Forget the “300 workout” based on the Spartan movie of a few years ago. I want to do “The True Blood Workout.”

Much of the cast of the HBO series is jacked, from vampire Eric Northman to immortal maenad Maryann Forrester to V-juice dealer Lafayette Reynolds – and especially his cousin Tara Thornton, who has yet to wear anything other than a sleeveless shirt on the show.

Then there’s Jason Stackhouse and Benedict “Eggs” Talley, who both manage to maintain washboard abs despite usually being under the influence of vampire juice, religious brainwashing, or hypnosis.

In this week’s episode of True Blood, there’s a hilarious exchange between Stackhouse (actor Ryan Kwanten) and Andy Bellefleur (Chris Bauer). Seated in Jason’s pickup, armed and ready to attack Maryann, Stackhouse hands the chubby Bellefleur some energy bars and urges him to “carb up.”

Bellefleur, half-drunk as usual, gives Stackhouse grief for how easy life is for him, especially with the ladies. Stackhouse scoffs. “Do you have any idea how much I work out?”

Quite a bit, as it turns out. Kwanten, 32, was an elite-level triathlete in Australia who until his life got busy with True Blood was competing in biathlons (swim/runs) in this country. Brooks, 28, who plays Eggs, recently competed in the Tag the World Triathlon in Hawaii, a charitable event.

Anyone up for the True Blood Triathlon?

There are only two conclusions to be made from the trade of Scott Kazmir from the Tampa Bay Rays to the Los Angeles Angels.

Either the Rays do not believe Kazmir ever will re-gain his elite-pitcher form. Or they’re simply dumping salary.

The knee-jerk reaction is to assume the latter, that the Rays are looking to maintain their status as one of baseball’s more profitable teams and are dumping one of the few big contracts they can. If Pat Burrell was still breathing, the Rays possibly could have kept Kazmir and this winter dealt Burrell and the $9 million he’s owed for 2010.

It’s more likely, however, the Rays have given up on Kazmir and do not like the idea of paying ace money to a guy who looks more like a No.3 or No. 4 starter. Kazmir has been maddeningly erratic over the last year and only recently brought his 2009 ERA below 7.00. So bad was Kazmir earlier this season that the Rays more or less created a phantom injury to give him time off.

The agent Scott Boras has done some fascinating research on pitchers who do not compete in college and reach the Majors at a young age. The research says that pitchers almost always are best served by going to college. Boras, as controversial as he can be, puts his money behind his research; he rarely represents high school pitchers.

One such client was Steve Avery, the lefty pitcher who debuted with the Atlanta Braves at the age of 20 in 1990. He was among the “Young Guns” Braves rotation of the early ‘90s that included Tom Glavine and John Smoltz, and later Greg Maddux.

Avery was better than Glavine and Smoltz from 1991 through ’93. It’s tough to believe now, but Avery was considered to have the highest ceiling of any of the four, including Maddux.

Late in the 1993 season, Avery suffered a minor muscle pull under his pitching armpit. The following year, his wife gave birth very prematurely to their first child, a son. The boy ended up being okay and the injury was minor, but Avery was never the same. By 25, he was effectively done, though he pitched until the age of 29 and made a brief comeback in 2003, at the age of 33.

People who worked for the Braves at the time still don’t know what happened to Avery. It apparently was nothing physical.

Like Avery, Kazmir is a hard-throwing left-hander who reached the Majors at the age of 20 and experienced great success between the ages of 21 and 24. Like Avery, Kazmir signed a lucrative long-term deal early in his career, sacrificing arbitration eligibility and postponing free agency in exchange for guaranteed money.

Like Avery, Kazmir seems to have made a good financial decision as his performance has inexplicably suffered. Like Avery, Kazmir is a former first-round pick and a pleasant young man who helped turn around the fortunes of a long-suffering franchise.

Like Avery, Kazmir suffered a relatively minor injury that seems to have thrown his mechanics out of whack. In Kazmir’s case, the injury was more serious (elbow), but nothing requiring Tommy John surgery or a long stint on the disabled list.

The Braves stuck with Avery until the end of his contract, though he no longer was part of the Fab Four. He went 7-13 in 1995 with a 4.67 ERA and 7-10, 4.47 the following season. He later played for the Red Sox, Reds, and Tigers, but never recovered.

Avery earned more than $22 million in his career, along with a World Series ring, and presumably is living happily somewhere at the age of 39. Dontrelle Willis, another hard-throwing lefty, has followed a similar career path and also seems on the verge of being out of baseball by his 30th birthday.

Like Avery, Willis was a phenom who pitched in the World Series at the age of 21, was dominant for three years, and inexplicably declined. Like Avery (and Kazmir), Willis had the foresight to sign a long-term deal early in his career.

Kazmir won’t be 26 until January and has a contract that guarantees him career earnings of more than $30 million. There’s a possibility he could rediscover his form in Anaheim, though that seems unlikely.

After all, twenty-nine teams passed on Kazmir when he went through waivers earlier this summer. The team that believed in him the most just threw in the towel.

Kazmir is a guy worth rooting for, just like Avery and Willis. Unfortunately, the odds of a lefty phenom rediscovering his form are even more unlikely than 21-year-olds pitching in the World Series.

There’s no bigger scam in all of sports than the NFL forcing season ticket holders to purchase full-price tickets to exhibition scrimmages. That’s all they are, not “pre-season games.”

In no other aspect of life do consumers allow themselves to be treated this way. If a restaurant provides poor service, you never go there again. A contractor does you wrong, you refuse to pay, inform the Better Business Bureau, and even take them to court. People never stop complaining about airlines. In every other aspect of their consumer lives, they demand to see the manager, talk to the supervisor, get a refund, and raise holy hell until their complaint is heard, usually over something far less expensive than football tickets.

So why is it that consumers become so passive and submissive when it comes to the NFL? No matter how high the prices are raised, no matter how inconvenient the game times become, no matter how many seat licenses and surcharges are added, no matter how far in advance the teams demand payment, no matter how much their taxes are raised to pay for stadiums, no matter how drunk their neighbors in the stands become, fans respond with, “Yes sir, may I have another?”

It’s like NFL fans have been hypnotized into those zombies with black corneas on HBO’s True Blood. Yes, Mary Ann, whatever you want.

If fans who held season tickets 20 years ago were told that in 2009 they’d have to put up with all of this, they’d have quit right then. Instead, like the frog who stays in the water as it’s boiled, they’ve stuck around every year as being a season ticket holder becomes gradually more uncomfortable.

Even now, with NFL teams forced to backpedal and offer single-game tickets, discounts and part with, in some instances, their beloved personal seat licenses and mandatory pre-season game add-ons, it’s a function of the economy – not because fans finally wised up and said, “Hey, this is highway robbery.”

If fans still had the money, they’d still be paying.

Major League Baseball never will be accused of leaving a dime on the table. In the last decade, tickets to spring training exhibitions (not games) have soared in price. But those contests still, for the most part, are much cheaper than the regular season. Not only that, you get to watch games in much smaller venues, closer to the action, in great weather. During the second half of spring training, you get to see the regulars, for the most part.

Best of all, nobody forces you to buy spring tickets as a condition of the regular season. Granted, the games are in Florida and Arizona, but that’s just the point. Anyone who traveled there – or lives there – and attends the games, is gung-ho to do so. They’re not being blackmailed into buying tickets.

There will be much talk in the coming weeks about NFL television blackouts, empty seats, lost revenue and how even the mighty Shield is feeling the recession. Don’t believe a word of it. The NFL’s television deal is such that teams cover their player payroll and front office expenses before selling a single ticket. When the NFL’s finances were exposed several years ago as part of litigation with Al Davis, it was staggering to see the amount of profit – profit, not just gross revenues – these teams were making. Plus, most teams paid nothing for their stadiums and pay little to nothing to use them.

So they’ll net $20 million per team this year instead of $45 million. They’re not that concerned. After all, they know most of the zombies will keep paying and the rest will eventually return.

Yesterday Rick Pitino ripped the media, calling on them to examine the facts and that “all of this has been a lie, a total fabrication of the truth.”

Well, not exactly. Karen Cunagin Sypher told police that the Louisville basketball coach sexually assaulted her, an allegation she brought to police after she was accused of trying to extort millions from the coach. She has pleaded not guilty to federal charges of extortion and lying to the FBI.

Prosecutors did not pursue charges against Pitino, believing them to be unfounded.

If Pitino feels like he’s been unfairly treated based on the reporting of those allegations, that’s open to debate. The media is simply reporting – accurately – those allegations, along with the fact that Pitino has faced no charges.

Here’s what’s not in dispute, that’s not “a total fabrication.”

Pitino, a married father of five who wears his Catholic faith on his sleeve, had sex with Sypher in a near-empty restaurant six years ago. Pitino admits this, says it was consensual.

Pitino subsequently gave Sypher $3,000. She says it was for an abortion. He says it was for health insurance. Either way, he admits giving her the money. This, of course, is unusual. Under normal circumstances, college sports boosters are giving money, not receiving it.

Pitino’s comments yesterday were inaccurate at best, delusional at worst.

“Everything that’s been printed, everything that’s been reported, everything that’s been breaking in the news on the day Ted Kennedy died is 100 percent a lie, a lie,” Pitino said. “All of this has been a lie, a total fabrication of the truth.”

Nothing reported has been “a lie.” The filing of lawsuits, the reporting of allegations is not “a lie,” even if they prove to be false. Reporting is fair and balanced if it provides the other side of the story and reports that Pitino has faced no charges.

Plus, Pitino does not dispute the basic facts of his indiscretion. He had sex with a woman other than his wife.

And why bring Ted Kennedy into this? Admittedly, there are some parallels here. Kennedy, too, was a staunch Catholic involved in an episode that resulted in harm to a young woman, death actually. The specifics of what happened also were open to debate and damaged Kennedy’s career.

As for Pitino, it’s unlikely his career will suffer at all.

Pitino, speaking about his wife, said “it has been pure hell for her and my family.”

Ah yes, the pass-the-blame-to-the-media strategy. Mrs. Pitino and the kids are not suffering because of media reports. They’re victims of Pitino’s recklessness – period.

But at least Pitino is keeping things in perspective.

“We need to get on with the important things in life like the economy and really some crucial things in life like basketball.”

You got to love a guy who has made more than $30 million in his career, who continues to make more than $2 million annually, sympathizing with everyone about the economy. And let’s not forget the upcoming Big East schedule!

Is there a more recession-proof gig in America than that of a successful college sports coach? Where else can you bring embarrassment upon your employer, wife, and family and suffer no repercussions other than some shots from the media?

At least Pitino said one thing yesterday that accurately summed up our modern sports world.

“It has not hurt recruiting one bit. We will still bring in Top 10 players.”

On the wall across from my desk is a framed cover of USA Today Baseball Weekly from May 7, 1997. It’s a cool image, featuring Ken Caminiti in a sleeveless San Diego Padres T-shirt breaking a bat in two.

Caminiti, who died of a drug-related heart attack in 2004, was one of my favorite players to cover and I helped organize the photo shoot. But the reason the image is on my wall is to remind me to be a better journalist.

The cover story I wrote for that issue was how creatine and other over-the-counter supplements were fueling the power surge in the game. I interviewed more than a dozen players for the piece, including Caminiti, Mark McGwire, and Jason Giambi, along with strength coaches, managers, general managers, and nutrition experts.

Of that group, Caminiti, McGwire, and Giambi, have been exposed as steroid users. Other players mentioned in the story have had to deny steroid allegations while some have never been suspected.

In the story, however, most everyone agreed that creatine was responsible for the power surge.

“It’s the best product on the market today,” McGwire told me. “It helps with strength and endurance and not just with weightlifting. The results have just been outstanding. I wish I had started taking it sooner.”

When the story came out, several of my fellow baseball writers extended their compliments. Some wrote their own creatine articles. The piece was mentioned in the annual Best American Sportswriting anthology.

Now, of course, we know I was reporting with blinders on. We might have suspected steroid use, given how huge these guys were becoming. But in the absence of testing, whistle blowers or an admission like the one Caminiti gave to Sports Illustrated in 2002 after his retirement, how were we to know?

The deepest my story went on the steroid issue was this quote from Brian Sabean, the Giants general manager who said steroid use “wouldn’t surprise me. If it gives somebody an edge, guys are going to use it. Look how it’s affected other sports. We’d really have our head in the sand if we thought it wasn’t here in baseball.”

That’s why I find it hard to believe that baseball has rid itself of performance enhancing drugs. A few years ago, MLB outlawed the amphetamine-like product ephedrine. So players replaced it with energy drinks, pounding Red Bull and similar concoctions before games. MLB (finally) outlawed steroids, but how do we know guys aren’t using HGH and other undetectable designer products?

The answer is we don’t. I might have been foolish in the late ‘90s to believe steroid use didn’t exist, and lazy not to investigate it more thoroughly. But I’m not going to believe players aren’t taking similar avenues today, especially when the financial payoff is even greater.

I don’t have proof. Again, in the absence of (HGH) testing, whistle blowers, or Caminiti-like confessions, there’s no way to know. It’s 1997 again, no matter how much MLB tries to convince us otherwise.

I guess I should care more about this, but I no longer do. When the seven-time champion of the world’s most drug-infested sport gets a pass, when sports such as track and football – yes, football – are filthy, why the obsession with PED use in baseball? The fans don’t seem to care.

There are guys who continue to put up big numbers in baseball but nobody is raising an eyebrow. We still write about their new-found dedication to off-season workouts and nutrition. Most of these sluggers are “good guys,” not the type to cheat. That’s odd. Twelve years ago, McGwire, Giambi, and Caminiti were regarded as good guys – great guys, in fact.

I don’t care what guys are using. If I was in the position to set myself for life financially by taking a little something extra, especially when my competitors were doing the same thing, I’d be hard pressed to take the high road. I just wish more guys would follow the lead of Caminiti and say, “Yeah, I did it. Everyone else was doing it and, you know what? It helped.”

That’s why I’m fine with where we are with drug use in baseball. I’m just no longer going to pretend it’s any different. After twelve years, I won’t be fooled again.

I grew up about a mile south of Mount Vernon, George Washington’s colonial era mansion.

“Mansion” is a relative term. George’s house is modest by today’s mansion standards, though it sits on the top of a bluff on hundreds of acres with a breathtaking view of the Potomac River. The property has about a mile of river frontage.

In other words, George had curb appeal. When you grow up just down the road from D.C., you know there are rich and powerful people scattered about in massive estates. You have no idea who they are, but they’re around.

In fact, the only professional athlete who lived anywhere nearby was Sonny Jurgensen, the Hall of Fame quarterback who lived in a waterfront estate almost walking distance from Mt. Vernon.

Here in the Tampa Bay area, there are jock mansions everywhere. The two largest homes in Pinellas County, land of Clearwater and St. Petersburg, belong to Hulk Hogan and Matt Geiger, guys who made their respective fortunes through steroids and being seven feet tall.

Geiger’s massive 30,000 square foot compound was featured in the movie “The Punisher” as the home of villain Howard Saint, played by John Travolta. If you missed “The Punisher,” that’s understandable. It was sort of the Matt Geiger of action movies.

In Hillsborough County, which includes Tampa, the question of who owns the largest home is open to debate. Vince Naimoli, ex-Rays owner, has one of the larger spreads. He lives in the walled North Tampa community of Avila, which over the years has been home to Tony Dungy, Jon Gruden, Warren Sapp, Jorge Posada, Fred McGriff, Lou Piniella, and Derek Jeter.

The Yankees shortstop has spent the last decade living in a modest $1 million Avila McMansion. Jeter, who declares himself a Florida resident for tax purposes, got into hot water with the IRS several years ago when the IRS claimed he was a New York resident trying to avoid taxes. As part of the IRS’ argument, they claimed Jeter had most of his prized possessions in New York. (An undisclosed settlement later was reached.)

Jeter apparently is looking to put this argument to rest by building a massive 30,875 square foot mansion in the Davis Islands section of South Tampa. Since it’s not in a gated community, it has become a tourist attraction, with people posing for pictures in front of the construction site. To protect his privacy, Jeter received a variance to build a six-foot wall around the compound.

You can’t help but wonder if construction workers didn’t bury some Boston Red Sox or Tampa Bay Rays gear in the concrete foundation like those guys who tried to bury a Sox jersey in the new Yankee Stadium. Think of the hidden time capsule you could install, filled with Mariah Carey CDs, the Alex Rodriguez GQ interview, etc.

Some might say Jeter’s mansion is in poor taste, especially at a time when unemployment in the Tampa Bay area is at 12 percent. I say who cares? Let Jeter stimulate the economy with his colossus. He will have the undisputed largest home in Hillsborough County.

That is, at least for now.

I hear A-Rod is looking for land.

Unlike many HBO actresses who do sex scenes wearing bras and other clothing, Anna Paquin has no problem taking her clothes off.

“I’m sorry, maybe there are women who keep their bras on while they have sex. I don’t happen to be one of them,” Paquin said in a recent interview with Nylon magazine.

Paquin plays the sexy telepath Sookie Stackhouse in HBO’s runaway vampire-themed hit “True Blood.” In the interview, she addressed what has become known as “HBO sex,” where actresses keep their bras on as if being filmed for network television.

This isn’t about nudity but authenticity. “Sex in the City” started the trend of HBO’s female characters wearing bras during sex. I wasn’t in a hurry to see Sarah Jessica Parker’s nicotine-ravaged body, but such scenes seemed to go against HBO’s mission of being edgy, groundbreaking and, well, hot. (Thankfully Kim Cattrall had no problem with nudity. ‘Atta girl, Lassie!)

A few other random thoughts from this week’s True Blood…

Nelsan Ellis, who plays the gay, muscle-bound, vampire juice-selling Lafayette Reynolds, might be the best actor on the show.

The other night, I was flipping through HBO channels. There must be people at HBO who find it amusing to stack the lineup with movies running concurrently featuring the same actor. I used to do the same thing in high school when I worked at a video store. I’d pick an obscure character actor and create a display of eight of his films to see if anyone would notice.

HBO isn’t nearly as creative; lately they’ve been staging George Clooney film festivals. But the other night I was flipping between an episode of True Blood I’d seen already and the excellent film “The Express,” the football movie about Heisman Trophy winner Ernie Davis, who died of leukemia at the age of 23.

Davis’ cousin is a skinny, Civil Rights activist sporting a mini ‘60s Afro. I couldn’t place the talented young actor, even though I was flipping between The Express and True Blood. Not until midway through the movie did I realize it was Nelsan Ellis.

How is this possible? In True Blood, Lafayette looks about 6-4 and 240 pounds of steel. In The Express, which probably was filmed right before the first season of True Blood, Ellis’ character looks about 5-foot-10, 165.

Maybe Ellis bulked up for True Blood. Maybe he seems bigger on True Blood because most of his scenes are with petite actresses. Maybe the guy’s physical transformation is part of his tremendous range as a Juilliard-trained actor. Whatever the reason, we probably haven’t seen the last of Ellis.

In this week’s episode, many of the True Blood characters return to Bon Temps, La., from Dallas. In this alternative reality, vampires travel on planes by being sealed in sleek, air-tight, metal “coffins” that look like something you might have strapped to the top of a station wagon in the 1970s.

Given the cost of checked baggage these days, it’s got to be expensive to check a vampire. It costs $300 round trip just for a bicycle. Not only that, is it really necessary for a vampire to fly between Dallas and the fictitious Bon Temps? Dallas is only an eight-hour drive from New Orleans; it’s much closer from most of Louisiana. Given how fast the True Blood vampires move it seems they could run the 500 miles as fast as flying.

This season, the writers have created a bigger part for the character Hoyt, the 28-year-old, virginal mama’s boy who is in love with new teenage vampire Jessica Hamby. Why is it we don’t run across more guys named Hoyt? Aside from Hoyt Wilhelm, the late Hall of Fame knuckleball pitcher, it’s tough to come up with another famous Hoyt.

Speaking of Hoyt, he seems to have bailed on his job working for the Bon Temps city works department. So too have Lafayette and Jason Stackhouse. They’ve been too busy dealing with vampires. Who’s taking care of the roads?

After writing yesterday about how Brett Favre and I are the same age, both born in October of 1969, I received two e-mails from former high school/college classmates.

Both figured they too were the same age as Favre, only to find they were six to 12 months older.

This is because those of in Generation X were split between two school age deadlines. Until the 1970s, everyone born in the same calendar year was in the same grade. Thus, the deadline for school was January 1 and about 55 to 60 percent of people graduating high school were 17.

My dad, born in December, graduated high school at the age of 17. My mom, born in September, also graduated at the age of 17. I also graduated at 17, in 1987.

Beginning with Generation X, school districts started shifting the school deadline to September 1. I began school in Richmond, Va., where the deadline was Jan. 1. When I was in sixth grade, we moved to Alexandria, Va., where the deadline was Sept. 1. Thus, I went from being one of the younger kids in my class to the youngest, by almost three months.

I never noticed a difference, except for when it came time to get drivers licenses. The only time I got annoyed was with sports, where the cutoff date was Sept. 1. Thus, I was always playing hoops and baseball with younger kids. I was forever assigned to play first base or power forward/center, even though genetically I was destined to be 5-foot-11, tops.

It’s not like this messed up my chances of playing pro sports. But at least if I had played more point guard and middle infield as a grade schooler, I would have been better prepared for high school sports.

These days, the school cutoff date is universally Sept. 1. That means about 80 percent of high school graduates are 18.

I’m not a fan of this, especially because of the trend of many parents to “gray-shirt” boys born in the summer. Let’s say a kid is born in August. His parents might hold him back, not wanting him to be behind, even though he’s already older than kids entering school from previous generations. As a result, he’s almost 19 when he graduates.

Our youngest son, now 4, was born in August. So commonplace has gray-shirting become that some of our friends assumed we were going to hold him back. Why? After all, he’ll be older entering kindergarten than his father and grandparents were.

Every kid is different, so the mantra goes. But are we doing our kids any favors by holding back all of those born between Sept. 1 and New Year’s Eve? We’re extending childhood another year. Is school that much more difficult than it was a generation ago? (Thanks to No Child Left Behind, many believe it’s less challenging.)

We’ve dumbed down America. Does that mean kids now have to be older to master less information?

Brett Favre and I were born during the same week in October of 1969.

Other than a relationship with the good folks at the Athletes’ Performance training center, I can’t think of one other thing we have in common. Yet as someone about to celebrate a milestone birthday during the same 72-hour period seven weeks from now, I feel a kinship with the new Vikings quarterback.

Like everyone else, I’m tired of Favre flip flopping on retirement. I wish ESPN would just make it official and launch ESPN 4 to handle their Favre coverage. But I’m glad No.4 keeps coming back. As long as Favre keeps playing, I’ll still feel like a young person.

When I began covering Major League Baseball in June of 1991, there were only two players younger than me: Pudge Rodriguez and Ken Griffey Jr.

These days, it’s tough to find a big leaguer younger than me. The other day I covered the Tampa Bay Rays game against the Baltimore Orioles and could not find a player older than me in either clubhouse, a first in my 18-year career. I knew that day would come, but it sure arrived quickly.

Between the alleged crackdown on performance enhancing drugs and the unwillingness of teams to pay big money to older players, it’s as if an entire generation of players disappeared over the last 18 months.

Even a large group of guys I’m almost certain (if that’s possible anymore) did not use PEDs have hung it up or are on the verge of being pushed out the door, a group that includes Mike Mussina, Greg Maddux, Curt Schilling, Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, etc.

At no point in my childhood did I believe I’d become a professional athlete. But as an adult, there’s comfort in still being the same age of at least some pros.

During my college years at the University of Virginia, I was a classmate of Herman Moore, who went on to a successful 12-year career in the NFL. Herman also was born in October of 1969 – but he’s been out of the league for seven years already.

These days, I deal with athletes such as Evan Longoria, who was born on my 16th birthday. There’s nothing wrong with getting old(er) and, of course, it beats the alternative.

But it won’t bother me at all if Favre decides to play another four years.

The Tampa Bay Rays always have struggled to attract fans. Perhaps that’s why they do everything they can to keep them around, including providing free screenings for skin cancer and prostate cancer.

There’s nothing funny about prostate cancer. I have close friends who have battled it recently. Prostate cancer screenings are a must for men over 40, especially those with a family history.

But it’s hard not to chuckle about the actual prostate cancer screening, especially when you’re one of 1,430 guys standing in line for a PSA test and physical exam.

That’s how many men showed up on July 23 at Tropicana Field. I have a few months before my 40th birthday, the recommended age to begin annual prostate exams. But as someone with expensive self-employed health insurance with high deductibles, I jump at every free medical opportunity – especially when it includes a pair of Rays’ tickets.

So I showed up for my inaugural prostate screening and found about 150 guys already waiting. It took me about an hour and half to get through the line along The Trop’s Center Field Street concourse. Rays employees handed out bottled water and team magazines and pointed out the location of the bathrooms.

Few guys went, perhaps not wanting to demonstrate a weak prostate.

It’s funny what men will talk about for 90 minutes while awaiting a prostate exam: sports, family, politics, health care, fishing, hunting, food, working out, cars, boats, more sports, home repairs, beer, movies, and more sports.

Many conversations began with “How ‘bout them Rays?”

Want to know what guys don’t talk about while in line to get a prostate exam?

Getting a prostate exam.

Most in line were in their 40s and 50s. There were a few women on hand, which was odd. Were they holding spots for husbands or boyfriends? Looking for an equal opportunity? Going the extra mile for Rays’ tickets?

I mean, they sure looked like women.

A prostate screening consists of two parts. There’s the prostate-specific antigen (PSA) test, which is basic bloodwork. Next is the “digital rectal exam.”

That’s such a modern-sounding phrase, digital rectal exam. You picture Dr. Bones McCoy from Star Trek waving a scanner over the lower extremities.

Unfortunately, digital does not refer to technology.

After my bloodwork, I was greeted by a pleasant young doctor who shook my hand and ushered me into a partitioned area right there in the center field concourse.

The good doctor pulled on a rubber glove and said something you just don’t hear every day at the ballpark: “I’m going to need you to lower your pants, grab that chair, and spread your legs.”

I did as I was told, taking note of the 500-count box of gloves and large container of lube. My doctor was one of four conducting exams. So it figures each doc saw more than 350 patients that day. I wonder if the Guinness people kept track of this.

It was over quickly. My doc knows how to find a prostate. As he removed his glove, he pronounced me healthy and “walnut-sized.” (The PSA test results arrived two weeks later and that checked out, too.)

I thanked the doctor and headed out to the concourse, where I walked past the line of hundreds of men. I saw a few familiar faces and nodded, knowing exactly what to say.

“How ‘bout them Rays?”