AL MVP? How about Derek Jeter

I know there will be a lot of clamoring for Joe Mauer and Mark Texeira, and it will be justified because they are both deserving candidates for the American League Most Valuable Player award.

But I'm rooting for Derek Jeter to finally win one. The classy Yankees' star is having a superb year at the plate and in the field where he supposedly no longer had the range to play shortstop. He remains the heart and soul and leader of a team that's currently the best in baseball.

I don't believe in using the MVP as a lifetime achievement award. I think it should be based on what you've done that particular season, and if you look at Jeter's stats (.332 batting average, 86 runs scored, 16 homers, 21 stolen bases), you realize he has earned it on performance rather than sentiment.

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When a punt boinked off the scoreboard high above the Dallas Cowboys' new billion dollar playpen the other night, referees whistled the play dead and ordered a re-kick. I think it would be kind of cool if you had ground rules saying you have to play the ball off the scoreboard. It would be like the rules we made up when we were kids when trees, telephone poles and even parked cars were in play. You have to admit, it would make things interesting.

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You would think for a billion dollars the architects and Cowboy and NFL officials might have taken into account a punter's ability to boot a football really, really high. Then, again, when I sat in the second deck in right field at the new Yankee Stadium - another billion-dollar edifice - I foolishly expected to be able to see rightfielder Nick Swisher when he took his position. Little did I know they would design the place with obstructed view seats.

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Help me here, folks. The Bills play in a division in which each of their opponents have played 3-4 defenses for several seasons, and they're still acting like this defense is a complicated mystery. Not a good sign.

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So Beth takes Sassy the Cat to the vets recently and runs into a farret who's name is - I'm not making this up - Farret Fawcett.

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I can't recall a team more snake-bitten than the 2009 Mets. The injury-bug is so bad that their pitching ace Johan Santana and newcomer Jeff Francoeur might soon join David Wright, Carlos Beltran and 9 others already on the disabled list. The team is cursed.

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Congratulations to Jenna Cacciatori and Warren Frame on their marriage, and get-well wishes to my good friend and fellow baseballist, Max "Country Mile'' Robertson, who's battling an infection on his leg.

Help! I'm all Favred-out!

Like most sports fans, I'm suffering from a severe case of Favre Fatigue. I don't have a problem with him coming back, and it takes two to tango (or will it be tangle?), so the Minnesota Vikings are as big a player in this soap opera as the NFL's all-time diva quarterback. But enough is enough, already. You'd think something monumentally important had just happened - like a cure for cancer or a solution for world peace.

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That said, I do believe Vikings legend Fran Tarkenton went off the deep-end criticizing Favre. If they ever make another sequel to "Grumpy Old Men'' they ought to contact Fran for a starring role.

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I understand Syracuse scheduling two home games against Notre Dame in the new Giants Stadium in the Jersey Meadowlands, but I wish they had kept their USC home game in the Carrier Dome. I also believe there might be more Subway Alumni than Orange fans at those Notre Dame games, so whose home game will it really be?

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If the Red Sox don't make hay in this weekend's Fenway Park showdown with the Yankees, the race for the AL East will be history.

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Kudos to Bills fans for gobbling up 55,000 season tickets for the second season in a row. Yes, the price was right because they didn't have to pay for the one home game being playing in Toronto, but it's still a great show of support by a fan base that hasn't experienced a playoff game in nearly a decade.

Syracuse will pin hopes on Paulus

No one can be surprised that Syracuse football coach Doug Marrone named former Duke point guard Greg Paulus his starting quarterback after just one week of practice. This was a foregone conclusion the minute Paulus announced he had chosen SU over a dozen other schools, including Nebraska and Michigan, this spring.

As I've written a few times in this cyberspace, this is a risk worth taking. So what if Paulus, a former national scholastic football player of the year, hasn't played the sport in four years? His leadership skills can't be questioned, and during these recent practices he's shown Marrone he has the arm to make all the required throws.

The two-time academic All-America is bright enough to assimilate the SU offense on the fly, and he learned all about dealing with pressure during those games in Chapel Hill - where Duke point guards are about as popular as Bernie Madoff.

I know this is a long-shot, but Paulus is a special talent. I really believe that, barring injury, he is going to be the difference in two or three more wins for SU, which would be a healthy improvement over last year's 3-9 Sour Orange. And even if he bombs, it'll still have been worth it because he'll have sold a bunch of tickets and created interest in a program that's been a bottom feeder for several years.

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I pray that sprinter Usain Bolt is clean because he's such a joy to watch run. Sadly, this is where we are in the world of sports in 21st century - wondering if athletes are breaking records naturally or artificially. I find myself reluctant to gush over such achievements, because I've been burned by so many fraudulent sluggers and sprinters over the past decade.

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I've researched and written quite a bit about Rochester Red Wings history through the years, but I'm hardpressed to come up with many finishes as bizarre as yesterday's. The Wings head into the ninth up by a run, then proceed to give up 12 runs in a 16-5 loss. That's the stuff of the Bad News Bears.

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It seems like it was a decade ago, but it was just last year that I was covering Michael Phelps winning his record 8th Olympic gold medal in Beijing. About an hour before Phelps raced, I was in a bathroom in the Ice Cube swimming arena throwing up. That prompted friends and relatives to wonder if I deserved a gold medal in "hurling.''

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There are reports out of Oakland that Raiders head coach Tom Cable punched defensive assistant Randy Hanson in the jaw. That, of course, reminds me of the "Bickering Bills'' days in 1989 when Buffalo assistants Nick Nicolau and Tom Bresnahan got into a fight. Despite giving away about five inches and 80 pounds, Nicolau got the better of Bresnahan, who wound up wearing a turban-like bandage around his head to meetings after having his head driven through a plaster wall. In the book I calloborated on with Steve Tasker, the Bills special team's star told me that Nicolau and Bresnahan had gone back to being friends before the plaster had dried on that repaired wall in the coaches' meeting room.

Making up for lost time

Forgive me, folks, for my week-long absence from this cyberspace, but I’ve been working on three books at once and the deadline for a couple of chapters is fast approaching. I promise not to disappear for so long a period again.

Clearly, much has happened since the last time I wrote.

It’s time to play some catch-up.

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I believe Tony Dungy is the best thing dog-killer Michael Vick had going for him during his search for a new NFL city in which to resume his career and attempt to redeem himself after his heinous acts of cruelty. Vick also will benefit from being around Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb, who’s as good a role model as you’re going to find in today’s world of sports. That said, I still wonder if Philly was the best place for Vick. The City of Brotherly Love has the toughest sports fans and media to please, and callers to Philadelphia’s often vitriolic radio talk shows already have been vicious. As an animal lover, I still can’t understand how Vick or anyone else could have found pleasure in what he did, but I do believe in second chances. And if Vick is smart, he will lean heavily on both Dungy and McNabb along the way.

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Speaking of second chances, Louisville wouldn’t have retained basketball coach Rick Pitino after his affair became public if he were a .500 coach with no titles on his resume. Sadly, if you just win, baby, everything gets glossed over in sports.

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I try to refrain from gleaning anything meaningful from exhibition football games, so please take these following observations with a grain of salt: I like the progress the Bills are making with their no-huddle (the tempo was noticeably faster Saturday night vs. the Bears than it had been last week against the Titans) and you have to hope that the trend of forcing turnovers continues into the regular season.

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At some point fairly soon, Aaron Maybin needs to forget about the salary slotting associated with NFL rookies and get to camp.

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I’m all for the Bills going permanently to their throwback uniforms. I never cared for the clownish uni’s from the Gregg Williams-Tom Donahoe era.

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Took a break from writing yesterday to journey to Cooperstown to play 19th century base ball with my teammates and counterparts from the Silver League at Genesee Country Village and Museum. I had played once before on the hallowed grounds of Doubleday Field. To know that you are standing in the same batter’s box that Mickey Mantle once swung from and are roaming the same rightfield grass as Roberto Clemente and the same shortstop dirt once patrolled by Cal Ripken Jr. is pretty cool.

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That old-style photo I included with this blog is of “The Barber,’’ “Scribe’’ and “Country Mile’’ – also known as Curt Kirchmaier, yours truly and Max Robertson – sitting in the first-base dugout at Doubleday. We’re all in our 50s and too stubborn to act our age. At the suggestion of Excelsiors captain Ryan Brecker – a young whippersnapper who celebrated his 31st birthday yesterday – we geezers headed to a nearby shop in Cooperstown to purchase some old-school T-shirts. Mine bears a drawing of a 19th century baseball player with the phrase: OLD GUYS RULE: THE OLDER I GET . . . THE BETTER I WAS. And to drive home the point, following the game, Max, his wife Cathy, and I celebrated by reliving our split of Saturday's doubleheader with bottles of Old Slugger, a wonderful beer brewed in the nearby Leatherstocking Country town of Milford.

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Belated Happy B-Day wishes to my daughter Amy’s fiancé, Brian Renno.