When we last left Red Sox pegboy Peter King, he was returning from South Africa, where he couldn’t find a single barista that could adequately make a triple espresso double Snickers caramel Doritolatte with banana Romo foam to suit his needs. A shame. Ah, but he did find something in Cape Town that all South African tourists can agree on: FREE PERONI GLASSES. I know that’s why I hope to travel the world one day.

So Peter’s on vacation for the rest of this month, which is so unfair. Twenty years ago, he got FIVE months of vacation every year! And now he only gets one? THE GALL. The disgusting gall of this era of history. Don’t the people at Time Warner understand that a good nugget takes TIME to develop? The mind must rest, so that nuggets can be thought, or at least thought that they’ve been thought. Anyway, with Peter away, we are once again compelled to dive back into the King archives to unearth this treasured Klassic King kolumn. Oh, yes. Reader Ken sent in a link to this King column from way back in December of 2000. We were all so innocent back then. We knew nothing of Westin’s diabolical scheme to deny reservations, or people talking too loudly on Acela, or melty Kit Kats. It was a much sweeter time. So genuine. So down to Earth. So, so… FAVRIAN.

That’s right. Today’s Klassic King kolumn focuses squarely on the Land Baron. Read on for an early glimpse at a young and frisky Peter’s courtship with a rugged, swahbucklin’ gunslingin’, quasi-Jack Twistesque quarterback. What were these two like back then? Did they enjoy the trees and the talk? Did they know of nutmeg in lasagna? Did Brett lead the league in smirkiness? JOIN US BELOW…

Packers players’ lounge, 1:30 p.m. Saturday.

Oooh, a dateline! It makes any King column feel like a Tony Scott movie. STARBUCKS COFFEE. INDIANA, PA. 14:43 HOURS.

Brett Favre, fetching a Gatorade from the cooler. “Fifteen questions,” I say. “Fifteen minutes.”

Just give King fifteen minutes. That’s all he asks. Fifteen minutes is all he needs to get the answers to the questions AMERICA id dying to ask. You’ll see. You’ll see just how masterfully King is able to extract pertinent information from a Hall of Fame quarterback. By the end of this interview, King will know the location of the Russian microfiche AND have a pair of signed gloves in his grasp. You watch.

“Fine,” he says. “I can hit some golf balls while we talk.”

ZOMG! HE HITS GOLF BALLS! HE’S LIKE REAL PEOPLE!

And so we head over to the Don Hutson Center across the street from the stadium. Favre drops 70 balls on the AstroTurf, pulls out his 60-degree lob wedge and doesn’t wait for the first question.

Brett doesn’t have time for games. He has REAL time-wastin’ to get to!

“Love this,” he said. “I’m so into golf. Not being able to play this time of year drives me crazy. So I come in here and hit balls.”

Okay, I’m ready now. I’m ready for Peter to begin his interrogation. Do it now, Peter! Get in his grill! Ask him about the Vicodin! Ask him if he’s washed up! GIVE HIM THE HEATERRRRR!

1. Why golf?

Oh, sweet Jesus. You had fifteen minutes. You could have asked him anything. You could have also saved 15% on your car insurance. You could have pressed him for answers like a host at Jillian’s. Instead, we get this…

Favre: “Because no one’s conquered it, ever. The same club you hit perfect one day you’ll shank ‘em with the next. Every club’s a challenge. Every shot’s a challenge. That’s why Tiger Woods is so great. He hits so many different shots so…”

Oh, sorry. Fell asleep there. I was just listening to Favre drone on about how hard golf is like every other asshole middle-aged golfer in perpetuity.

Okay, first question out of the way. I get it now. Peter is buttering Brett up. He’s clearly making small talk before busting out the big guns. I know it’s gonna happen. I can sense it.

2. What’s your best day in golf?

Just kidding. Watch as the questions somehow get MORE inane.

3. You play a lot, right?

Like that one.

Favre: “I joined Oneida [Country Club] last year…

You know what I like about Brett Favre? He’s so darn grounded. He wears Wranglers and joins country clubs, just like the rest of us.

”…and was there so much I got to be like Norm from Cheers.

Who?

You know, he walks in the place and everybody says, ‘Norm!’

Oh! I totally know who that is now. PHEW!

That’s how much I’m at Oneida. And I’ll put on the Golf Channel at 2 o’clock in the morning and maybe pick up a tip on how to hit a wedge.”

So thus far, here is what we know: Brett Favre likes to golf. So much so, that he goes to the country club frequently to do so. Also, he’s considering buying Dolphins season tickets. MAYBE. POSSIBLY.

4. And now you’re into hunting?

“Would you mind wasting more time by talking about irrelevant matters?”

Favre: “I love hunting. Tell you a story.

Oh, please do.

”Before the Monday night game against the Vikings a few weeks ago, we practiced Sunday morning. Beautiful day. About 60, sunny. Everybody in town must have had the same thought I did — maybe this is the last good golf day of the year — and so Oneida was jammed.

Everyone there WAS Norm!

It played so slow I only made nine holes. Wasn’t much fun, going so slow. We had to be at the hotel for meetings at 7 o’clock, so I decided to hunt for a couple of hours. I’ve got a tree stand about 45 minutes from here.

And that is where I go to DISAPPEAR. Few people know this, but Brett is actually the author of the Morning Porch twitter feed. He goes into the tree stand and spends a moment in awe of the majesty of nature.

Slowly, the deer sniffs at a lilac. The earthy dirt smells faintly of cumin.

Bees take the nectar into their hungry bellies. We are the now. SPLASH.

I got in it about 3:45. I had a bow with me. Within 10 minutes, a beautiful eight-point buck came right underneath me. I hit it right in the back. It ran off, and I waited a minute, then I found it, laying up against a tree. I dragged it out of the woods and put it in the truck. Blood all over the back of the truck. And I got to the hotel right on time. I’m a mess. People wonder what’s happened to me. I’m like: ‘It’s been a great day. Touchdown passes at practice this morning, golf in the afternoon, and an eight-point buck a couple hours ago. How was your day?’

WHAT A MAN.

5. Have golf and hunting taken the place of your old vices?

“Hell no. Ever hunt while on cocaine and Ambien? Makes me want to jack off, it’s so hot.”

Favre: “Even if I wanted to party — and I don’t — when would I squeeze it in?”

I’m too busy being EVERYMAN.

6. Who should be president?

This is the sixth question. There are nine left to go. By question 12, it’s possible Peter will be asking Brett if the three-point shot in basketball is a good idea.

Favre: “That’s one question I ain’t got a clue about. Democrat, Republican, who gives a crap? We should all be thankful to live in America.”

Who cares who gets to be President? Just be glad you live in America, even if the office ends up being occupied by some sort of fascist alien squid.

7. What’s your favorite TV show?

Holy shit. Really? Brett, what’s your favorite TV show? What’s your favorite color? Do you read magazines? What would we do without recycling? Don’t you think firefighters EARN their money? If monkeys had boxing gloves, would they be cuter, or more frightening? YOU ARE A LEGEND. THAT IS MY QUESTION, EVEN IF IT IS NOT A QUESTION.

Favre: “I don’t remember the last time I watched prime-time TV.

I’m too normal and golfy to watch CBS!

”I watch The Learning Channel…

That’s how I learn!

”…the Discovery Channel, Animal Planet and on Friday, Saturday and Sunday I watch National Geographic on CNBC. I like Boyd Matson. Now, you asked me about the damn presidential crap in Florida, that’s been preempting my National Geographic show.

Damn Presidential CRAP! What the heck hell shuck darnation is this gunk doin’ gummin’ up my show? REAL AMERICANS DON’T CARE ABOUT THIS POLITICAL CRAP! I WANNA SEE ELK!

“That pisses me off…

He swears! I do that! THIS MAN SHOULD RUN FOR OFFICE.

The other day, I saw a real good show called The Kingdom of the Snake. [My wife] Deanna said, ‘I’m not watching a show on snakes.’ I said, ‘Well, I’ll go in the other room, then.’”

Don’t like snakes? Then I’m outta here, YOU PIT VIPER WHORE.

8. Why are you such a good player when it’s cold? (The Packers, with Favre quarterbacking, ran their record to 26-0 Sunday when it’s 34° or colder.)

The following answer is now hilarious in the wake of the 2007 NFC title game.

Favre: “Hey, I get cold, too. I freeze my rear end off. But I always think, ‘If it’s going to be cold, the receivers’ hands are gonna be cold. Maybe I’ll take a little something off the ball, make it a little more catchable.’ I concentrate more. I’m more into it mentally.”

”But I think it’s also because I don’t let it bug me.”

”The other night, we’ve got two or three inches of snow on the driveway. I go out to shovel in shorts and clogs.”

I don’t let no cold get to me. I’M AMERICAN.

”I’m out there for two hours. I guess I could pay somebody to do that, couldn’t I?”

I guess that’s what fancy folks would do. But not me. I done did that all myself. Hey, did I mention all the guys at the country club love me?

”Deanna at one point calls out to me, ‘You probably ought to put some pants on.’ “

FUCK YOU, HARLOT. I WILL WEAR SHORTS AND WATCH SNAKES AND YOU CAN GET BREAST CANCER IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT.

”Probably. I’m too lazy. Anyway, if you’re gonna get adjusted to this weather, you’ve got to brave it.”

Unless you’re old and it’s December in New York and you don’t really like playing for Eric Mangini.

9. What’s your best prank of the year?

Six more questions like this.

Favre: “Had to be when I pulled down [special-teams coach] Frank Novak’s pants after practice one day. Classic.”

That is the BEST prank ever! Did you do a Sling Blade impression while you were pulling the pants down? You couldn’t have. Too genius. Too PERFECT.

10. Last movie you saw?

So, do you, uh, like stuff?

How about that weather? Heard we might get rain.

Favre: Men of Honor. Robert DeNiro and Cuba Gooding Jr. Great movie. They both deserve a damn Oscar.”

They are our Bogarts.

11. How’s it having a baby daughter, Breleigh?

“Oh, it’s just like the last daughter was. Only I’m not drunk this time.”

12. What’s on the CD player in your car?

Goldfrapp!

Favre: “Tim McGraw. ‘Everything I Want,’

Ah. Probably should have guessed better.

”I think.”

MAYBE.

“We’re friends. We’ve got a lot in common.”

Of course you do. You’re so NORMAL! And down to Earth. And wildly rich beyond the imaginations of most any blue collar American.

13. Why is there green writing on your underwear?

Wait, what? Was that really a question?

13. Why is there green writing on your underwear?

It was! Holy SHIT. Hey Brett, why is there green writing on your underwear? And why does it smell like bubble gum? Can I keep it? Can I sleep with it under my pillow? Will you call me and leave a message so I can save it and listen to it while holding the underwear, feeling its soft cotton touch between my fingers?

Favre: “Damn Hasselbeck and Wuerffel. [Matt, the backup quarterback, and Danny, No. 3.] I come in one day and they’ve autographed my underwear. One cheek’s got ‘With love, Matt Hasselbeck.’ The other’s got, ‘All the best, Danny Wuerffel.’ Still I wear ‘em all the time.”

IN THE SNOW.

”One of my best pair. One of my only pair.”

I’m so fucking normal, I don’t even need underwear. Let’s see that fancy, underwear-wearing Jeff Garcia top THAT.

”Bottom line is, the more money I get, the worse I dress. Money’s not too big a thing with me. I don’t even have an ATM card.”

But I do know Tim McGraw. He’s a great golfer.

15. You want to finish your career here?

Favre: “Definitely. If in two years, say, they want to trade me, I’d probably walk away. Retire.”

But if they want to trade me eight years? FUCK THAT. Where’s the fucking loyalty? I will keep playing, and I will make them rue the day they traded me when I throw Tracy Porter the easiest pick of his fucking life.

And when you retire?

Oh, I’ll probably just be out shoveling snow in my underwear with Tim McGraw. You know. NORMAL SHIT.

Favre: “I’ll be down in Hattiesburg. You’ll never find me.”

Unless you go to Hattiesburg. Or you’re in LA and have a camera on you.

“You know the HBO ‘Where Are They Now?’ segments on Inside the NFL? They’ll do one on me, but they’ll have to get Robert Stack, like on Unsolved Mysteries. I’ll disappear.”

King nine years later:

“I think Brett Favre is perilously close to leaving the game – for good, this time — and disappearing into a Mississippi deer stand for a long time.”

So if you want to plant an idea in King’s mind, you need to perform the Inception nine years in advance.

Fifteen minutes became two hours. That’s how it usually is with Favre.

It’s true. Time did slow down to nothing while reading his thoughts.

I think this is why I like Johnson’s teammate, rookie tackle Chris Samuels: Samuels has had an excellent rookie season, but success and his $10 million rookie signing bonus haven’t changed him much as a person. After moving into a new home in Virginia recently, he was offered an electrical feature that would allow him to turn off lights, his stereo and TV with switches by his bedside. Cost of wiring and installation: $1,200. Samuels said no. “Are you kidding?” he said. “I can get up and turn my lights off by myself.”

No one is more impressed with thrift than Peter King. Do you not bother to buy underwear? Don’t want to install fancy light fixtures? Shit, don’t even want to live in a house? You sir, are clearly an All-Pro. Peter would like to buy you a Shock Top.

I think NFL officials could speed up the replay process a bit. The league says the review will take 90 seconds, max, but from the time Detroit head coach Gary Moeller threw the beanbag signifying his call for a review in the third quarter Sunday at Lambeau to the time the ball was next snapped, three minutes and 39 seconds elapsed — for a play that wasn’t overturned.

Holy shit, I just remembered someone let Gary Moeller temporarily be the head coach of an NFL team.

/head explodes

Montclair High Field Hockey Video Note of the Week: One of my NFL scouting contacts, a veteran of the road, asked the other day how he could get a copy of the MHS highlight video. The great piece of film production, all nine minutes of it, was a highlight of our banquet. “Instead of that cheesy Yankees video when I renew my subscription to the magazine,” he said, “could I have a choice of the Montclair Field Hockey video or a Montclair High Field Hockey fleece?” I think he’s onto something.

Oh, you made that up.

Coffeenerdness: Good effort on the egg nog latte, Seattle Grounds. (That’s the espresso place in Green Bay.)

Good effort, but not quite good ENOUGH. Where is the nutmeg, I ask you? Better luck next time, assholes.

When “Dark Angel” promos come on press box TVs during FOX games, every male eye turns to Jessica Alba and a hush falls over the crowd. “I vote for her for offensive rookie of the year,” one press box wag said Sunday.

It’s funny because sportswriters are old and disgusting and creepy.

Last week, in our intensive studies of mysterious Alaskan sea blob Peter King (scientists describe the blob as hairy!), we learned the story of Peter’s desperate race against time to keep his bowels from exploding in mid-air. It was a story rife with suspense and uselessness.

This is our last week covering Klassic King columns here at KSK, as the Lofty One returns next Monday from his not-at-all deserved month-long vacation with a fresh, steaming cup of Tarduvian Blend. But before we get into our final Klassic King installment, this Favre-heavy enema bag from October 2007, a quick word about the recent fill-ins hired by SI.com during King’s break.

As you may or may not know, King’s MMQB column has been taken over in the past month by current NFL players and coaches. Saints coach Sean Payton did the column today. Matt Birk (MATT BIRK ROOLZ!), Chris Cooley (who did NOT use the term “bag of dicks” in his guest spot), Matt Light, and Trent Green all also contributed. They all performed their task well, in fact far better than King ever has. But I don’t know. Isn’t it kind of fucked up to have your column taken over by the people you’re covering? What’s Peter King do if the Saints go 3-13 this year and Sean Payton deserves to be fired? Why would I take anything King says about Payton’s imagined predicament seriously? Won’t he end up protecting his guest authors just as he’s protected Brett Favre all these years?

FIX YO ETHICS!

Okay, onto the column…

MINNEAPOLIS — Deanna Favre leaned over the railing after her husband’s very big day at the Metrodome and asked: “Do you still have an MVP vote?”

“Yes,” I said.

And it can be all yours for the low, low price of a basket of Sonic onion rings.

“You might have to vote for Brett again,” she said.

If Tom Brady and Peyton Manning weren’t playing like Bird and Magic in their playoff prime every game, Brett Favre might actually be ahead in the MVP derby right now.

Take cover, people. HERE COMES THE ASSLICKING.

In nine days, he turns 38. He’s got a daughter who’s a freshman in college. Still, he looks just like he looked when he was Mike Holmgren’s Wild Child, doesn’t he?

/cue “Sunshine Of Your Love”

“His wild, untamed facial hair revealed a new world of rebellion — of change. A world where doors were open for women like me.”

Lifting receivers off the ground, throwing 101-mph fastballs that dislocate fingers, showing deft touch when needed.

Gripping my inner thighs like a hawk carrying its young…

With one difference. ”He’s really playing within the system so well right now,” coach Mike McCarthy told me Saturday night.

“He decided to not play like shit!”

In the past couple of weeks, people have taken the playing-within-the-system stuff to mean he’s Mr. Dink and Dunk. That’s not totally true. He’ll still throw the risky slant and the long pass into traffic up the seam.

Oh well, thank God for THAT. You can see how that old Favre derring-do ended up helping the Packers in the NFC Title Game just a few months later.

So Favre’s gotten in great shape in each of the last two years, listened to his coaches as much as or more than ever and studied his opposition more than he ever has. Used to be that quarterback coaches would have to wake Favre up during meetings once or twice a week, back in his partying days. No more.

So let’s be clear about this now. Journalists have always been enamored of Favre’s don’t-give-a-shit attitude towards his job. But I swear to fucking God, if the guy had been black, he’d be Aaron Brooks.

I was surprised to hear the positive reaction in Minnesota to his record throw Sunday.

Me too. This is the problem with Minnesotans. They act very nice to people when, deep down, they are seething balls of fat hate. You people in the Metrodome that day should be ashamed of yourselves. BOO THAT FUCKER.

I guess it’d be something like Fenway fans cheering A-Rod if he hit his 500th home run in Boston.

“NICE FACKIN’ HOMAHHHH, YOU GAY SPIC!”

There’s a great rivalry between the Vikes and Packers. But the Metrodome fans let the moment wash over them and appreciated it. The crowd was maybe 40 percent Green Bay fans. But they were joined in appreciation by people in purple, too.

Yeah, well then those people aren’t good fans. You want to clap for the opponent? Go root for the St. Louis Cardinals. This is football, and the laws of football fandom state that you NEVER STOP HATING THE FUCKS ON THE OPPOSITE SIDELINE EVER. I fucking hate this shit. “Oh, Brett Favre’s record was so magical that even Viking fans came under his spell. He’s so dreamy!” Screw that. BOOOOOOOOO.

When Favre left the field after the game, he stopped to hug the Vikings mascot, the stringy-bearded Ragnar.

The fuck are you doing HUGGING that asshole, Ragnar? Or should I call you by your real name – ALDRICH AMES?!

Fucking traitor.

It was the 16th time Ragnar — a Minnesotan named Joe Juranich — had seen Favre come into the ‘Dome, and the first time they hugged.

It would not be the last, as the two men became closer than they ever could have imagined.

Ragnar stands for all things Vikings.

NOT IF HE HUGS THE LAND BARON, HE DOESN’T.

Favre has been the archrival. Juranich knows he should hate Favre, but he can’t.

Well then, Joe, you are fucking WEAK.

When Favre had gone, Juranich said: “I went out into the parking lots today before the game, because I wanted to tell the fans, ‘Don’t you dare boo this man today. He’s been through so much, and he’s such a credit to the game. We should cheer him, and give him credit for being such a great player over the years.’ You just have to admire him. I mean this: It’s good to see him break it here.”

/vomits

You listen to me, Ragnar, you piece of shit. I hope you get run over by your own motorcycle. Oh, I bet you’re just soooo happy your secret lover is now finally joining the Vikings. WELL, FUCK YOU IN THE HAT. It’s good to see that asshole break a record against your favorite team? What kind of bullshit is that? I bet this asshole buys coffee filters from Biloxijim.

Need a feel-good story for your sports year? Fed up with Bonds, with asterisks, with Spygate, with dogfighting, with soccer goalies ripping other soccer goalies? With the effect money has on the games you love? Well, Favre’s writing a pretty pure story in Green Bay. There might be more good chapters to it. Keep reading.

So to sum up: Brett Favre is everything good and pure about sports. Particularly now that he’s not a lazy boozehound!

“I didn’t have anything in my contract about the ability to control trades, which is why I’m riding this bus right now.”

You make the call.

Ooh! Ooh! Let’s use the power of hindsight to humiliate Jerry Glanville for trading Brett Favre back when he was a bratty alcoholic who loved throwing picks! That makes Favre look even more heroic! I BET JERRY GLANVILLE USES TOO MUCH AIR CONDITIONING.

Offensive Player Of The Week

Green Bay QB Brett Favre. Hard not to get gee-whiz watching Favre play right now.

Hard for me not to unzip my pants and go to town when he plays!

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week I

That really happened.

ZOMG! NO WAY! It’s like something out of a Roald Dahl book!

Enjoyable/Aggravating Travel Note of the Week II

Roddy White? Shaun McDonald? Troy Williamson? This was some fan. The conversation was three minutes, maybe, and I wasn’t taking notes, so I’m sure I have a few of his words muddled. But we were near the front of the line when he got off the phone, and I turned around and said, “You have an amazing knowledge of what’s going on in the NFL.”

So if you folks out there want to impress Peter King, just start spewing as much shit as you can about fantasy, the kind of shit that millions of people talk about on fantasy message boards every day. He’ll be dazzled by your breadth of knowledge of the game. You’ve heard of Troy Williamson? Who was picked 7th overall in the draft to replace Randy Moss after he was traded to Oakland in a huge story? You’re like a Junior Belichick! Even Peter King didn’t know who Troy Williamson was! He was too busy enjoying brunch with the Bowers!

I think that was a good Tuesday Morning Quarterback column on ESPN.com last week, Gregg Easterbrook.

It was quasi-RedGrangish!

I particularly liked the part where to sternly lectured everyone for not noticing something you noticed!

8. I think this is what I didn’t like about Week 4:

b. I mean, how much louder does it have to be said. RIDE LADAINIAN TOMLINSON, AND RIDE HIM ‘TIL YOU’RE OUT OF THIS MESS. Stop moving away from him, period.

And we again welcome you to Peter King’s Seminar On How To
I. Improperly deploy bullet points
d. On any given topic
e. Kudos to you, “The Usual Suspects.” You had a twist at the end that I did NOT anticipate.

9. I think every sports fan should be sad and happy today about the retirement of Craig Biggio.

Or be sullen and ecstatic. Your choice.

Sad because one of the class athletes in the history of American sports — and yes, I want to be that lofty about it —

LOFTINESS IS A CHOICE.

Hope Solo. The most apt last name in sports.

Until you meet the backup catcher for the Cincinnati Reds: Mike Dustytaint.

Sometimes hockey, which I really like, is so stupid. Hockey preseason games are totally off our radar screens, logically, but the brawls in so many games (Flyers, Devils, Isles, Rangers mostly) are totally out of control. The league’s got to do something.

Yeah, hockey. START CURTAILING THE COOLEST THING ABOUT YOUR SPORT.

Coffeenerdness: Best decaf brewed coffee in recent history: Starbucks Sumatra roast. Liquid gold.

This must be exactly what hiking in Indonesia is like.

Missed House and The Office season debuts last week. I’m in mourning. Heard both were great.

No worries. I’ll fill you in. On House, Doctor House was a dick to everyone, and finally figured out what was wrong with the patient after four or five wrong diagnoses. On The Office, Michael said something REALLY fucking dumb, yet somehow managed to keep his job despite the fact that he would have been fired ages ago if he were a real person. Then Dwight said something random. The Jim and Pam looked at each other. Fin.

Oh no! I’m going to miss Friday Night Lights this week. On Friday. Maybe I’ll learn to use that red button on the remote that magically records programs — the DVR switch, I think.

HOLY SHIT. You have DVR and you don’t even know how to/bother to use it? A fucking child could operate a DVR. Deanna Favre’s amputated breast could program it. But it remains a mystery to you, not unlike chemistry? “I have a DVR. But you know what? I think I’m doing the world some good by not using it. It’s a lot like my car in that way.”

/jumps out of moving van

When we last left buxom donut magnet Peter King, he was preparing to take a monthlong vacation from his strenuous life of walking places, calling people, and eating things.

But just because Peter is away doesn’t mean we can’t indulge our worst impulses and make fun of him constantly. Why, this is the perfect time to delve deep into Peter’s archive of columns and saved voice mails. Today, we bring you a true classic, a story that reaffirms every suspicion you had that Peter King is a privileged twat. It comes from the March 31, 2003 edition of his column. Now, this column has lots of other adorably retarded features, like this letter…

WE NEED SPORTS IN OUR LIVES RIGHT NOW. From Scott Fagan of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia: “Out here in the desert, with a war going on next door, it is a refreshing distraction and a good cure for homesickness to read a column by a great sportswriter. Keep up the good work. You questioned bringing in rivals to the Rams, specifically Kyle Turley and Jason Sehorn, as being harmful to the team chemistry, but it has worked in the past. Look at Bill Romanowski in Oakland. Turley and Sehorn may be just what the Rams need to get back in the game.”

Or this similarly themed letter…

FOOTBALL TALK IS NOT ONLY APPROPRIATE, BUT NECESSARY. From Jason Knight of Elmwood, Ill.: “Your concern for not wanting to trivialize current world events by discussing seemingly insignificant (in the grand scheme of things) sports issues is commendable. But as an Air Force captain who has been stationed overseas five of the past six years and who deployed to Saudi Arabia for three months in 2001, I can tell you such talk is truly needed. While serving our nation abroad, we need the release of watching the games on TV, of having sports discussions with our buddies, and of reading your articles online. Please continue doing what you do. It really does help us do what we need to do.”

Let me explain something to folks stationed out in the desert fighting for our country. I love you, and I’m glad you take solace in the occasional distraction. But dude, there are LOTS of distractions out there. It’s not like Peter King’s endless bullshit is the only option for taking your mind off all the excessive heat and bloodletting. Surely, you can do better than this. Like, for example, these photos of Bar Rafaeli. See? INSTANT FUCKING IMPROVEMENT. Am I right? So please, don’t blow smoke up Peter King’s ass telling him what a vital service he provides. He’s not the fucking USO.

Okay, now onto the foul ball story. Before we get to this, let me just state that, prior to this story, I was someone who genuinely enjoyed reading King’s column on a weekly basis, even if I skipped over all the softball crap. You have to remember that this was 2003. There were only five billion other websites back then, as opposed to the five trillion we now enjoy. Very limited menu. But this was where I reached my breaking point with King. Here we go.

This is going to do nothing but make you envious of me, and so I’m not sure if I should write it or not,

Then don’t. DON’T DON’T DON’T.

but I relate it only to let you know how thankful I am for the charmed life I lead

What are you, saying grace?

and to remind you that the next time I complain about anything job-related you need to put me in my place and tell me what a fool I am.

Six years later, King is bitching about not having free coffee in the lobby of the Laguna Marriott. LESSON: LEARNED.

Last Wednesday, at the conclusion of the league meetings, I had a 5:15 p.m. flight on Continental from Phoenix to Newark.

NOOOO NOT CONTINENTAL! THEY DO THE KIT KATS WHAT KATHIE LEE GIFFORD DOES TO FILIPINO CHILD SEAMSTRESSES!

Being the baseball nerd that I am, I decided to stop in at the Arizona-Oakland exhibition game in Phoenix for a few innings, in large part because Randy Johnson was hurling. And so here came Miguel Tejada to the dish. Cool moment.

Lofty moment.

Reigning NL Cy Young Award winner versus reigning AL Most Valuable Player.

Teach versus pupil. Master vs. Apprentice. Or something.

Here’s the pitch. Long drive to right … twisting … curving foul … deep … and 10 feet foul, over the fence. I thought — and I have my reasons why — what a good thing it would be to have that ball.

Oooh, he has secret reasons for wanting that foul ball THAT HE CANNOT DIVULGE TO YOU, FOR THEY ARE A MATTER OF NATIONAL FUCKING SECURITY. I love the thought process here too. “Say, there’s a foul ball. I think I will endeavor to retrieve that foul ball.”

There was a moderate crowd on this toasty Arizona afternoon. And, after the inning, I walked out to the bleachers down the right-field line and looked over the fence that stood between the main ballpark and the back fields where the A’s train. I asked a fan where the ball was that Tejada hit, and he pointed to the first main field, where a ball sat between home plate and the first-base bag. At the same time, a kid, maybe about 7, asked some other fans where the ball was; I heard him. And those fans pointed to four foul balls sitting in sort of no-man’s land between the backstop on the first field and the fence where I was. I knew this couldn’t be true, because the ball went over the fence barely foul, not 35 feet foul the way it would have had to if it was where the kid thought it was. And so I walked to the area outside the right-field stands where a guard and an A’s official were making sure no fans got down to the lower fields and the players’ parking lot. I asked if I might be able to get the Johnson-Tejada ball. The official said no problem, and I walked down, past the alerted guard, and onto the pristine field to get the ball.

This is where King could have ended his story and maybe not ended up looking like a complete fucking ponce. Hey, he had special credentials to go get the ball. All right. Sounds like a fun time. Oh, but he goes on, no doubt emboldened by the Zulu coffee bland running through his big fat veins.

Behind me, all of a sudden, I heard the running footsteps of the kid, who’d apparently snuck behind me and got past the guard, too, and he scrambled past the backstop to get the ball he was sure was the one Tejada hit.

Why, that NO GOOD LITTLE SHIT! A child, trying to obtain a keepsake to forever cherish? HE MUST BE STOPPED AT ALL COSTS.

I picked up the True Ball,

Oooh, the True Ball! Only the True Ball will grant its owner the power of telekinesis!

and I told the kid: “I’m sure you’ve got the one Tejada hit,” just so he’d feel good about it.

And we stop here. Time to ask yourself what you do in this situation if you’re a well to do middle aged man. I think the average person would have simply handed the kid the ball he was looking for. This is because, and I know this might sound kooky, IT’S JUST A FUCKING BALL. But no. No, Peter has to lie to the kid so he can keep a foul ball that was hit DURING A FUCKING SPRING TRAINING GAME.

And when the guard saw him walking back up the ramp toward the stadium, he tried to stop the kid, but he was too quick and slipped back into the stadium. (Just like I’m sure I would have done if I was a kid and had an MVP foul ball.)

No way a young Peter King manages to elude that rent-a-cop. It’s a well known fact that rent-a-cops can outrun only four known things:

1. Palsy on a unicycle
2. Amputee tortoise
3. United States legal system
4. Peter King

I thanked Matt sincerely, told him the ball would be put to good use, and went back to watch a couple more innings before catching my plane.

Good use? Oh, I think I know the use. That’s right. BASEBALL POPCORN STRING ANAL BEADS. Now that’s what I call a seventh inning stretch!

Actually, I know why Peter really wanted to get that ball. He saw it hit and he said to himself, “You know what? I bet Paul Zimmerman has a stroke one of these days. Maybe three of them. I bet that ball could be his ticket back to full motor function!”

And now you know why I have the best job on earth.

And now you know why I hope you fall into a lake of toxic fill. Yes, Peter. I already know you have a merry existence, what with the trees and the talk. But you have to understand your audience, Peter. We’re Americans. You can do better than us, BUT YOU BETTER FUCKING SHUT YOUR TRAP ABOUT IT OR WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL YOU ARE IN A GRAVE AND COVERED WITH FRESH, DENSE SOIL. Did you really just brag about using your press access to get a collectible and then brag about duping some poor kid out of getting it? Really? What would Toone P. Wiggins say about this kind of behavior?

Ah, but it gets even BETTER. Because the following week, a reader castigated King for the incident. This would have given King ample opportunity to backtrack a bit. Ahhh, but I think you know how this will go…

Quite a few of you were offended by the story in last week’s column about me throwing my weight around to get a foul ball at a spring training game.

Indeed. The movie “The Natural” called him and said he was a fucking DICK.

Brian Howie of New York takes me to task for having “swindled some little kid into believing he had the True Ball, even though you have a job that will give you ample opportunities to get another one for yourself in the future. Karma, my friend, Karma.”

Mmmmm, rich karma mochiatto…

YOU’LL GET YOURS SOME DAY, KING. From Sean Griffin of Washington, D.C.: “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You, Peter King, fabulously wealthy sportswriter, used your prestige and fame to push your way into a closed-access area so you could get a foul ball. Then you lied to a 7-year-old kid so you could keep the foul ball. Then you brag in your web column about how you cheated this 7-year-old kid out of a foul ball, so all of your readers can share in the joy of your wonderful life. Gee, how heartwarming. It’s just too bad you couldn’t have published this piece closer to the holiday season — peace on earth, good will toward men, and screw you kid, I got my foul ball, so there.”

Again, plenty of opportunity here for King to say, “Shit, you’re right. That was dumb of me. SEAN, ALLOW ME TO TREAT YOU TO A MEAL AT THE CAPITAL GRILLE.” Instead…

Wow. The anger. The rage.

See, Sean Griffin? YOU’RE THE FUCKING ASSHOLE.

I introduced myself to a guard and asked if I could get a foul ball. I walked to get the foul ball. A 7-year-old boy passed through the same gate, without permission, as the guard called after him to come back.

ZOMG! THAT BOY DIDN’T HAVE CREDENTIALS! He could get into the unusable stadium crawlspace, and then THE FUCKING WORLD WOULD COLLAPSE UPON ITSELF. Is that the kind of society you want to live in, Sean Griffin?

I picked up the ball I thought was hit by Miguel Tejada. The kid picked up the ball he thought was hit by Tejada. I’m supposed to convince this kid who snuck through the gate that he doesn’t have the right ball and give him mine?

Yes.

I had permission to get the ball I got. The 7-year-old boy stole his.

If you read this passage carefully, you can actually hear half of Peter King’s audience renouncing him. I HAD PERMISSION BECAUSE I’M A BIG SWINGING DICK. WHAT BUSINESS DOES THIS YOUNG SCALLYWAG HAVE IN THE VVVVIP AREA?! Why does this security area have no free coffee?

And I “cheated” him out of the ball?

Yes, you did. You said it yourself. REWIND!

I told the kid: “I’m sure you’ve got the one Tejada hit,” just so he’d feel good about it.

See how you talk about blatantly lying there?

I can see how you’d be offended that I tried to make the kid feel good by telling him he had the real ball, because I told what I believed to be a lie, even though it was not a malicious one. Maybe that’s wrong.

It is.

But is it right to be somewhere you shouldn’t be and, technically, to possess stolen property?

BUT HE WAS IN THE EXACT SAME FUCKING PLACE YOU WERE. You see people, when Peter King wants a foul ball, he has the power to simply summon it. But anyone else who is not of Peter King’s stature is STEALING AND SHOULD BE JAILED IN A VERY LARGE PIT. It’s tough, but fair. How else would our children learn about how hypocrisy works?

So there’s your foul ball story. It’s the quintessential Peter King story in that it is pointless, inane, and makes him look like a privileged ass. And today, I’m here to tell you that the poor miscreant boy from that story grew up to be none other than droppinadeuce.

Anyway, couple more tidbits from that column…

I think the most interesting moment of the league meetings, at least for me, came at about 6:50 last Tuesday morning. I was chatting up Troy Aikman in the lobby of the Arizona Biltmore.

6:50? I hope they had the coffee out!

Aikman had a little bit of time, and he saw Parcells sitting alone, nursing a cup of coffee and lobby-sitting

THEY DID! THEY DID! Arizona Biltmore, you are a first class operation. Kudos to you.

as he is wont to do early in the morning at road hotels, particularly when his body clock says he should be up…

and making mixed drinks out of vodka and baby blood.

3b. I think if I’m Parcells I’m all over Brian Griese for little money June 2. Accurate guy, coachable guy.

You know what guy.

And if it means Chad Hutchinson has to sit for one or two years, or five, so be it.

Or even ten!

I really admire Sarah Hughes.

She always makes it a sunscreen summer!

I have a daughter her age. You know how hard it is to play sports, go to school, have a social life, study for the SAT and try to be good at all of the above?

Yes, because that’s what every teenager tries to do. And god damn, is being a teenager hard. All the loitering! All the not paying for anything! It’s agony.

This kid is a world-class athlete, and she has been admitted to Harvard! Do you have any idea how much work that takes?

ZOMG, it’s like she’s some sort of overachiever!

I laughed at all the stuff I read over the past few days about Hughes’ “slump,” and her sixth-place finish in the worlds in Washington, D.C., over the weekend. Let’s think about this for a moment. Hughes was the second- or third-best skater in America at the Salt Lake City Olympics when, in a clutch performance, she skated the greatest free skate of her life. She won the gold medal. Did that make her better than Michelle Kwan or Sasha Cohen? I don’t think so.

Actually, it did. That’s kind of the point of handing out medals.

And now she has all these other worthwhile things in her life and she doesn’t skate quite as wonderfully. So what? I applaud Hughes — no, I give her a personal standing ovation —

Whoa whoa. CLEAR OUT, EVERYONE. King is giving his first written standing O. Put enough nutmeg in your lasagna, Osteria Giotto, and perhaps you one day receive such a rare accolade.

for making her life a priority, not just her skating. This is a kid headed for a great, great life — not just a great, great life of ice skating.

Not just a good life. A GREAT life. A GREAT, GREAT life. A GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, GREAT, lofty life. GIVE THAT GIRL HER OWN WEBSITE!

Good for you, Sarah Hughes, for wanting to go to Harvard and one day makes lot of money, and for wanting to do shit besides ice skate. You truly are one of a kind.

Coffeenerdness: Actually, this is a coffee-ice-cream-nerdness, Larry King dot-dot-dot note of the week: I highly, highly recommend the coffee chip ice cream at Holsten’s in Bloomfield, N.J.

But what about Picco on Tremont Street? USLURPER!

Montclair (N.J.) High Softball Note of the Week:

Not a fucking chance. I hope you someone stole a foul ball from your kid’s game, you fat shit.