair. Who wouldn't want to be vaporized with a grilled sausage, while frying in the metal bleachers of Chevy Court? We can set the all-time fair record. The second location: Wegman's. Surely, Alec Baldwin will be there, holding court on food court. Let's just hope they don't run out of half-moon cookies.

9. Ask forgiveness from the Iroquois

Hat in hand, emissaries must march to the Onondaga Nation, and simply say, "Hey, we're sorry for taking your land." Yes, it's more than two centuries after the fact. Better late than never. At the end of the world, don't you think they would forgive?

10. Time capsule

Quick: Send a delegation to the base of Onondaga Lake, where the Haudenosaunee Tree of Life once grew. Find a tall pine, dig a hole, bury all the traffic cones, cover it with a slab of concrete and then let some little kid scribble this inscription: "We had fun. See you in 10 million years. The Cuse."

Best part: If on Saturday, the world

HASN'T

ended -- oh well, no damage done. We just give Keith Smart a bag of salt potatoes and send him packing. But let's leave those traffic cones buried. Starting tomorrow, it's a new world.