In The (Unofficial) Summertime

June 21 marks the first official day of summer. It's really about a month too late.

Memorial Day is the real start of summer.

Think about it -- isn't the saying that you can wear white after Memorial Day (as opposed to after the solstice)? And don't those barbecues come out for the big three day weekend? And don't even get me started on bathing suits.

No, it's summertime all right. And I couldn't be happier.

This is the best season of all. I'm a fan of heat, of staying outside all day, of minimal clothing. It's the time when I can put away all those other CD's and listen to Jimmy Buffett morning, noon and night. Socks stay in the drawer (except during work hours). My boxers? Not unless I'm working or eating out.

Saturdays at the beach, or playing ball with my son. Sundays doing exactly the same. Dinners outside. Spur of the moment neighborhood parties on my lawn.

Most importantly, summertime gives the illusion that we really are living right, that we aren't living for our jobs. In the summer we believe we really can smell the flowers, that there is more to life than the daily grind.

I believe it is in the summertime when we are at our best.

The Dilemma

Two weeks ago, we went to my little cousin's first communion. He is a year older than my son, and we took him to the party afterwards. Jonathan, as any inquisitive little boy would do, asked about communion -- what it is and why people go. I explained to him what communion meant to Christians and how important it was.

Jonathan decided he wanted his own communion.

Herein lies the dilemma. Jonathan has been in church a total of twice. He went on his baptism --something we decided to do to satisfy others. He went one other time. We have sheltered Jonathan from all religion. And with good reason.

I've written it before that more people have killed and been killed because of religion than anything else. Muslims have murdered Christians. Christians have murdered Muslims. Buddhists have overpowered Shamans. Jews have been persecuted everywhere. And even they have a history of violence against others.

I believe religion is bad. There is nothing that religion can give you that you cannot get elsewhere. By choosing a religion, you are choosing membership in an organization that has murdered, stolen, enslaved and put down the masses.

This is not a philisophical inquest into the existence of a being greater than ourselves. I do not question whether there is a God. I also do not question someone else's belief in such. I do, however, take exception to the notion that human beings -- many of whom are far more cruel and inhuman than I -- can set guidelines as to how I am supposed to believe.

But my son wants a communion.

Do I let him?

When he asked me if he could have a communion, we were passing the United Church of Christ in Milford. I remembered a commercial (why, I have no idea) about the UCC about their acceptance of homosexuals into their congregation. Without thinking, I told him that if he really wants to have a communion, it could only be in that church. I knew I could never allow myself or my family to enter into a church that excludes. Catholicism, the religion of my youth, is not an option.

Still, I am torn about this.

Is it the right thing to do to join a church whose very existence I question? Is it better to alienate him from others by protecting him from religion? And would I ever accept myself in that same community?

Most importantly, what is best for my son?

When Big Brother Is Forest Gump

I'm not entirely sure whether to be angry or to laugh at this one.

Apparently, our Congress has agreed to do mandatory screenings for new employees as a way to keep illegal immigrants from obtaining jobs here in the U.S. The problem is, they are using a faulty system.

Personally, I'm not too fond of what this administration has been doing as it is regarding turning our democracy into an American version of the Soviet state. This, however, seems a bit ludicrous, even for our elected officials.

The system that is proposed has been tested in small groups. It has failed everywhere. Legal immigrants have come up as illegal. Illegal immigrants have passed. This is the system they demand we use.

Part of me wants to get a second job in retail just to be able to get deported to Italy.

I think that I am more convinced than ever that if we were able to bring back George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson and the other founding fathers, they would take up arms against our government.

Of course, if we did bring them back, they'd immediately be sent over the border to Mexico.

It Ain't Just Me

Sometimes I feel like I am the only one who feels the way I do about politics or religion. Other times, I feel good knowing there are like-minded people out there.

I read an interview with Al Gore in Men's Health magazine last night on the train. He stated something that my father had stated, that I had believed now for a while. The tireless environmentalist believes the world will be fine, even with global warming. It's humanity that is in grave danger.

This morning, Lou Dobbs' article on CNN's website is encouraging. The content isn't what's encouraging, it is that the article was written. Three years ago, an article like that would alienate a journalist.

An old friend named Jeff Herz, shares his views on his blog. Jeff has a brilliant mind and tackles tough subject matter. You should be reading him.

The good old New York Times is coming back too. Here's an opinion on the Attorney General you may enjoy.

These are but a sample of places where I have found people or institutions expressing themselves as I do. I find it encouraging. This is better than the polls. This is passing along important information. It's communication. It's how we the people take back our own country.

Communication is our primary weapon.

Let's keep using it.

714

"You can't say enough of what he did and it's an honor to be in the same class."

This was Barry Bonds' quote following the home run he hit to tie Babe Ruth for second all-time. Soon, he will pass the Bambino.

In much of the past several weeks we've had comparisons, good and bad, on the numbers of these two ballplayers. We've had two basic camps -- the San Francisco/ESPN camp, and everyone else. I happen to be an everyone else.

I wrote my rant on statistics specifically for this event. I wanted anyone who read me to be clear about the differences between Babe Ruth and Barry Bonds. Let's take a look:

714 is a lot of home runs. In any era. When Babe did it, he had already been the first player ever to 200. And 300. And 400. And 500. And 600. And 700. Bonds is third to 700. It also took him longer to get there -- Babe homered every 11.76 at-bats. Barry took over an at-bat longer.

Babe's first four full seasons, he was a pitcher. It's only speculation, but I'd bet he'd likely have had more than 755 had he only been a right fielder.

I've read time and again about the distinct advantage Babe had not having to face black players. This is certainly true. To balance it, however, he played in ball parks that were far bigger. And he had to face the spitball. And he war a cap, not a helmet. And he didn't have armor protecting his elbow.

And while it is definitely true Babe Ruth did not face black players in the majors, he certainly faced them in barnstorming leagues offseason. Oh, and he fared pretty well, too. One story has been told that he hit a home run that went so far that the pitcher met him at home plate to shake his hand. That pitcher? Satchel Paige.

Some Barry Bonds apologists have suggested that Barry's steroids usage is akin to the game-fixing that used to go on back in the early part of the last century. An example used by an ESPN writer was that Ty Cobb and Tris Speaker -- the biggest names in baseball at the time after Babe Ruth -- were implicated in throwing games. It was common -- as steroids is common now.

There are two ways to answer this. First, my parents (and everyone else's, I hope) taught that two wrongs do not make a right. That others have cheated doesn't mean I can cheat. Case in point: the steroids-equivalent of Babe Ruth's era was throwing games. Joe Jackson, Ty Cobb and Tris Speaker (among others) have been written about, investigated, etc.. throwing baseball games. Babe Ruth has not. The Babe could have gone the way of Barry Bonds. He chose not to.

Barry's weakness gave him the single season home run record. It also got him to 714. He would never have been within 100 home runs without steroids. We all know that. His is a paper number.

Babe Ruth was a phenomenal clutch player. He was 2-0 with a 0.87 World Series ERA. He had hit 15 career home runs in the World Series, more than anyone until Mickey Mantle. His lifetime postseason batting average is .326. Barry Bonds has been anything but clutch. 2002 not included, because he was cheating at the time, Barry has been known as one of the worst choke artists in history. He made A-Rod look like Derek Jeter. Look at it this way, even with 2002, he has a postseason batting average of .236. And only one of his 9 home runs came in the pre-steroid era.

There are several legendary stories about the Babe. He was loved by everyone, especially the children he was never too busy to talk to or to sign balls for. One of my favorites was the story of his hospital visit when he promised the sick boy he'd homer for him. He even signed a baseball promising the little boy as much. That night, Babe Ruth hit three.

What do we know of Barry doing anything for children? Or anyone?

Barry, you said you were in the same class as the Babe. I think you ought to rethink that statement.

Language Law

So now they're going to make English the national language. It's for assimilation, they say. It's to better unify our country, they say.

They say.

What does that mean, actually? "National language." Does this mean that one must speak English in our country?

But we don't speak the Queen's English. We speak a bastardization of pure English. So, is it American-English, that we are talking about? Will I have to "go to the loo"? Do I need to be wary of people who "get pissed"?

What of other languages?

Surely, we will not force tourists to speak English when they are talking with each other. That would be silly. But what about neighborhoods? What about Chinatown? Or Brighton Beach? Do we arrest citizens for speaking another language, except when specifically instructed to do so, like in school?

And do we even allow foreign language in schools?

Should we consider it a high crime that a government official says "nucular" and creates words like "decider"?

Really, is this necessary?

And Why Shouldn't He?

We've seen it so many times in the great game of baaseball. There is a battle of wills between the batter and the pitcher. Usually, as we all know, the pitcher wins. Sometimes, the batter wins. The great batters fail 70% of the time.

Sometimes, in this battle of wills, the batter starts to get the upper hand. And when this happens, a pitcher must respond. He could try to avoid the batter with outside pitches. Or he could do what at least the two best pitchers in the last fifty years have done and knock the batter down.

We saw it with Clemens and Piazza, Clemens and Jeter before that. We saw it with Pedro and Jeter. Sometimes it seems we've seen it with Pedro and just about anyone who starts to get an edge on him (he does, after all, have the highest rate of hit batsmen among the greats -- I know I did the calculations myself). No one hits Pedro or Clemens for very long.

And what about Barry Bonds?

Clemens said, when he was a Yankee and they faced the Giants, that he would drill Barry in the elbow guard. First pitch -- BAM!! As promised. By the way, Barry didn't have a whole lot of success against the Rocket when he went to Houston.

So now it comes to light that Barry Bonds cheated his way to 713 home runs. All those pitchers who watched Barry's swing send a ball deep to right, who had to endure that degrading sneer of his, were actually cheated themselves. He had an unfair advantage over them.

That takes us to last night and Russ Springer. Springer gave up a home run to Barry back in 2001 -- the year he hit 73. Barry was, as we all know at this point, deep in steroids and other performance enhancing drugs. Springer was sixty feet, six inches from a man who smugly stared at a ball that flew out of the ballpark -- a man who may not have hit it out if he didn't cheat.

Russ Springer threw four pitches last night. Each pitch was thrown intentionally at Barry Bonds. He hit Barry and was subsequently ejected, as was Astros manager Phil Garner.

Considering everything swirling around this pitcher and this batter, can you really blame Russ Springer?

The Rain from Maine Falls Plainly on My Train

Noah has nothing on we New Englanders.

By now I'm sure you have seen the photos from Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine. The mass flooding is reminiscent of photos we had seen last year in New Orleans. I saw one where three kids were wading down their street, the water up to their waistlines.

The reason for this continued rainstorm hitting the northeast is twofold. The quick and dirty -- meteorological -- answer is that the low pressure system carrying the storm east (and out to the Atlantic) has been blocked by an unusual high pressure system faced the other way. The rain cannot move offcoast and instead pounds on the towns and cities of New England.

The other reason is perhaps a bit more controversial. It concerns global warming.

I know. But it's cold and rainy. What does that have to do with global warming?

Fill a cup with water and leave it out in your kitchen. In a few days, the cup is empty. The water has evaporated into the air. Now, fill that same cup and put it into your hot garage and it will empty far more quickly.

Are you still with me? Good.

The water hasn't disappeared. It's in the air. On a grander scale, as the earth's temperatures are heated, as they have been through the last several years, more ocean water is evaporated.

Where does this water go? Rain is essentially evaporated ocean water that is returning to earth. More heat leads to more evaporation, which leads to more rain.

While I wish I was the genius behind this theory, I am not. Several scientists support this, and I support them.

This is not a soapbox on environmentalism. I will save that for another day. What this does, however, is help provide explanation to our sogginess. The world is, in fact, changing.

And rapidly.

Who know? Perhaps someday I will have a great-grandchild who has a beachhouse in the Canadian tropics.

Mama's Boy

She gave birth and raised me. She showed me love, often at times when I needed it most.

There is a special love between a mother and child that goes far beyond that of any other relationship. I believe it begins with those first nine months in her womb.

It never fades. Even now, when I call her on the phone, her voice changes when she hears that it is me. It's as though the simple act of hearing one of her children has brought immense joy to her.

When it comes down to it, I am a Mama's boy.

She took care of me. She babied me too much at times, perhaps. But she's loved me always. In college, for example, I was the envy of my friends when I returned from breaks with Tupperwares filled with gravy and meatballs. After long breaks, she'd have beautiful steaks wrapped up for me to enjoy with my roommies.

One of my biggest passions is cooking. It's no secret I inherited that from Mom. I remember being a kid and helping her on Sundays make that awesome gravy and frying the meatballs. "More breadcrumbs, Mom?" "Do I keep grating the cheese?" "How much basil?"

My mom has the warmest and most genuine smile in the world and when she smiles at me I always knew everything was OK.

She wasn't perfect. None of us are. She made mistakes. Then again, so have I. And when I hit the darkest times in my life -- and there have been plenty of dark times -- she was always there for me, giving me love.

I remember at college she came up for an unplanned visit. She had that sixth sense that all mothers have that told her I was in trouble. She was right. I was lost.

Mom loves my wife. I cannot stress enough the importance of this. They talk -- really talk. They're friends.

She is a proud and loving grandmother, showering Jonathan with hugs and kisses -- and anything else he may want. She rearranges her life to get to see him more.

Still, when she looks at my sister and at me, it's with that motherly love. It's different. I see it when Claudia looks at Jonathan. I used to see it when my grandmother looked at my father. And I see it when Mom looks at me.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you.

To Asia, With Love

I've never met her, nor is it likely that I ever will.

She is a ten-year-old girl who is recovering from surgery in Mt. Sinai Hospital here in New York. I know about her because of my commute this morning.

The gentleman sitting next to me was reading when he received the phone call. Asia got her transplant. The operation was a success and her body did not reject.

Asia has needed a transplant since she was eleven months old. That was nine years ago. For nine years, she has had to live a tough and unfair life. If she wanted to go to a friend's house, she couldn't without bringing her "kit" filled with various medicines to take in the event of something happening.

Active play was not an option.

She had always had problems because of this, missing school and the like. Lately, however, the battle worsened. She had to miss school weeks at a time. She couldn't go more than a few days without throwing up. It was at the point where she was even granted a wish from Make-A-Wish Foundation of Connecticut.

And now, it is over.

She will need to recover, and they will be monitoring her from the hospital for a few weeks. But little Asia has been given a new life.

I've never met her, nor is it likely that I will. But she reminded me never to lose sight of one thing.

And that is hope.

Statistics

I admit it. I am a statsaholic. I have faith in the numbers and what they mean.

Growing up, I was a rabid baseball fan. I rooted for the Yankees and Padres (because of Graig Nettles and Goose Gossage, of course). Every Sunday they listed the team and individual batting numbers and pitching numbers. I followed Mattingly, Nettles, Guidry, Reggie. I was amazed by Ricky Henderson and his stolen base numbers. For a couple of years, Doc Gooden blew me away.

At the same time, I used to watch the stock market. I would follow a few stocks and see how they would rise and fall, and I kept track of them.

In college I minored in Criminal Justice. My love of numbers moved to crime rates. I was so deviously proud that my hometown had such a high crime rate. At the time White Plains topped the list of crimes per 1,000 residents in Westchester, more than Yonkers, Mount Vernon or any other municipality.

Later I came to understand a few things about the numbers I knew so well. Baseball "stats" weren't statistics at all. In fact, it's just baseball accounting. Even sabremetrics is flawed regarding statistics (but that is for another blog).

Tracking stocks, at least the way that I did it, was not going to be an indicator of future performance. In fact, as I learned later while studying for my MBA, even the formulas used by experts cannot forecast properly.

And crime statistics don't tell the whole story. The fact that White Plains' population at the time doubled every day with workers and shoppers and visitors certainly bloated its crime rate.

To me, numbers -- and more specifically, statistics -- still tell quite a story. They just don't tell the whole story. One needs to look at reasons for the numbers and, when possible, be able to explain them. Sometimes, numbers tell a piece of the story, but more numbers are needed to tell the whole story.

One thing I've noticed, though, is that most of the time the numbers do not lie.

In the next few days something is going to happen that impacts numbers, specifically numbers I've mentioned in this rant. Consider this to be a prologue to my discussion on the event when it happens.

At Least We're Not Latvia

Save the Children recently reported that among developed nations, the United States ranks among the worst when it comes to infant mortality. American children are three times more likely to die in the first month than Japanese children. Newborn mortality is 2.5 times higher here than Norway, Iceland and Finland.

So let me get this straight.

The United States, whose Gross Domestic Product is more than the next four countries combined (for the record, that's Japan, Germany, China and the United Kingdom), has more trouble saving their children than Estonia and Lithuania.

The United States, who has a defense budget of more than $368 billion, cannot defend their own babies from death.

Incidentally, the Department of Health and Human Services in 2006 has a budget of $67.2 billion, which is a decrease of one percent from last year. That is roughly $225 per person. I've spent more than that on dinner.

By contrast, we spend over $1,230 per person in defense, which, as we know, has consisted of killing people in Iraq who have never attacked the United States. So we spent about 5 1/2 times more money killing people than we did saving them.

How is this justified? How is this "American"?

When conservative pundits like Sean Hannity claim that those of us who criticize this type of behavior actually hate America, it makes me cringe. I love America. I believe firmly in our ideals.

But I hate what we do.

Because what we do is un-American.

Sometimes I Just Can't Help Myself

The 6:34 train to Grand Central was crowded as usual on a Monday morning. The train left New Haven already half full and by the time it hit Milford -- my stop -- Milfordites had to search to find seats. Fortunately, I was second on the train and was able to sit in a two-seater next to a twenty-year-old listening to her iPod. I figured this would be the perfect seat because she would either sleep or listen to her music, as most of her friends were sleeping at that hour and I wouldn't be subject to phone conversation.

Yes, even finding a seat on the train requires strategy.

Nothing happened for the first fifteen minutes. It was great. She had her eyes closed and I was able to focus on my work. Then, as the train left Bridgeport, the twenty-year-old decided to put on some makeup.

Now, I'm not up on what constitutes the proper amount of makeup a person should have, but this was a bit excessive. First, she pulled out a brush of some kind. Then there was a powder puff. Then another brush, followed by a pencil, a small brush and something like a sponge. This process went on for a good half an hour.

I was amazed that so much makeup was necessary in this day and age. But, alas, she finished and, I was able to concentrate once again on my taks at hand. My co-commuter, meanwhile, took off her iPod and began reading The DaVinci Code.

Apparently, Dan Brown was only able to hold her attention for fifteen minutes, because at that time, Ms. Makeup decided to create a Mona Lisa of her own. More brushes and sponges, puffs and pencils. Once, she took out this enormous brush that I swear I used to paint my bathroom. She used it to "blend" her layers, I guess. When that went away, I figured it was over.

No.

Two more small brushes were used around the eyes. Another pencil for her lips and, then lipstick. Twenty minutes after painting session number two began, she put the lipstick away and we were entering the tunnel at Grand Central.

Ms. Makeup checked herself for the final time in one of her seven little mirrors she carried in her purse. When she was finally satisfied with her masterpiece she put the mirror away.

At that moment, I turned to her and said, "Oh, you missed a spot."

Truthiness In Journalism

In 1991-92, a paradigm shift in television journalism occurred and suddenly the world was talking about CNN. The manner in which they reported the Persian Gulf War caught the eye of just about everyone and cable news dominance was born.

A few years later, a second change occurred, though not necessarily a positive one. A relative newcomer to cable news, Fox News promoted itself as fair and balanced, but proved itself to be more of a 24 hour Rush Limbaugh show. That said, people listened. When Bill Clinton had his Monica-gate, the country went to Fox News to find out what their opinion should be.

This had been the state of American televison news for some time now.

Until recently.

The third shift has come in the last year or so in the form of yet a new network. That's right, the best name in television journalism now is Comedy Central.

The shift began when our hero, Jon Stewart, was invited to go on to Crossfire. Crossfire is CNN's answer to Hannity and Colmes, a show where one Republican pundit and one Democrat pundit argue over issues of the day. Nothing is gained from these debates, until Jon Stewart of The Daily Show called them out. It was one of the best verbal Scalia-isms I'd ever heard. When challenged about his political comments and views, Stewart reminded them his show was preceded by a cartoon, not a news show. He begged them to stop hurting America. It was terrific.

As if that wasn't enough, his partner in crime took it one step further. Stephen Colbert, whose show -- The Colbert Report -- is a satire on opinion shows like O'Reilly Factor, was invited as the guest entertainer at last week's White House Correspondent's Association Dinner. What happened next may have been the best comedy since Abbott and Costello's Who's on First and the best political humor since Thomas Nast cartoons. Here are some quotes:

"I stand by this man (President Bush). I stand by this man because he stands for things. Not only for things, he stands on things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message, that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound -- with the most powerfully staged photo ops in the world."

"I give people the truth, unfiltered by rational argument. I call it the 'No Fact Zone'. Fox News, I hold a copyright on that term."

"I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq."

"It's like boxing a glacier. Enjoy that metaphor, by the way, because your grandchildren will have no idea what a glacier is."

"The greatest thing about this man (President Bush) is he's steady. You know where he stands. He believes the same thing Wednesday that he believed on Monday -- no matter what happened Tuesday."

News today. The best way to get it is through satire.

Things I Miss

All this war and bad stuff going on in this world of ours sometimes make me long for my younger days when the most important thing in my life was that the sun was out and the school bell rang ending my day. With this in mind, here are a few things I really miss about those days when I was too young to care about "adult things":

Cocoa Pebbles: Every morning -- and I mean every morning -- I sat down at the breakfast table at the house where I grew up and had a bowl or two of this delicious cereal. Many an a.m. this meal took me from comatose to, well, less comatose.

Street football: Weekdays were spent playing football on Albermarle Road in White Plains. Many of the neighborhood kids would play. Telephone poles marked the end zones. The curbs were out-of-bounds. Three receptions was an automatic first down. And no one got hit by a car.

The "Island": Across the street from my house was a triangular plot of land that was mostly grass, except for some bushes in one corner and a pair of crab apple trees to one side. We called it the island. My father and I would play catch here was I was learning baseball. I played many a ballgame there with friends. And we played tackle football games there every weekend. Let me tell you -- getting tackled and falling onto a crab apple hurts like hell.

Sundays: Our Sunday football games always ended at three. That's when we all went home for dinner. Rigatoni with meatballs and sausage and Mom's pot of gravy was the menu. Nothing beat it.

Superhero games: Yep, I played with dolls. I had 'em all too: Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, the Hulk, the Thing, Green Arrow... I even had all the Star Trek dolls with an Enterprise control room, complete with Kirk's chair and a transporter to beam down the Trek guys. Heck, I even had Starsky and Hutch dolls.

Star Wars dolls: Those too. Man, I miss that.

Matchbox cars and Hot Wheels: I can't tell you how many times my best friend and I used to race those cars across the basement floor.

The smells: The cigarette smell I could do without. Also, the dump near our house on a hot and muggy day was pretty awful. But the rest... garlic frying in oil, the sweetness of beer on my Uncle Bill's breath, my grandmother's ginger snap gravy -- it all made me feel safe.

Pinochle: I never played the game in my life. But I remember my father playing with my uncles and grandfather. It was the mysterious "man" game of cards that I longed to watch and learn.

The Sound: I think I was always on Long Island Sound. My father had a boat on it. My best friend's family had a house in Bayville, LI. I went to Rye Beach and Playland, both on the shores of the Sound. I'm such a sea addict today because of it.

Storytellers: I grew up with the best of them. I really did. Some of them you know -- Alex Haley, Norman Mailer, Cleveland Amory and Dotson Rader were all guests at my house. But there were others, like "Uncle" Bill Murray, my father's best friend. And Uncle Bill Theile, owner of the sweet beer breath, who told me stories of World War II and how he got his Purple Heart. My grandfather and grandmother would tell us about all their vacations to exotic places like Egypt and Sicily and Malta. And, of course, my father, who shared with me his life stories, plus stories he'd learned from his grandmother.

A few blogs ago, I mentioned how the good old days weren't all that good. Maybe it all has to do with how you look at it.

It's About Class

They called themselves the Idiots.

They were a team whose destiny began in loss and ended officially last night in surprising fashion. Along the way, they won the World Series that had alluded the franchise for over eight decades and became the only team in history to win a playoff series after being down three games to none.

History will always look upon the 2004 Red Sox as one of those loveable, exciting underdog teams, not unlike the 1955 Dodgers or the 1969 Mets. They were a team of misfits -- a team defined by their centerfielder.

He came out of Kansas City where he had one of those really good but unnoticed careers. After a short stint in Oakland, he went to Boston where he became a hero. His long locks and Jesus-like beard made him recognizeable to millions of homes throughout the country. His intense play and his knack for clutch hitting helped raise the team to new levels.

They were born when Aaron Boone's home run left Yankee Stadium to end game seven of the 2003 ALCS. They became one of the all-time teams the following year, led by Johnny Damon. His love affair with Boston was real.

Then, during last offseason, the Red Sox decided to play it tough against the free agent Johnny Damon. He left town and ended up a Yankee. And last night was his first game back at Fenway, back where he was instrumental in bringing home a long overdue championship.

And how was he received? With boos. With jeers. With fake money being thrown at him.

Red Sox Nation loves to call the Yankees the Evil Empire. George Steinbrenner is Darth Vader. We Yankee fans are fans of the Empire, rooting for an evil existence.

Yet, we find time, in the midst of our hedonistic ways, to recognize those who have won for us. When former Yankees return to the Stadium as opponents, they receive standing ovations. Just ask Tino Martinez, Joe Girardi, Orlando Hernandez or David Wells (who, by the way, returned in a Red Sox uniform and was still greeted with warmth and love).

None of those guys, even Tino, meant to the Yankees what Damon meant to the Red Sox. And still they booed him.

They say the Bronx is rough. Maybe. But it still has class.

I went to an Eagles-Giants game in Philly last year. Philly fans are known to be the worst and most horrible fans in sport. Yet they treated the Giants -- and their fans -- with more respect than Red Sox Nation treated Johnny Damon last night.

It's about class.

All these years, I had always hated the Red Sox. They were the Yankees' number one rival. It broke my heart that day in October when they fell apart and lost to the Sox.

But I realized last night that it isn't about the players. I mean, hating David Ortiz makes no sense. He's a good guy. He's just doing his job (and well, unfortunately).

No, it's not the Red Sox team that has no class, that warrant no respect. It is Red Sox Nation.

The Idiots were never on the field. They were in the stands.

No Apologies

This weekend someone had made a comment to me regarding the way I live my life. I had mentioned that I make wine and she mentioned my novels and in a sarcastic tone, said, "What don't you do?"

I don't apologize for my life, that's what.

Everyone is given the same 24 hours each day. We all, as adults, need to fill most of that time working or sleeping. It's just a fact. But the rest of that time can be used for other things. For example, I use my commute to write my books. I take time out four days each year to make my wine. I go to tae kwon do. I spend as much time with my son and my wife as possible.

I am far from perfect. Too often I neglect my "Honey, Do" list at home. I don't have the time to get into the shape I'd like to be. I am addicted to video baseball and hockey games. I often rely too much on my wife, which ultimately puts more pressure on her than she needs.

But I always come home. I don't go to bars for happy hour. I don't drink the week away. I don't spend my free time dying on a couch while watching some crap on the television set (except 24, I do watch that). I encourage my son to be the best he can be. I'm respectful to my parents. I show my wife that I love her as best as I can.

I do all that and I still find time to enrich my life. Why should I apologize for that?

I'm proud of it.