Still, I think Jack has it easy. Everybody loves him. It's not like team sports, where each city has its favorites and at the same time loves to hate brilliant athletes who do not don the team's colors. It's not even like tennis, where fans have their unequivocal favorites and enemies. Nicklaus transcends these regional and individual tastes--every golf fan roots for him, worships him. Oh, there were the days when Arnie captured the hearts and minds of the weekend mulligan-and-duff set, at the expense of Jack's popularity. But that was long ago, and the aging hero has returned (in fact, never gone away) to the unanimous affection and admiration few athletes in the fickle circles of pro-sports achieve.

Man against the elements; Jack against everything and everyone else. The guy just can't quit.

Neither can Bjorn Borg, who won Wimbledon yet again against pesky John McEnroe in a splendid display of tennis. Nor can Tommy Hearns, who thumped the imposing welterweight Pipino Cuevas in a recent fisticuff duel that left even the boxing intelligentsia spouting nothing but superlatives. Nor can Roberto Duran, who showed that the impregnable wall of hype built up around welterweight Sugar Ray Leonard could be rammed through in a bare ring. Nor can the Soviet Olympic Committee, which continues to insists that the Olympics were an unmitigated triumph; nor can the U.S. Olympic Committee, which maintains that the Games were completely sapped of all drama and prestige.

Nor can Georgia Rosenbloom, who recently married for the seventh time, and who directs the L.A. Rams like a feature film instead of a football team. Nor can Cyndey Garvey, who recently opened up to a writer for Inside Sports, and didn't stop talking--and then, together with first baseman and husband Steve, filed a libel suit of $11.2 million against the magazine, perhaps the brightest new typeface on the sports scene this summer.

Nor can the Houston Astros, who have stayed in the struggle for the N.L. West crown, despite the loss of staff ace and fireballer J.R. Richard, Nor can Mark Fidrych, a/k/a the Bird before Larry ever dribbled into Boston, who made his reappearance last night against the Sox, Nor can the Baltimore Orioles, who stubbornly refuse to concede the A.L. East title to the Yankees. Nor can the Pittsburgh Pirates, who despite Dave Parker's expressed discontent, seem determined to thwart the Montreal Expos' effort to become the first Canadian assemblage to win a divisional baseball crown.

Nor can the "Fire Don Zimmer" forces. (it has been said that if a new party called the "No Vote Party" were formed, it would win every presidential election. But in Massachusetts, the "Fire Don Zimmer Party" would almost certainly garner the Commonwealth's electoral votes.)

Nor can the Oakland A's and their apopleptic manager, Billy Martin, who just can't seem to get it through their thick heads that they have no talent. Nor can the California Angels, a team that refuses to recognize that it teems with talent.

Nor can the non-players like Howard Slusher, Mike Trope and Jerry Argovitz, who have intervened to assume leading roles in the never-ending tale, "Agent for the Offense." Nor can the national political parties, who orchestrate possibly the most staged and laughable of all sporting events--the political conventions (which wind up resembling a circus more than a horse race).

But there are several people who can quit. Those include the casual fan who finds to his dismay that the dialectical struggles surrounding professional sports are too intense for his preferences. There are the sportswriters, who, besieged with a plethora of interesting things to write about, all somehow end up saying the same things. And there are the most dedicated sports fans, who take to self-deprecation because they find themselves unable to keep on top of everything, even with cable t.v. And so, in the middle of what has been a most difficult summer to figure. I officially and unequivocally give up.

For now.