Halloween brings out the scary side in everyone. Grade school kids dress up as cute devils, and the real devil becomes even more evil by dressing up as George Steinbrenner and running the Yankees.

ABC Family even jumps in the mix by playing every bloodcurdling “Boy Meets World” Halloween special episode back-to-back. Talk about terrifying.

And even things that are usually frightening get even scarier around Halloween. Going across the middle against Ray Lewis seems even more worrisome, pitching to Albert Pujols brings on even more cold sweats, and watching David Schwimmer act becomes even more horrific.

But there are things that are scarier still. Things that make you wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air. Things that make you sleep with one eye open. Things that remind you of when you got a Chris Mullin haircut.

These are the nightmares that scare me to the core. They are what make me look over my shoulder and alarm me more than having Mike Tyson as an English tutor. These are the nightmares that I hope never become reality …

I’m scared that after a few more late-season upsets, the BCS will peg 11-0 Boise State and 11-0 Utah to play for the national championship. Aside from triggering the apocalypse, this Mountain West-WAC showdown would give the Sugar Bowl about as much appeal as a “Wheel of Fortune” rerun and as much drawing power as a Chumbawamba reunion tour.

I’m frightened that Manny Ramirez, Pedro Martinez and Pedro’s little friend will continue their post-World Series celebration tour by paying Alex Trebek a visit and playing in a goodwill game of Major League Jeopardy. I can see Ramirez’s lack of concentration, Pedro’s lack of sanity and Nelson de la Rosa’s inability to see over the podium help the squad rack up a cumulative debt of $102,000 and singlehandedly bankrupt the charities they represent.

I’m worried that Sylvester Stallone will ignore the fact that he is 58 years old and give “Rocky VI” the green light. The possibility of a recovering-from-a-broken-hip montage sounds promising, but the possibility of love scene involving an aging Rocky and Adrienne is just a little too creepy.

I’m afraid that as a result of popular demand, Maroon5’s “She Will Be Loved” will replace the national anthem as the music of choice before NBA games this season. After all, it has already replaced JoJo’s “Get Out” as the song that haunts my every waking moment.

If this does in fact happen, I’m expecting that David Stern will face a league-wide epidemic of players driving tenpenny nails through their eardrums.

I’m scared that Steven A. Smith and Stuart Scott will star in a weekly reality show on ESPN in which they vie for the title of “Person most likely to make you throw your TV from a second-story window.” Steven A. will clean up on the challenges involving wearing hideous suits and not allowing anyone else on the planet to finish a sentence, but Stuart is sure to rally by murdering every urban slang phrase known to man and yelping “Boo-yah!” 135 times in one hourlong episode. A photo finish will reveal that both men do in fact deserve to win, and that the only real loser in this competition is the viewer.

I have nightmares about the place-kicking Gramatica brothers (Martin, Bill and Santiago) showing up at my door wearing clown costumes and riding tricycles.

I’m petrified that the rivalry between LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony, which might be the only thing that can save the NBA, will deflate when Carmelo continues to take living in the Mile High City far too literally.

Scarier still is the fact that in the absence of real rivalries, the NBA is already trying to market feuds between Shaq and Kobe, Phil Jackson and Kobe, and the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth and Kobe.

I’m mortified that if Tim McCarver is given any more free reign in next year’s baseball playoffs, we’re in for another October full of musings about how several Red Sox players have long hair.

I’m terrified that Carlos Beltran, Nomar Garciaparra, Randy Johnson and Pedro Martinez will collectively decide that they have no souls and sign with the Yankees, leaving the rest of the major league teams to fight over table scraps players like Miguel Cairo and Jermaine Dye.

But hey, that’s what happens when the Prince of Darkness is running a Major League franchise.