I’m a sports guy. Our idea of a good time is watching two teams of heavily armored gladiators pound one another every weekend. We nearly swoon when Mark McGwire launches a baseball deep into the upper-deck seats. Good theatre? We’d recommend “Rocky” and “Rocky II,” “Bang the Drum Slowly,” and more recently, “Remember the Titans.” Our concept of gourmet cuisine is a Dodger Dog, a cold beer, and a cigar for dessert.

Men have a thing about not showing their emotions, especially sports guys. We’ve buried our faces in towels rather than letting the world see tears of disappointment as the clock winds down.

If a towel isn’t available, we fake a yawn and hurriedly wipe dampened eyes. As a last resort, we feign allergy or sinus infection.

The rest of the world seems to regard sport writers as a pretty tough lot, too, and to be honest, we are, even if we ourselves wonder about people who look up to the Odd Couple’s Oscar Madison as a role model. Still, if it is any solace, sport writers cry too. And the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon have affected us as deeply as it has the rest of America. (If you’re taking a hit on the stock market, you might consider investing in Kleenex. As I write this, it’s been only a week, and I’ve already gone through a box of tissues.)

Then on Sept. 11, the world woke us up to horrific images. It wasn’t a documentary, it wasn’t Hollywood. It was reality, and it isn’t the way any of us want to wake up, ever again. Initially, it was almost a feeling of disbelief, as if we were watching a trailer for Arnold Schwartzenegger’s latest film. The intense roller coaster of events took all of us on the ride of our lives. Confusion turned to terror which gave way to a deep sorrow for the lives lost. Most of us went to bed that Tuesday with a righteous anger, a sentiment that remains strong.

So we watched the continuous coverage the TV networks offered. We went online for late-breaking analysis. Radio kept us updated as we drove to work. And it seemed every other report brought tears to my eyes. Every American was glued to their televisions that week. We saw the press conferences, the commentaries, the stark images that riveted us all. Every time. I did pretty well until I heard someone singing “God Bless America,” or the National Anthem. Or noticed the weary rescue workers who seem to dig in vain for the remains of thousands. Then I grabbed the Kleenex.

I take some solace in knowing that I’m not alone. There are probably tons of wadded tissues in wastebaskets over this great land, in fact, around the world. If those heartless fanatics that flew American jets into buildings on a dark Tuesday thought they would bring sorrow – they succeeded. If they thought they would bring this nation to it’s knees – they also succeeded. We have been on our knees ever since – in prayer. Yeah, sports guys say their prayers too.

After a week without sports, I was relieved when Major League Baseball resumed play. I respected the decision by the professional sporting leagues to postpone games. After witnessing the carnage of Sept. 11, most of us weren’t psychologically ready to watch a ball game, let alone a sitcom. By the end of the week, though, I wanted to watch something that wouldn’t make me loose it emotionally. I was tired of crying. Six days after the attacks upon America, us “sports guys” were given a major break. ESPN featured the St. Louis Cardinals against the Milwaukee Brewers. Nothing like a good ‘ole baseball game to get back in synch.

Honestly, I probably made it at least 15 minutes into the program before the tears began to well. They sang, “God Bless America.” It was about the 50th time I’ve heard it this week. Never made it through the whole song without breaking down, even when the Congress sang it. Next was the “Star Spangled Banner,” and even players and coaches got misty. But when legendary Cardinals announcer Jack Buck, stricken by Parkinson’s disease and barely able to hold his notes steady, made his way to the podium to read a poem he’d written, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, including Jack’s.

You know what? It turned out to be a pretty darned good ball game. St. Louis rookie Bud Smith pitched another gem and the Cards won, 2-1. Sure, the crowd was somewhat subdued. But the red, white, and blue was everywhere, patriotism was rampant, and some healing took place. At “ground zero” in what was once the World Trade Center Complex, tired firefighters and rescue personnel labored in what was becoming a vain effort to retrieve a living body. But for a few hours, the minds of a nation were given a respite. Come what may, the flag was waving in St. Louis, and they were playing America’s national game. I think seeing that made us all feel a little better.

The events of the past weeks have certainly put sports into perspective. It’s just a game. No one dies. Everyone lives to play another week. But over the next few months, sporting events might just be the remedy for wounded hearts and teary eyes. As the winds of war blow stronger and we count our dead, the adversity will take an emotional toll. We’ll need brief respite from the terror, something to help us maintain some sanity. Somehow watching a ball game seems to allow such escape.

One thing for sure, we’ll all feel different when they play the national anthem before the games in the next few months. They’ll probably continue to sing “God Bless America” for awhile too. And I imagine our eyes will get a little watery when they do.