AND WHAT A MERRY BAND WE WERE. I'm talking about the Philadelphia Inquirer but I can't think about The Inquirer without thinking of Whitemarsh Rugby Football Club. What I learned from both will fill a book some day. But for now let me kvell for having been part of both organizations in their prime. We were young once, and soldiers. And we fought the good fight . Both at the Inquirer and Whitemarsh.

Oddly, when I played for Whitemarsh I hated the name Philadelphia. Me, Mr. Philadelphia, hated the name Philadelphia. Because that Philadelphia was the name of our archrivals, the most dominant rugby club in the region -- the Evening Bulletin.

Forgive me, I'm having a senior moment, I meant to say Philadelphia RFC. The Evening Bulletin was the name of the most dominant newspaper in the city when I joined The Philadelphia Inquirer in 1972 when I was already a three year veteran of Whitemarsh RFC . Over the years I used to show up at work at the newspaper with so many rugby stitches from game day or practice that the guys in the photo department started calling me zipperhead. I don't mean to boast, but they had more than a hundred reasons to call me that.

And that was just on the face. Rugby scars mark my body from fingers to toes. Take my knees. . . please. And all of these injuries were suffered while working as a reporter or daily columnist at the Philadelphia Inquirer. Which makes me proud to this day. Why? Because I never took a sick day off from the Inquirer because of some rugby wound unless I was in the hospital.

I find some honor in that. I told you I was a whack job.