"I read the item the other day on The Daily about the time you squawked at Bill about the Big Brother/Little Brother thing. Being a BB myself, I think I understand him better than you might have done at the time you were ranting. But it seems like you really came to understand him.

"Good for you.

"Of course, after you calmed down and left, he probably did what we Big Brothers all do: mutter, 'Dickhead!'"

And being the ever-belligerent Little Brother I am when faced with the imperious majesty of a Big Brother's dismissal, I replied in a letter:

Dear Dickhead,

And just what do you think little brothers muttered as they walked away from their BBs after once again being patted on the head and dismissed as yet another insignificant LB? It's the natural order of things, as a wise man once said.

I must tell you the circumstances of reading your kind letter about my brother Billy's death. It arrived yesterday in the mail. Not recognizing the address, but noting the Trenton postmark, I knew it must be from someone in the family who taught me the actual words on the bridge from Pennsylvania to New Jersey: "Trenton Uses What The World Refuses."

I placed the letter, unread, on the table next to my bed. And there it sat for 24 hours. I knew it was a letter of condolence, I just wasn't ready to read it. I knew a time would come, and it did. It was in the ninth inning of the first game of the Phillies-Atlanta doubleheader Sunday. Ryan Howard had hit three home runs to give the Phighten's a 6-1 lead they held until the 8th inning when Atlanta made it 6-3. In the top of the ninth the Braves made it 7-6 with a four run inning against the patchwork Phillies bullpen. A great moment in Philadelphia baseball history was about to be ruined. The bottom of the order was coming to bat against an Atlanta closer who was perfect in 17 games. He'd never walked a single batter. That's when I walked to my bedroom and got the letter.

"Billy," I said to myself, "I have no idea who wrote this, but I'm going to read it right now because I know it's about you. And I need you, big brother, to do something. We have watched the Phillies lose too many games like this in our lives. I'm not going to call this a prayer. I just want to see what you got, now that you're. . .you know."

And so I read your letter -- incidently, you had me with "dickhead" -- and I held it in my hand as the bottom of the order handed Atlanta its ass. I held your letter like it was sacred writ and I came as close to believing in anything in a long long time.

So thank you, Michael. You've confirmed my belief that I am, in fact, insane. And I don't plan on changing a thing anytime too soon. After all, I've got a dickhead in heaven on my side.

Clark