The Column: The Devil couldn't make me do it

Here is what I hope to do this summer:

1. Attend a Mets game in a mostly vaxxed Citi Field and occupy Seat 6, Section 513, upper deck, top row, where I can catch a breeze and escape random cascades of peanut shells and Cracker Jack from behind.

2. Walk, unmasked, around Prospect Park (ah, Brooklyn!) on a Sunday morning and hope not to falter on the last, long hill, humiliating myself amid the swarm of well-toned yuppies who seem never even to perspire.

3. Visit New Hampshire friends and not waste the next week wondering why we don’t live in New Hampshire.

4. Drive to Greenport, stop for strawberries and, when my wife isn’t looking, sample lavishly on the way home.

5. Spend a dreamy evening in the backyard, sipping a glass of sangria with nothing more to worry about — for the moment — than the prospect of a Brood X cicada invasion though experts say, relax, Long Island likely has been spared.

Here is what I will not do this summer:

1. Ride the New Jersey Devil roller coaster that debuted recently at Six Flags Great Adventure, Jackson, New Jersey.

Take bets on it, this is a sure thing.

Just as I can guarantee there will be, for me, no snake charming, log rolling, wing walking or rock climbing at Annapurna in Nepal, there will be no Jersey Devil. Sword swallowing is equally out of the question and so, too, auditioning for the Chippendales and chug-a-lugging Jell-O shots.

Not going to happen.

But, without doubt, it is a spectacular thing, this Jersey Devil — what Six Flags calls the "world’s tallest, fastest, and longest single rail coaster" and a "scream machine," to note the description of one park executive.

The ride ascends 13 stories, features a 130-foot drop and affords three "dramatic inversions" including a "180-degree stall, raven dive, and zero-gravity roll," according to the publication, "Amusement Today." From what I can tell an "inversion" means hanging upside down — enough, in itself, to keep me on the safe side of the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge.

Named after a mythical figure said to haunt the Jersey pine barrens, the Devil travels at 58 mph along 3,000 feet of orange-yellow track that reminds me of the Hot Wheels set our kids once loved. Often the cars went flying. Just a thought.

How terrifying is the experience?

"Try not to yell, ‘Oh, my God,’ " said a writer for NJ.com who took a preview ride.

Still, the fearless multitudes are certain to come and with great anticipation.

Exactly why people are so keen to inflict upon themselves what is the closest thing to a catastrophic aviation incident, beats me.

There is no shortage of theories. Some scientists refer to "benign masochism" — terrifying yourself when there is little real danger — and others speak in terms of endorphins, Adrenalin, extra heartbeats and the peculiar pleasures of a "eustressful" experience. Who could resist a combo cocktail of "euphoria" and "stress"?

You’re looking at him.

As a kid, I rode the Cyclone at Coney Island but knew there would not be a return engagement. My idea of excitement was three Nathan’s hot dogs in one night.

People screamed with delight and held their hands overhead. I feared that I would lose my life or, even worse, my glasses.

Because it also was expected of any decent Brooklyn teen, I tried Coney’s famous parachute jump. The attraction closed in 1968 — too late to spare me, though, as a reminder, its skeleton remains.

I was strapped in with a lovely girl named June who, sweet person, comforted me all the way up and held my hand when the chute hit the top and we floated to Earth.

"See," she said, as we disembarked. "Wasn’t so bad."

June, bless her, is long gone, but if fair is fair, her place in heaven was assured that day.

Is faintheartedness a character flaw?

I wonder. As a reporter for Newsday, I was in a few tough spots — hardly worth mentioning — and did not go AWOL.

But the impulse to push your luck baffles me.

The late President George H.W. Bush celebrated every fifth birthday in retirement by skydiving — impressive, for sure. Hail to the Chief.

Me? Safety first. Although after a couple Jell-O shots, who knows?