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As the Red Sox begin yet another trek up the cold, hard postseason mountain, my mailbox is stocked with cans of scorn for reader Mike Lynch, who expressed disgust at the shaggy shenanigans of Beantown's Finest. Staunch Sox defenders quickly pointed out that while castigating Pedro Martinez as a headhunter, Mr. Lynch neglected to upbraid former Yankee Roger Clemens for his crazed woodchuck routine in the 2000 World Series and fondness for flinging horsehide at Mike Piazza. They also indicated that a shower and a close, comfortable shave do not prohibit the Yankees from such unsavory activities as demanding a forfeit from a team (the Tampa Bay Devil Rays) that had been delayed in arriving at the ballpark due to a weather disturbance (aka a hurricane).

And, of course, there was the weekly teaspoon of specially formulated vitriol for yours truly ...

Egads!!! I would like just once for a national sportswriter to do a little research or put a little forethought into an article regarding the Red Sox and their fans. Most Red Sox fans do not believe in a curse. It is a myth purported by one local sportswriter (Dan "The Moron" Shaughnessy) and columnists like you who do not know even one single Red Sox fan. Stop assuming we believe in curses. I feel blessed. I have seen the Red Sox in the World Series, and the playoffs six times (this year will be seven). I find it really aggravating when you state, "The Red Sox buy into what their fans and the media say about the cosmic imperative of beating the Yankees." You insinuate that fans believe in and are obsessed with a curse. Wrong. You and your fellow reporters are obsessed. -- Jason, Whitefield, Maine

I also happen to know several Red Sox fans. My late dad was one. My son is one. I have colleagues who are fans. They may not believe that supernatural hookie-dookie is afoot, but they are easily identified by their fatalistic attitude.

My point was if the Red Sox buy too heavily into Boston's overarching desire to defeat the Evil Empire (moniker courtesy of team prez Larry Lucchino), it won't be good for their postseason health. Terry Francona said he wants his players to embrace the rivalry, which is inseparable from The Curse, which is really nothing more than self-inflicted, often self-defeating pressure.

I agree the media play The Curse angle to the hilt and back. I also think a good number of fans find it attractive, in that it lends emotional heft to Boston's quest and the scream-your-lungs-out-and-give-yourself-an-aneurysm satisfaction the will come when the Sox finally win the whole tub of bean curd. And what about those Sox fans who insist on finding and dredging Babe Ruth's old piano out of the pond in Sudbury, Mass.? Or Paul Giorgio climbing Mount Everest to leave a Red Sox cap as an offering to the gods? Or the good folks who purchase "Reverse the Curse" cookies? Media-manipulated drones? Unwitting dupes in the perpetuation of an insidious myth? None of the above?

And now, let the curses flow ...

	MAILBAG Have a question or opinion for John? He might answer or address it in his next blog. Your name: Your e-mail address: Your home town: Enter your question:

Everyone cries about the Cubs and Red Sox. How about the poor White Sox? They've been far more pathetic, and in the World Series just once since their own debacle (Black Sox scandal in 1919). They don't get the press these other two teams get in their quest to win a ring. Clearly the curse of the Black Sox trumps both Babe and the goat. -- Rob, Boston, Mass.

Clearly the goat overshadows the Black Sox, maybe because the goat is cuter. But a Mr. Joel in Willard, Ohio, says phoo! to the sufferin' in the Windy City and Boston ...

Everyone talks about the poor fans of the Cubs and Red Sox who haven't won a championship since 1908 and 1918 respectively. At least those fans have other teams to cheer for as the Patriots are defending Super Bowl champs and the Bulls won six NBA championships in the '90s. No one ever talks about Cleveland, where the Browns have never been to a Super Bowl, the Cavs have never played in the NBA finals, and the Indians last won the World Series in 1948. My research shows the last title held by a team from Cleveland was the 1964 Browns. Is there any city that has suffered more? -- Joel, Willard, Ohio

San Diego, anyone? The Padres have made two unfortunate appearances in the World Series (1984, 1998) since their birth in 1969 and the recently sad-sack Chargers are 1-5 in title games (their lone AFL crown was in 1963.) San Diego was also home to the Clippers (1978-84), which is misery enough, and the Rockets, who failed to reach the playoffs before they left town in 1971. Cleveland at least won three NFL titles in seven championship game appearances between 1950 and 1957.

The pictures and films I have viewed of baseball (through the '70s) and sports in general portray ballplayers as regular guys, the middle class, just like the majority of their fans. Would you agree that the athletes of today -- in general -- are a reflection of the fans that make them the celebrities that they are? As America goes, so goes its superstars? -- Mike Karlis, Bridgewater, N.J.

Methinks we live in a star-struck society that often grossly over-rewards its entertainers, and athletes now dwell in a realm of celebrity that was once reserved for movie stars. Sheez, Tiger Woods' nuptials are front-page news and gossip columns ooze sightings of shortstops canoodling with busty super models at Le Club Wretched Excess while the Sultan of Brunei sends over another hogshead of Dom Perignon.

Players are also acutely aware of their vast earning potential as pitchmen, video game subjects, authors, actors, and recording artists. Many actively maintain a blandly attractive image to avoid alienating potential sponsors and customers.

As an unwashed urchin in the 1960s, I used to buy baseball cards and read scintillating tidbits on the back like outfielder Moe Schmotts of the Washington Senators spending the offseason pumping gas in Slippery Elm, Ark. Today, Moe would own Slippery Elm and live in a gate community in Miami.

Ballplayers were more quirky, or at least more publicly quirky, during my salad daze. "Must be all that ballpark organ music," mused one, whose name I wish I could recall. Many took pride in their nicknames and off-kilter behavior. Take a gander at a photo of reliever Jim "The Amazing Emu" Kern of the 1979-81 Texas Rangers. He makes Johnny Damon look absolutely hairless. Think anyone could get away with closer Al "Mad Hungarian" Hrabosky's stompin' and steamin' act after every pitch these days?

The notion that the modern ballplayer has changed first sunk into my numb skull several years ago while I was in the Atlanta Braves clubhouse before a game at Shea Stadium in New York. Pitcher Tom Glavine came in off the team bus, resplendently sharp in his suit and polished shoes, carrying a briefcase, cell phone, and a folded Wall Street Journal. He could have been a Madison Ave. muckety-muck pulling into the office. I'm not bellowing this is bad, just that I miss Spaceman Lee and his propeller beanie and coonskin cap.

That's it for this week's grim business. Keep them penny dreadfuls comin'. All subjects are welcome.