Yesterday, Tax Day, the New York Yankees were in town to face the Tampa Bay Rays. For Florida residents such as Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, and Jorge Posada, this was an opportunity to save a few dollars on their taxes.

The players make their homes in Florida for various reasons. A-Rod is a Miami native; Jeter and Posada live in Tampa, not far from the Yankees’ spring training home. Then, of course, there are the tax implications; Florida has no state income tax.

A-Rod, who will receive $28 million this year, won’t have to pay the 10 or 12 percent in New York state and city income taxes, a savings of $3 million or so. Unfortunately for No.13, he’s subjected to the "jock tax" that applies whenever he travels and plays in states that have income taxes, including New York.

The jock tax, first enforced by California in 1991 and since levied in 19 states with major pro sports teams and state income taxes, has created an administrative nightmare for the athletes’ tax accounts, who must file as many as 20 state income tax returns.

California has had a law on its books since the early 1980s requiring non-residents to pay tax on income earned in the state. Yet it was not until Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls defeated the Los Angeles Lakers in the 1991 NBA Finals that state officials realized it would be possible to enforce such taxes on athletes, whose travel and schedules are printed in the newspaper.

Illionis responded with its own jock tax, and other states followed, figuring the public would not object to helping meet budget shortfalls by taxing the sizable salaries of pro athletes.

The phenomenon went largely unnoticed until 2002, when David Hoffman, an economist at the Tax Foundation research group in Washington, D.C., began crunching numbers. He found that athletes were unfairly targeted. Hoffman argued that since players are paid at home, they’re not really earning money on the road. Not only that, but they’re bringing additional revenue to the visiting states by attracting fans to games.

Players do not have to pay state income taxes in their home states on days spent on the road, although this doesn’t help those living in states with no income tax. But state tax rates vary. Things get more confusing if a pro plays for a team in Canada or lives outside the United States.

A pro making $10 million annually will play about $200,000 in jock taxes. That’s just 2 percent of annual income. For someone living in Florida or Texas but playing in New York or California, that’s still a considerable savings.

For most players, it’s not just the amount taxed but also the additional costs for tax preparation. Pro athletes, for all of their lavish expenditures, dislike paying the taxman as much as anyone.

Last year, the IRS went after Jeter, claiming he owed back taxes in New York and was a resident of the Empire State and not Florida, as Jeter contended. If Jeter were, say, a wealthy businessman, nobody could prove how many days he spent in one state or the other. But since Jeter’s schedule is public, anyone can see that he "works" most days from April through September outside the state of Florida, along with a couple dozen more days during a typical October.

That’s why the IRS maintained that he was only a part-time resident of the Sunshine State and not entitled to such tax savings. Jeter, who has owned a home in Tampa and lived there during the off-season for more than a decade, reached a private settlement with the IRS.

Last night, the Yankees completed a two-game sweep of the Rays, rebounding from a sluggish start to the season. Jeter and Posada no doubt spent time in their Tampa homes, not only enjoying the familiar feel of their own beds but another two days of glorious tax savings.

Back in the early 1990s, the Olive Garden was a white-hot restaurant. If you wanted to get in to enjoy some above-average, chain-restaurant Italian food, you were going to have to wait. People gladly did, spending money in the bar until their names were called.

Gradually, the novelty of the Olive Garden wore off. No longer was the place packed, but you still had to wait. That’s because the Olive Garden began closing off half of the restaurant. If pressed for an explanation, hostesses would say they didn’t have enough servers or weren’t expecting such a big crowd.

In reality, they just wanted to create the illusion that the restaurant was as popular as ever and continue to funnel people into the highly-profitable bar area. The strategy worked for a while, but gradually people caught on and grew annoyed with having to wait to eat in a half-empty restaurant.

Or it could be, like any chain restaurant, the Olive Garden’s luster wore off. It became a "mature business."

Instead of trying to fool – and annoy – the customers, shouldn’t Olive Garden have found a way to maintain its popularity? Outback Steakhouse, which is about the same age as Olive Garden, seems to have been up and down as a business, but it manages to keep people lining up – and the restaurant packed.

I was thinking of the Olive Garden last night when the Tampa Bay Rays announced a "sellout" crowd of 36,048 for their home opener against the Seattle Mariners, the ninth sellout in the 10-plus year history of the franchise. The Rays stopped selling tickets when they got to 36,048, opting to place tarps over the seats of about 6,000 upper deck seats.

For their inaugural game, a sellout on March 31, 1998, the Rays drew 45,369 fans. They didn’t sell out another game for six years, attracting 41,744 to see their 2004 home opener, against the New York Yankees. If memory serves, the Rays had reconfigured some sections of the ballpark, so that probably was a legitimate sellout. By last season, however, they were taking the Olive Garden approach, announcing sellouts of 36,048 on three occasions, twice against the Yankees and once vs. the Red Sox.

When a team draws only 12,000 fans a game, as the Rays have for much of the last decade, it makes sense to put tarps on much of the upper deck to create a more intimate setting and save on the costs of ushers and clean-up crew. But why announce a "sellout" of 36,048 two days in advance when you could sell another 6,000-plus tickets?

It’s easy to understand the mentality. By increasing demand, supply is limited. This is why baseball keeps building smaller ballparks; it was unable to fill the stadiums built in the 1960s and ’70s. Not surprisingly, the Rays proposed new stadium will hold 34,000 seats.

That’s what a sellout will be when Olive Garden Park, home of Al Lang Field, opens in 2012. By 2014, I’m guessing a sellout will be 29,876.

Jeff Conine retired from baseball the other day, finishing a career best known for two stints with the Florida Marlins, both of which included World Series championships.

Most baseball players of Conine’s stature transition immediately into broadcasting and/or assume cushy jobs as "special assistants" in the front offices of one of their former teams. Others take a year off to travel, fish, and golf. A lot.

Conine? He just announced an ambitious schedule of triathlon events for this year. At the end of this month, he’ll compete in St. Petersburg, Florida, in the prestigious St. Anthony’s Triathlon. He’ll also compete this fall in the Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii, along with the Ironman 70.3 (half-ironman) championship in Clearwater in November.

Most triathletes have to qualify for Kona or Clearwater and it’s no easy task. Conine no doubt is getting a special exemption because of his celebrity status and it’s hard to argue with that. Many triathletes buy their way into competitions, either by raising money for charity or paying for high-end equipment and coaching. Conine’s former boss, Marlins president David Sampson, received an exemption in 2006 and he’s not nearly the celebrity Conine is.

Until Lance Armstrong opts to return to his teenage triathlon roots, which remains a hot rumor, Conine might be the best thing to happen to the sport, which is booming from a participant standpoint but remains off the radar screen as a spectator sport. Conine is a terrific guy who is comfortable dealing with the media, not that the sport attracts much coverage. The Ironman folks no doubt will create some slogans playing off Kona and Conine. Heck, Conine even looks a bit like Armstrong.

Conine, 41, has never completed a triathlon of any kind, let alone the grueling Ironman distance, though he has finished a few duathlons (run-bike-run races). He might look like a typical lumbering baseball player, but he’s actually a terrific athlete. He pitched for UCLA and has been a competitive handball player.

Conine made more than $30 million playing baseball, so he has the time, resources, athleticism, and drive to become competitive in triathlon immediately. So do many ex-athletes, though it’s difficult to envision many taking on the challenge. Each year, it seems an ex-NFL lineman tackles the Boston or New York marathons after losing 100-plus pounds. People like Robin Williams and Felicity Huffman pop up in sprint distance triathlons, which though challenging do not require much time commitment. (Heck, I’m able to do them.) But an Ironman takes 30 hours of training a week.

The Ironman distance consists of a 2.4-mile swim and a 112-mile bike ride followed by a marathon (26.2 miles). The pros finish in 8 hours or so. The rank-and-file take 12 to 16 hours. I’m guessing Conine will clock in with a respectable 11-to-12 hour finish.

Conine’s baseball experience no doubt will serve as good preparation for triathlon. Even though it’s more anaerobic than aerobic, it’s a grueling 162-game season, a true endurance sport from a mental standpoint.

Between his stints with the Florida Marlins, Conine was a teammate of Cal Ripken with the Baltimore Orioles. Ripken, of course, is known as baseball’s "Iron Man" for playing in 2,632 consecutive games, a streak that never will be broken. If Conine completes the Kona Ironman, less than a year after playing his final game, he deserves a share of that title.