As a Virginia native and an opponent of publicly-funded sports venues, I’ve always been proud that the Commonwealth has never – ever – surrendered public dollars to sports owners.

When Jack Kent Cooke, the late owner of the Washington Redskins, wanted to build a stadium in Northern Virginia, Virginia turned him away, even though Cooke was willing to buy the land and build the stadium himself. Virginia didn’t want the area around historic Old Town Alexandria sullied by a sports venue.

In the mid 1990s, when momentum began building for the return of baseball to Washington, Virginia looked like the overwhelming favorite to house the new ballpark. Even when baseball was just a hypothetical, Virginians revolted, killing any chance of a stadium in the Commonwealth. This, of course, is a good thing since the new stadium in southeast D.C. is by all accounts spectacular.

Even my alma mater, the technically-public University of Virginia in Charlottesville, had to privately finance its new basketball arena, which is considered such a terrific concert venue that Bruce Springsteen will play there in April, remarkable for a town of 100,000 or so.

Then there was the day in 1994 Disney was forced to give up plans to build a historical-related theme park in Northern Virginia because of citizen protests. Not even Disney’s powerful lobbyists could overcome Virginia preservationists.

Virginia is for lovers, not stadiums. It has more history and natural beauty than any state in the country. That’s why it’s the largest state in the nation, and one of few overall, not to meet the demands of sports owners. It doesn’t need sports teams to define it. Where I grew up, less than two miles from George Washington’s Mount Vernon mansion, we didn’t just study American history, we went out and experienced it. Whether during class field trips or family outings, I got to see Jamestown, Yorktown, Colonial Williamsburg, Civil War battlefields, and the homes of Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and James Monroe, to say nothing of everything the nearby nation’s capital has to offer.

It’s no coincidence that Florida is the Development State, the anti-Virginia. You want to pave over a mangrove for condos? Go for it. You want to knock down some orange groves for a Wal-Mart? Knock yourself out. Some of the richest men in America, guys like Malcolm Glazer, George Steinbrenner, Wayne Huizenga, and Richard DeVos, have enhanced their fortunes by demanding and receiving new Florida sports venues. With the Marlins finally getting their new digs, Jeffrey Loria can join that list.

So it’s been with mixed feelings that I learned recently that the Richmond Braves will be moving to surburban Atlanta. For more than 40 years, Richmond has been the home of the Atlanta Braves’ Triple-A affiliate. I saw my first baseball game at old Parker Field in 1976. A year later, Dale Murphy played there. In 1985, they tore down Parker Field and opened "The Diamond" on the same site. During my college years in the late ’80s, we’d roadtrip an hour from Charlottesville to watch "R-Braves" like Tom Glavine and John Smoltz and eat at Bill’s Barbecue across the street.

When The Diamond opened, it was hailed as a modern new ballpark. Unfortunately, it opened eight years before Baltimore’s Camden Yards became the back-to-the-future, financial model for baseball facilities at every level. The idea was to demand – and receive – public funding to build a baseball palace with modern amenities, especially luxury boxes and suites, but with architecture that harkened back to cozy ballparks from the 1950s.

By the mid-1990s, The Diamond was still a young venue, but it was as if the Braves had purchased a car the last year before a dramatic re-design. It suddenly looked very old, especially with a building boom throughout minor league baseball that continues unabated.

In recent years, the Atlanta Braves pushed the city of Richmond for a new ballpark, and it seemed as if the city would concede with a new stadium in Shockoe Bottom, a popular restaurant-and-nightlife district. But between tropical storm damage to the low-lying area and the usual Virginia resistance to public financing, a deal never emerged. In January, the Atlanta Braves announced plans to move the R-Braves to the Atlanta suburbs.

Maybe Richmond doesn’t need the Braves. It has plenty of Civil War and Revolutionary War attractions. It also has held on to its two NASCAR Sprint Cup races. But this is a city that 30 years ago was on the verge of becoming what Charlotte or Jacksonville eventually became. Richmond refused to build a modern airport and remained a "Triple-A" city. Now the International League apparently will stay out of the Virginia capital, with a Double-A or Single-A team likely to arrive.

Some people will consider that a bad ecomonic decision by Richmond on many levels and they’d probably be right. Still, it’s admirable that Virginia remains perhaps the only holdout when it comes to public financing for sports venues.

The last two weeks have been tough on sportswriters. A few days before the Super Bowl, Michael Wilbon suffered a mild heart attack. The longtime Washington Post sports columnist, who now hosts "PTI" on ESPN, appears to be okay. Len Pasquarelli, who covers the NFL for ESPN.com, underwent quintuple bypass surgery during Super Bowl weekend. Barry Bloom, a longtime baseball writer who now reports for MLB.com, underwent colon resection surgery to remove a cancerous polp. And Peter King, the ubiquitous NFL insider, was hospitalized with bronchitis during Super Bowl week in Phoenix.

Sportswriting is a terrific job. I know, having done it full-time for one decade and part-time for part of another. Getting paid to watch and report on sports is one of the best gigs in the world. In recent years, it’s become a high-paying career, with people like Wilbon and King earning much-deserved, seven-figure incomes through print and television work.

But it’s also a high stress profession. Covering sports isn’t like following games as a fan. Writers and television people typically get to the stadium hours before the game and don’t leave until hours after. Sports journalists spend much of their time working the phones, trying to uncover information. It’s a non-stop, 24/7 job that takes its toll on family, personal lives and, yes, health.

Business travelers in other professions have it easy compared to sports journalists. Baseball writers, for instance, arrive at the ballpark shortly after 3 p.m., and often remain there until after midnight. Dealing with deadlines is stressful, and it’s difficult to go right to bed. So you stay up to decompress, often eating a late dinner – or a second dinner – and perhaps downing a few drinks. Press box food usually isn’t the healthiest stuff in the world, which only adds to the degree of difficulty of eating healthy on the road.

As many business travelers know, it’s easier to work out on the road, with a gym in the hotel and no family responsibilities. But that 5:30 a.m. workout that corporate travelers can get in before their 9 o’clock client meeting isn’t an option for sports journalists, who work until midnight.

Again, we’re not asking for sympathy. Working in sports isn’t work compared to many professions. Plus, if you want to work out, you can find a way. Wilbon and King, like many sportswriters who transition into TV, dropped weight once they started facing the camera on a regular basis. Still, it’s probably no coincidence that the four journalists who went down during Super Bowl week are roughly the same age. Wilbon is 49 and King is 50. Bloom and Pasquarelli are in their mid-50s, I’m guessing. All four are 30-year veterans of the business. It takes a toll, no matter how well you take care of yourself.

Sportswriters are forever lampooned as overweight slobs and there are more than enough examples to support the stereotype. I’ve run into several former colleagues who got out of the business and it’s always remarkable how much better they look. They’re like recently-retired NFL linemen who shed the weight to begin a new career. I know I’m in far better shape now that I’m off the full-time sportswriting treadmill and can write books with people like trainer Mark Verstegen, whose program has gotten me into the best shape of my life.

The bottom line is this: No matter what your profession, you need to take care of yourself first, no matter how crazy your schedule becomes. If not, you might find yourself requiring a timeout, even in the middle of the Super Bowl.

On behalf of the residents of the most powerful state in the nation, I want to congratulate New York for winning its first major sports title – college or professional – during the current Bush administration.

Yep, despite having seven major pro sports franchises – eight if we count the Brooklyn-bound New Jersey Nets – the Big Apple managed to come within one year of going 0-for-W. That’s no small accomplishment. After all, it’s not easy to fall short so consistently when you have every financial advantage.

Here in Florida, we not only revel in the role of underdog, we capitalize upon it. I realize New Yorkers view us as a third-world nation, a bunch of Wal-Mart-shoppin’, college football obsessed, trailer park retirees who can’t punch a ballot and think The Times refers to a St. Petersburg newspaper.

To which I say, "Scoreboard."

From the time the New York Yankees provided Gotham with its last reason to celebrate in 2000 – with long retired stars such as David Cone, Tino Martinez, Scott Brosius, and Chuck Knoblaugh – the NBA-free Tampa Bay area alone has won a Super Bowl title and a Stanley Cup championship.  Less than 100 miles to our north, the University of Florida has won a BCS football title and a pair of college basketball championships. Our friends in Sourth Florida have tacked on a World Series title, with the Yankees choking to the Marlins in 2003, along with an NBA championship and another BCS crown, courtesy of the University of Miami in 2001.

During that same period, we’ve decided two Presidential elections and likely will determine the 2008 campaign. We yokels managed to see right through Rudy Giuliani’s transparent attempt to use us and last month relegated him back to his familar role as the nation’s first jocksniffer.

That is, if George Steinbrenner will take him back. The Boss, even in his semi-retirement, has no patience for losers. That’s why he’s been a longtime resident of Tampa, here in the heart of The Champion State. That’s why at the end of each Yankees season, around Columbus Day, Derek Jeter takes the first private jet flight to his primary residence in Tampa. In recent months, Jeter has been tangled with the IRS over where he calls home. The IRS thinks he’s using Florida because it has no state income tax. No way. He just wants to be associated with winning.

Look at it this way, New York: During your dry spell, we’ve imported Tiger Woods and exported Alex Rodriguez to New York.

Yes, New York, you’ve missed a lot in the last seven years. During that time, the University of South Florida’s football team went from Division I-AA to national powerhouse, ranked as high as No.2 in the BCS standings this past season. The Bulls are 3-0 all-time against Syracuse, the closest thing you have to a college football team. The Yankees, who are headquartered in Tampa, no longer are even the most powerful sports property on Dale Mabry Highway, now that the Florida-based Buccaneer owners now control Manchester United.

Heck, New York can’t even pick the right Barber. Here in Tampa, we have future Hall of Famer Ronde Barber, a man with a Super Bowl ring and at least two good seasons left in the tank. New York has Tiki Barber, a fine running back in his day, but now retired and working in television.

Sure, you laugh at our Tampa Bay Rays and their pitiful payroll. But let’s not forget the bumbling Mets provided baseball’s most lopsided trade of the recent New York drought, sending Scott Kazmir to the then Devil Rays. The Mets have spent $500 million more than the Rays during the 2001-2007 stretch and have the same number of World Series rings to show for it. We’re glad, though, to see the Mets continue to provide gainful employment for ex-Ray good guys long past their expiration date.

By the way, how’s Victor Zambrano working out for you?

So enjoy the Giants parade, New York. Perhaps if you’re lucky we’ll see you here in Tampa next year when we host the Super Bowl – for the second time in a decade. Meanwhile, despite all your wealth, your two football teams continue to share an upholstered men’s room. No Super Bowl for you – ever.

At least you’re finally prepared to take a wrecking ball to those two concrete eyesores that pass for ballparks. By all accounts, the new digs for the Yanks and Mets will be terrific. Enjoy the reviews – the Rays waterfront home is coming for 2012. Unlike your ballparks, this won’t be in Queens or the Bronx. Plus, it’s being built on the site of the former Al Lang Stadium. So unlike your new fields, ours contains ground walked upon by everyone from Babe Ruth to Mickey Mantle, Gil Hodges to Tom Seaver.

Yes, it’s hard to believe, but 2012 is not that far away. Just three years after that, New York will be due for another championship.