The NFL did what?

Field hockey was what?

No, I’m not hard of hearing.

This is me, the sports guy, daring to break the mold, not being the sports guy for once.

Beyond the hull of the sports guy lies the distraught, emotionally drained American, just like the 270 million others than stand beside me.

But I never considered myself a patriot – more of an objective crusader for democracy.

My crusade nearly crumbled when I folded into the arms of my best friend last Tuesday night, weeping like a child from the thought of being drafted to fight a war of invisible angst.

I wasn’t thinking about 70. Or 116. Or His Airness, No. 23.

I was thinking about Dr. Mark Heath’s amateur video on CNN. I was thinking about how terrorists found the best homing missiles money could buy.

I was thinking about Rev. Mychal Judge, the late chaplain of the New York City Fire Department, who befriended my father years ago, calling my house every now and then.

"Hello? Is Daddy there?" he would say.

He died while delivering the last rites to fallen firefighters in New York City.

Rage, sadness, revenge and fear, convoluted and resting in a pit in my stomach.

Not national rankings. Not NCAA. Not the TCNJ Lions.

Death. War. Famine. Pestilence. Bin Laden.

Every morning for the last week, as I raised the shade of my Eickhoff Hall window, I wondered if the day would still be crowned by a cloudless azure blue. I hoped it would finally be overcast, so as to not add to the surrealism of this situation.

Except for Friday’s rain-soaked afternoon of memoriam, which curiously cleared before dusk, Mother Nature punished us with beautiful days suited for baseball. But the stadiums remained still and silent.

I busied my mind with thoughts of a shortened baseball season. Now the World Series will be played in November. Week 2 of the NFL suspended in New York, Pittsburgh and Washington, D.C. was unsettling to begin with. Then, no football was played this weekend.

I have tried to overcome, but there’s only so much I can do when even "Family Guy" is pre-empted by its stellar opposite, "The O’Reilly Factor."

I was assuaged when Craig Biggio told ESPN’s Peter Gammons that the NL pennant didn’t matter to him anymore. I was inspired when Mike Lupica of the New York Daily News and Bob Ryan of the Boston Globe dueled over the importance of football in America this first weekend.

I seethed when Palestinians in Jerusalem cheered the carnage. I staggered when an Iraqi newspaper headline read, "Attack was justified." I was nauseous when Saddam Hussein called last Tuesday a "good day" and a "victory."

My crusade has temporarily halted. Take the reins until I’ve gathered myself.

The New York City skyline? Just a blemish.

The replays of the billowing smoke? Look for animal formations and the like.

The thousands of casualties? We hold our heads high in their memory.

Replace shattered glass and twisted metal with rawhide, leather and hickory.

Have a catch with Dad in the back yard. Go watch the Phillies duke it out with the Braves for the National League East title. Come see the U.S. women’s soccer team make a mockery of their opponents. Root for their drive as repeat national champions.

Raise your bats for love of the game, not of violence.

I wish I could join America and play catch on the frontline. I wish I could be the sports guy again. But my country is bleeding. I must yield.

If they lay a finger on Yankee Stadium, however, there’ll be hell to pay.

 ©2001 by Anthony Lardaro

Anthony Lardaro, a junior journalism major at The College of New Jersey, is co-editor of the sports section of The Signal.

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