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I wanted to be poetic. I really did. About kicking off this column's first installment of the soon-to-begin '07 baseball season, that is. I'd even planned a whole riff using the hibernation of the North American black bear, which is indigenous to the woods near and around Port Getaway, Maine, where I spend much of my offseason (and in-season) time, as a metaphor for the winterlong slumber of my pinstriped heart.

Planned, heck. I researched the bear's torpid winter habits this morning at about five o'clock, figuring I'd work some of the gathered info into this little introductory piece. And if you don't believe me, here's a tidbit I uncovered: While the creature sleeps in its den, its heart rate drops from between 60 and 90 beats per minute to between eight and 40 beats. Its body temperature also drops precipitously, though the head stays much warmer to support various brain functions.

But let me stop with the bare facts of bears. Because the whole thing didn't work for me. I had to scrap it.

Why, you ask?

Well, for openers, my pinstriped ticker didn't go into an extended period of slowdown after last year's postseason — I was too annoyed by the Yanks' early elimination for proper relaxation of that or any other muscle in my body. Also, I couldn't have snoozed out of baseball-mode if I tried. It may be thirteen degrees outside The Getaway at this very moment, with a wind chill of zero degrees — no exaggeration, I did my morning research on this too — but there's been enough hot air blowing up from the Boston Fens these past few months to keep even the most bearish of local Yank fans wide awake.

Like that bogus quote from Mariano Rivera.

As we all know, what happened was that Rivera made some comments about desiring a contract extension in the first days of spring training. This was right around the time it was becoming evident that his longtime teammate Bernie Williams would not be offered a major league contract or guaranteed a roster spot with the Yanks. So, loyal guy that he is, Mo probably got more than a bit disappointed about Bernie's situation, a bit upset by its apparent finality, and made a remark about his desire for that extension, and hoping he would get the respect that's due him from the Yankee organization.

The Yankees' front office, however, made a decision not to discuss a contract renewal with Rivera at that time.

Mo didn't like it. I didn't like it. Nor, probably, did you, or anyone else outside the Yankee front office. Except Met and Sox fans. The Yankee front office, however, cuts the big payroll checks for Yankee players. Making my, and your, opinions irrelevant. Though I figure they'll eventually take Mo's into consideration.

Anyway, while this tempest in a teapot was brewing, some reporter cornered Mo when he was getting into his car or something, and asked if he would ever pitch for the Red Sox. And he said exactly this:

"You never know."

And got into his car. Or something.

A day or two later, he when the banner headlines started flapping in the wind, Rivera, graceful soul that he is, realized he'd better put the matter to rest before it got out of hand, and said he would never pitch for the Red Sox.

However in the jabbering, weirdly distorted game of telephone that passes between the New York and Boston baseball markets, nothing pertaining to the eternal Yanks/Sox rivalry is ever put to rest.

Hence, "Gimme more money or I'm going to the Red Sox."

Yeesh.

And while I'm on the subject of dumb stuff that comes out of Sox fans' mouths . . .

The name of the new and instantly legendary Red Sox pitcher from Japan is Daisuke Matsuzaka. In transliterated Japanese, the letter "u" is generally mute, or silent. Therefore, in order to help Sox fans correctly pronounce his name, the Sox publicity machine generated the hip nickname Dice-K, which is sort of clever aside from the fact that it's evocative of Andrew Dice Clay, aka "The Diceman", a cruddy 1980s comedian (but decent dramatic actor, believe it or not) presently and unfortunately trying to make a comeback.

In Boston, the fans have pretty much gotten Matsuzaka's name right.

Here up north, in Port Getaway and its environs, it's a different story.

Hereabouts, the indigenous Sox fan insists on calling him "Matsui". As in Yankee outfielder Hideki Matsui.

I try to correct these people. The Wife tries to correct them. It doesn't work.

"His name is Matsuzaka," The Wife told someone just last week or so. "Mat-su-za-ka."

The person, who'd been crowing about the unparalleled greatness of this ace who's never thrown a single pitch in the majors, nodded.

"That's right," he agreed. "Matsui Matsuzaka."

She gave up. After a while, what else can you do?

Enough, though. I won't even get into the enlightened discussion of Johnny Damon's "traitor's guilt" I heard on Boston sports radio the other day. Or their foul and insulting comments about Roger Clemens, who last year was their offseason savior because they thought he would join their team, and who this year is a washed up has-been because they suspect he's going to sign with the Yankees before all is said and done.

The point I was trying to make before is that, as usual, the Sox fans are beating their chests as the '07 season approaches.

Name (mis)pronunciations aside, they have not a shred of doubt Dice-K will succeed where, say, former high-priced Yankee disasters Hideki Irabu, Jose Contreras, etcetera, etcetera, failed. Again, it doesn't matter that nobody's ever seen the legend pitch, except for a few days back, when he did a good job against some awestruck college kids whose batting helmets were too big for their heads.

They have no doubt.

They likewise have no doubt that former Red Sox closer, and current starter, Jonathan "Wild Thing" Papelbon will be fortunate enough to have his arm stay firmly in its shoulder socket throughout the season, as was not the case last year, when it slipped out down the stretch. And that knuckleballer Tim Wakefield will have a bounceback season after the poor one he had in '06. And that the 40-plus year old pitcher Curt Schilling will revert to the thirtysomething pitcher Curt Schilling. And that last offseason's legendary pitcher, Josh Beckett, who at least had a major league record before he joined the Red Sox, will learn to cut down on those straight and flat fastballs with which he kept trying to overpower American League hitters last year, only to make them salivate with homer lust.

After some initial squeals of protest, Sox fans have settled into liking the acquisition of J.D. Drew. He's got that OBP that Theo loves. When he isn't injured. Which is rarely.

They also like Julio Lugo at shortstop. His twenty- or thirty-plus errors per season are a minor wrinkle in the package he brings, and one that he'll correct now that he's wearing a Red Sox uniform.

Contrary-wise, in their collective opinion, the Yankees reacquired Andy Pettitte three years too late. He, like his pal Rocket, and the rest of the Yankee pitching rotation, is overrated and over the hill.

And Mo's done. Unless he pitches for them next year.

And —

Wait. Didn't I say enough already? Somebody shut those Sox fans up, please. I hear them even when I can't hear them. And while you're shutting them up, do the same to me. I am getting on my own nerves.

But I can't help it. It's been (and still is) a long restless winter in Port Getaway. I want to watch, and talk, and write about, some real, honest-to-goodness baseball games.

I'm ready for them.

So ready, indeed, that I've got a special request for those of you lucky enough to be watching Yankee spring preseason games and workouts under sunny skies in Tampa, instead of being stuck, as am I, in the Port Getaway cold.

I'd like to hear your spring training stories. Your scouting reports. I'd like them so much, and am so eager to live spring training vicariously through your experiences, that I've persuaded the wonderful and generous folks at YES (who, believe it or not, pay me for writing this column) to let me hold a little contest in lieu of outright bribery.

Click here to send me your stories, and I'll print the best ones, or portions of them, here in this virtual space. If I use your story, you'll get an item or two of YES merch. You'll also get a couple of my books, signed if you'd like.

I can't wait to hear from you. Seriously.

And likewise seriously, it's good to be back.

Griping aside.

This season's columns are for Mickey Preisler — aka Missus Frakes — a cat who always loved driving past the Bronx. I miss you most terribly, old girl.