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I'm pleased to report that you've heeded my anguished cry for thoughtful commentary and staved off my insidious plan to write a treatise on Keynesian economics. Before I fetch the ol' canvas mailbag and dispense your thoughts and sentiments, I'd like to empty the contents of my head on your desk.

Whilst stowing spent fuel rods in the SIKids.com boiler room last week, I heard Red Sox manager Terry Francona interviewed by Michael Kay on ESPN radio. He was asked if the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry has turned out to be much bigger and more intense than he expected when he took the job last winter. He replied that indeed it was and it was darn good for baseball and he wanted his players to buy whole-hog into the passion and history of it all.

If you're a Yankees fan, you should be thinking, "Heh, heh. Good. Let 'em." Because the more the Red Sox buy into what their fans and the media say about the cosmic imperative of beating the Yankees and reversing The Curse of the Babe, the less likely it is that they actually will.

From where I sit and mope, there is no supernatural whammy on the Sox or the Cubs. What both teams are failing to beat is merely the psychological weight of accumulated failure. The more they dwell on it, and the more importance they place on one thing (beating the Yankees and/or winning the World Series), the more they are taken out of the moment -- invariably the fateful moment when they find themselves on the verge of the victory they want most. The lump in the windpipe forms from a simple thought: "Oh my God, we're about TO DO IT!!!" In that tiny window of time, the ball will surely skip by the fielder as he extends his glove a nanosecond too late, or the skipper's brain will frost over with the fatal import of Decision ("I don't dare get this wrong!"), and the so-called Curse will live on for another year.

After losing in the most galling fashion for 80-odd years, the Red Sox and Cubs might try stowing their crowing about holy quests and Evil Empires while quietly going about their business. The Sox would be better off treating the Yankees like the Detroit Tigers, the Cubs by viewing the World Series as Opening Day. Yeah, it's a dull approach, but cocky blather about having the Yankees running scared merely sets Boston up for another agonizing fall, one that's made more likely by the sheer weight of being THE RED SOX.

Besides, what happens after these teams finally slay the dragon? They lose their special distinction, that's what. The New York Rangers had a romantic glow during their comically heartbreaking 54-year quest for the Stanley Cup. After they finally grabbed the old mug in 1994, they became just another NHL team, and a dreary one at that. They lie around the basement of the Atlantic Division year after year as the beer cans and dirty laundry pile up and their fans shriek at them to get up off their fat asses. There is a distinct lack of charm about Broadway Blueshirts now. Would losing continue to be quite so bittersweet and inspiring for the Sox and Cubs and their fans after they win The Big One? I don't think so.

I now turn the bullhorn over to you:

Which will last the longest: the curse of William Penn for Philly sports teams or the curse of the unbeaten season for the Miami Dolphins? -- Rick Bruhn, Mercerville, N.J.

Good question, sir. William Penn, for those of you keeping score at home, was the founder of Pennsylvania who wrote the "Concessions and Agreements" charter for a group of Quaker settlers in New Jersey (the Mara family, I assume) in 1672. Ten years later, he informed the Delaware Indians, "I desire to gain your Love and Friendship by a kind, Just and Peaceable Life. If not, I shall place a hex of the blackest order upon your sporting minions and they shall have the devil's own time tasting the sweet bubbly of championship."

It's fascinating how fans everywhere can perceive hoodoo at work. Until the Phillies won the Series in 1980, much was made about how the franchise was shadowed by the squad that blew a sure pennant with a 10-game losing skid in the final weeks of the 1964 season. The Flyers and Eagles have come maddeningly close to championships in recent years. But are they really cursed? How about the Chicago Blackhawks, who own the NHL's longest Cupless schneid (43 years)?

Sheez, if anyone should be screaming about curses, it's the 12 people who root for the Arizona Cardinals. The NFL's oldest continuously operating franchise (fine, hand-crafted agony since 1899) have had exactly three winning seasons and one playoff win since 1983. The Cards last won the NFL championship in 1947. Did someone put a pox on owner Billy Bidwill's fedora? It seems that no matter who the Cardinals hire to coach them or who they sign or draft, you always find them belly-up on the bottom of the birdcage. Smells like mean spirits, man.

As for the unbeaten season thing, maybe the members of the 1972 Dolphins do get together to slaughter chickens and put some bad vuggum on any team that dares threaten their 17-0 mark. What do you think? Is your favorite team cursed? How and why?

I'm disgusted and ashamed that you could ever express admiration for the Red Sox. Such classless characters as Pedro (who throws at whoever he feels fit), Manny (who loafs it around the bases and the field), Millar (who shamelessly pronounced that he would rather be playing beside A-Rod than teammate Nomar), and Johnny the Passion of the Damon (who has ridiculous hair that is in such contrast to the classy, clean-shaven Yankees) embarrass the game of baseball. -- Mike Lynch, Syracuse, N.Y.

I wasn't giving the shaggy Sox a free pass to the Cretin Hop, sir. I was merely saying I find it refreshing when a "colorful" team comes along with a loosey-goosey spirit. I think the sporting landscape is generally much blander now than it was when I was young and foolish. The occasional animated personality stands out a lot more now -- when it dares reveal itself on the field. My pet theory is that this HUGE money era has spawned a tightly buttoned-down, high stakes mindset where everyone takes things way too seriously.

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If a pitcher intentionally hits a batter in the head, he is suspended for several games. Same if a hockey player clubs somebody with his stick. This happens even if the victim isn't hurt, because of the potential for serious injury. We know the danger of auto wrecks. Yet Robby Gordon gets off with a slap on the wrist from NASCAR, no suspension at all. If NASCAR wants to be taken seriously, shouldn't it take a tougher line with rogues such as Gordon (the racing version of Todd Bertuzzi) before somebody gets killed? Or is NASCAR positioning itself for the pro wrestling audience? -- Ben Long. Boulder, Colo.

It might be. NASCAR is ratings-driven, so to speak, and TV ratings are parked near the port-o-potty -- off by almost 40 percent for the first race of the ballyhooed Chase for the Nextel Cup. That's the one where Gordon got miffed at Greg Biffle, openly vowed he would wreck him and did ... and in the process, knocking title contenders Tony Stewart and Jeremy Mayfield out of contention for the win. Gordon got off with a two-lap penalty and was placed on "probation" (a fuzzy term that may well mean no dessert or TV for the rest of the season) by the Childress racing team.

It's a country mile beyond absurd that you can attack someone with a 3,400-pound car at well above 100 miles per hour and not get hauled off to the hoosegow. Violence is too often legally excused when it takes place in an arena. Yes, many sports are rough and intense and we can't have Officer Kupcake hauling off everyone who dishes out a bone-crushing hit or plunks someone with a high heater. Yet, unnecessary violence is like obscenity -- you sure know it when you see it -- and no sport should be a legal umbrella for stuff that would put an average schlub like you or me in the can for a nice long stretch if we tried it on our neighbors or co-workers.

That's it for now. For the love of God and mom's half-baked apple crumble, keep your thoughts and opinions coming. Feel free to introduce any subject you like or challenge any respondent you've seen here to a duel.