Often, as I travel, I try to remember exactly why it was that people used to be so upset by Muzak, or elevator music. We didn't know how good we had it. Oh, as I move about now, what I would give just to be able to hear Mantovani playing Moon River again and again. Instead, our unwilling ears are now bombarded by all manner of speech, of announcements, of advisories and proscriptions, of radio and television programs.

When did it become official national policy that no public place could be allowed to exist without constant programmed noise?

And that, of course, doesn't even take into account the volunteer noise-makers who feel inclined to conduct their most personal conversations, loudly, on cell phones. Excuse me -- yell phones. Alas, as an institution, sport is a prime accomplice in the modern crime of unmitigated noise. The worst thing about Janet Jackson baring her breast during the Super Bowl halftime show was that it diverted criticism away from the unrestrained cacophony that had preceded her unveiling. Surely our ears were offended far worse than our eyes, but the NFL has escaped that censure.

But, of course, it is attending games where we are at greatest risk. Each year stadiums and arenas become artificially noisier, as the public address blares out trumpet calls and canned music and just plain loud racket. There used to be something so wonderfully pure about a crowd letting out with a spontaneous roar. Now, unfortunately, fans are just as liable to, in unison, scream vulgarities. It is called free speech, although you have to pay your way in to hear it. Civility and courtesy are not protected by the Constitution, even if, as I always understood it, if you bought a ticket, you were, in effect, buying a license that could be revoked.

John Anderson, the assistant attorney general of Maryland has concluded that offensive speech in a public place is not an unalloyed right, especially when exercised before what he calls "captive auditors." I understand that "captive auditors" means, in particular, children, but it is a phrase I am proud to embrace. From now on, in whatever public space, or wherever in the presence of cell phones, I will think of myself as a captive auditor. It is good to have a fancy official name for being a victim.

From both an auditory and visual position, though, the single worst word that has ever been unleashed on sport is "sucks." It is not a dirty word. I can say it on the radio, or write it in a column, as I just did. But it is such a rude, nasty little word, isn't it? Frankly, there are a lot of dirty words I like better. But fans love to scream, ad nauseum, that the opponents suck or such-and-such a player sucks. In the fashion of the times, they even chant it. Or they print the same things on T-shirts, and people actually think it makes them really clever fans if they wear T-shirts that say "So-and-so Sucks." If I could ask one thing of the neanderthal creeps at games who bother captive auditors like me, it would be to at least come up with another rude and childish word to replace "sucks."

And thank you, also, for standing on the right and walking on the left.

Sports Illustrated senior contributing writer Frank Deford is a regular contributor to SI.com and appears each Wednesday on National Public Radio's Morning Edition. He is a longtime correspondent for HBO's Real Sports and his new novel, An American Summer (Sourcebooks Trade), is available at bookstores everywhere.