Contradictions abound in difficult times, as we weave our way through the mine field of emotion and a shifting geopolitical landscape in the wake of the events of September 11th.

I've already written a bunch about the day of tragedy, about being informed of the events by my brother who called from Colorado with the "are you okay" instinct, about spending the rest of that day glued to CNN at a friend's house. I didn't really think I'd write much about a connection to baseball because, let's face it, baseball seems like a glitzy, trite pursuit when compared with the heroism of the hundreds of police and fire fighters who were doing all they could to rescue the people trapped in the Twin Towers, only to be trapped themselves.

But baseball does have a connection. In fact it has numerous connections, and more and more are popping up all the time. In moments of cynicism or pessimism we may want to "expose" baseball as just another overpriced entertainment for a spoiled society. But baseball comes from a much less cynical age, and they don't call it the "national pastime" for nothin'. If in recent times we have begun to question baseball's relevance to the national psyche, the past week has only cemented its place there.

As baseball got back to business this week, providing distraction from 24-hour news coverage and rallying fans to gather in public places in the face of fear, some of the most patriotic moments of recent memory have been played. It's a baseball ritual to play the national anthem before every game, but how stirring was it to see fans, regardless of local team colors, bedecked in red, white and blue, waving flags and singing along? When I was a kid, in the seventies, lots of people sang, but these days hardly anyone does. Until this week, that is.

The Phillies drew 8000 walk-up ticket sales for the first game to be played after the tragedy and promptly gained a game on the Braves in the NL East. And in Pittsburgh, the city nearest the crash site of the fourth plane, it was a coincidence that their foe that evening was the New York Mets. The crowd was small but vocal, the game only being played there because Shea is still in use as a staging area for rescue and salvage crews. The entire country is turning to New York as its rallying point. Pirates fans wore "I Love NY" buttons and waved banners that read "USA, NYC, We Are Family"

But here's what I mean about contradictions. Even more than the Mets, the Yankees are being embraced as America's team, even to the point where lifelong Red Sox fans, Yankee-haters from birth, are rooting for New York to rise up and overcome.

I habitually wear a Yankees cap everywhere I go, here in New England. Normally I get challenged about it, brief arguments in the checkout line, profanity tossed at me in the subway--it's like wearing a target on my forehead. But this week, I had total strangers come up to me in parking lots and give their condolences. One fellow told me he's always rooted for the Red Sox, but right now, as he put it "We're all New Yorkers. In our hearts, we're all hurting for what happened."

The cynical part of me says that if the Red Sox were still in contention, maybe it would be harder for this change of heart to have come about. But then I think about the magnitude of the horror of 9/11 and I think no, this goes way beyond a pennant race and a sports rivalry. Hell froze over, pigs flew, and they played "New York, New York" at Fenway Park to a cheering crowd of 30,000 the other night. People held up signs saying "God Bless The Yankees!" What hits me about that is, first of all, you're not allowed to bring signs to Fenway, second of all, it could have said "God Bless New York." But in times of trouble, people are seeking to make amends. And after all the animosity and hatred that Red Sox fans have heaped on the Yankees (to no avail, I might add) and on Yankees fans, there's suddenly shame and remorse about it.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not putting down Red Sox fans for feeling this way, and I'm not trying to poke fun at their feelings. But it does flabbergast me. I am amazed by it, and touched by it.

At one point during the endless replays of the planes crashing and the towers crumbling I turned to a friend of mine, who is also a native New Yorker, and I said "It sounds stupid, but not only do I feel regular horror, shock and grief as an American, but I feel especially affronted as a New Yorker." He replied "I know exactly what you mean." Yes, we hurt, we grieve, because New York is like a relative to us, a member of the family.

So it does help me to heal, it does comfort me in my grief, to know that so many people out there, even supposed New York haters, are pulling for my city, my shattered, wounded city. Bill Simmons, a Red Sox fan who writes a sharp column for ESPN.com, detailed many of his recent experiences of Sox fans and friends (at http://espn.go.com/page2/s/simmons/010919.html ) saying things like "I don't think I could ever join in on another 'Yan-kees Suck! Yan-kees Suck!' chant without feeling like an idiot" and "Let me tell you that I'm a lifelong Red Sox fan and have hated the Yankees as far back as I can remember ... but baseball needs the Yanks to win the Series this year, now so more than ever. New York needs it. America needs it." Another came across a "Yankees Suck" shirt in his closet and found himself crying.

Baseball may not be able to help us track down a nameless, faceless enemy (even if we get bin Laden, there are many to take his place), baseball won't make our airports safe, can't bring back the lives that were lost, and certainly won't bring about world peace. But it has been a part of the peace I feel at this moment--the knowledge that Americans, fractious and fragmented though we may often be, can pull together.

I, of course, sometimes wish I could turn back the clock, like Superman in the movie, reversing events until we are able to prevent tragedy from happening. I hope that in time we will return to the way of life that has made America great, that we will refuse to live in fear, that things will become "normal" again, the way they used to be. Perhaps that can never happen. Perhaps there is no going back, and everything will be different now. But in my heart I hope for the old days, even if it means my welcome at Fenway Park is short-lived. And if everything is different forever? Well, I just may get over to Fenway a little more often.